Pregnant Silences

In the guidelines on art and architecture, "Built of Living Stones, Art, Architecture and Worship," paragraph 221 makes an astonishing admission: "Silence is the ground of all prayer."

In a document whose scope ranges from theological considerations of the assembly to the mundane concern for the depth of the sinks in the sacristy so that they are "deep enough to fill tall vases with water" (paragraph 234), the pronouncement, "Silence is the ground of all prayer," strikes a clear and resonant chord.

It is reminiscent of the masterpiece on art and architecture, which appeared in 1978. Thank God at least that terse sentence has survived, plus a few others.

Perhaps it was an early childhood experience of hearing a neighbor lady talk about the inspiring message her preacher gave on Sunday built on the text "Be still and know that I am God" that has directed me to a type of active contemplative prayer style.

Still then, that penchant might be traced to the Benedicta anima that surrounded me in my undergraduate days at St. Vincent College in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, a Benedictine house. For whatever reason, my invitation to public prayer, "I invite your silence," is a convention that sets up prayer quickly.

There is another influence. John Cage's work "Silence" should be revived and be included in every bibliography of every liturgical and liturgical music course in colleges and seminaries. He set into motion a powerful inquiry into what music is, what constitutes silences in music, and what power silence wields. A sympathy to Zen helps.

Silences are pregnant.

There is the silence that falls deeply during the hour before dawn. It is a good time to pray. Then there is the silence after you've dialed two dozen digits to access yet another electronic message telling you, "All our representatives are busy. Your call will be taken in the order in which it was received." Although, the silence is less annoying than the inane messages from the company played against some ersatz music. The silence breeds expectation and frustration.

Silence can frighten like the "no response" after you've yelled for your kid in the house and there is no answer. The silence could mean catastrophe or a kiddy prank.

There is even a mechanical silence that confuses, such as the one the dishwasher generates after you've turned it on. Perhaps it is thinking during that time. Repair bills brood in this silence.

Equally terrifying is the silence instigated after an emotional shootout when the other person says abruptly and coldly, "Fine!" This silence signals problems.

Of course, the silence of fulfillment with another person is a silence that predicts an even stronger bond of peace and love.

John Cage was right. Silence provides the arena in which one confronts both personal and cosmic realities. It also illustrates that there is no perfect silence in this world. Even in the bowels of a cavern during a spelunking expedition, one can hear one's own breath.

It's not too much of a leap to make into the possibility that the silence at the end of the life cycle is one of birthing, a new life, perhaps, which was hinted at in the various silences during one's noisy life. Silences are pregnant.

You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@earthlink.net