Daily Primer — August 6, Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides — Scotland

SILENCE IS THE home of the word. Silence gives strength and fruitfulness to the word. We can even say that words are meant to disclose the mystery of the silence from which they come. The Taoist philosopher Chuang Tzu expresses this well in the following way:

The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish and when the fish are caught, the trap is forgotten. The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catch rabbits. When the rabbits are caught, the snare is forgotten. The purpose of the word is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words? He is the one I would like to talk to.

“I would like to talk to the man who has forgotten words.” That could have been said by one of the Desert Fathers. For them, the word is the instrument of the present world and silence is the mystery of the future world. If a word is to bear fruit it must be spoken from the future world into the present world. The Desert Fathers therefore considered their going into the silence of the desert to be a first step into the future world. From that world their words could bear fruit, because there they could be filled with the power of God’s silence. In the sayings of the Desert Fathers, we can distinguish three aspects of silence. All of them deepen and strengthen the central idea that silence is the mystery of the future world. First, silence makes us pilgrims. Secondly, silence guards the fire within. Thirdly, silence teaches us to speak.

SILENCE MAKES US PILGRIMS

Abba Tithoes once said, “Pilgrimage means that a man should control his tongue.” The expression “To be on pilgrimage is to be silent” (peregrinatio est tacere), expresses the conviction of the Desert Fathers that silence is the best anticipation of the future world. The most frequent argument for silence is simply that words lead to sin. Not speaking, therefore, is the most obvious way to stay away from sin. This connection is clearly expressed by the apostle James: “. . . every one of us does something wrong, over and over again; the only man who could reach perfection would be someone who never said anything wrong—he would be able to control every part of himself” (James 3:2).
James leaves little doubt that speaking without sinning is very difficult and that, if we want to remain untouched by the sins of the world on our journey to our eternal home, silence is the safest way. Thus, silence became one of the central disciplines of the spiritual life. St. Benedict, the father of the monastic life in the West and the patron saint of Europe, puts great emphasis on silence in his Rule. He quotes the Psalmist who says, “I will keep a muzzle on my mouth . . . I will watch how I behave and not let my tongue lead me into sin” (Psalm 39:1). St. Benedict not only warns his brothers against evil talk, but also tells them to avoid good, holy, edifying words because, as it is written in the book of Proverbs, “A flood of words is never without its faults” (Proverbs 10:19). Speaking is dangerous and easily leads us away from the right path.
The central idea underlying these ascetic teachings is that speaking gets us involved in the affairs of the world, and it is very hard to be involved without becoming entangled in and polluted by the world. The Desert Fathers and all who followed in their footsteps “knew that every conversation tended to interest them in this world, to make them in heart less of strangers here and more of citizens.”

This might sound too unworldly to us, but let us at least recognize how often we come out of a conversation, a discussion, a social gathering, or a business meeting with a bad taste in our mouth. How seldom have long talks proved to be good and fruitful? Would not many, if not most of the words we use, be better left unspoken? We speak about the events of the world, but how often do we really change them for the better? We speak about people and their ways, but how often do our words do them or us any good? We speak about our ideas and feelings as if everyone were interested in them, but how often do we really feel understood? We speak a great deal about God and religion, but how often does it bring us or others real insight? Words often leave us with a sense of inner defeat. They can even create a sense of numbness and a feeling of being bogged down in swampy ground. Often they leave us in a slight depression or in a fog that clouds the window of our mind. In short, words can give us the feeling of having stopped too long at one of the little villages that we pass on our journey, of having been motivated more by curiosity than by service. Words often make us forget that we are pilgrims called to invite others to join us on the journey. Peregrinatio est tacere. “To be silent keeps us pilgrims.”

Florilegium is the Medieval Latin word for bouquet, or more literally flowers (flos, flor-) which are gathered (legere). The word florilegium was used to refer to a compilation of writings, often religious or philosophical. These florilegium are literary flowers—beautiful words/prayers/thoughts I have gathered.  During my sabbatical they will give me something to ponder each day. — PHL.

PRAYER FOR GRACE

Lord, I will lift up my hands to thy commandments which I have loved ; open thou mine eyes, that I may see the wondrous  things of thy law. Incline my heart to thy testimonies; order my steps according to thy word, and so shall no iniquity have dominion over me.

Concerning thy testimonies, I have known long since, that thou hast founded them for ever. Therefore will I walk in  the path of thy commandments, and will apply my heart to fulfill thy statutes  even unto the end. O Lord God, be thou my God, let me  have none besides thee; let me love nothing in comparison of thee.

Grant me grace to worship thee in spirit and in truth, to reverence thy holy name, to serve thee devoutly, and decently  with the gestures of my body, with the  praises of my tongue, in private and in public:

† To render my superiors due honor, by obeying their
 commands, by submitting to their government:


† To love my family and dependents by taking due
care of them, by making provision for them:

† To overcome evil with good, and to  possess my
vessel in sanctification and honor:

† To have my conversation without covetousness, and
 be content with such things as I have.  

† To put away lying, bitterness, clamour, and evil
speaking, and all malice, and to speak the truth in
love:  

† Not to lust with concupiscence,

† not to walk with lasciviousness,

† not to be captivated by desires inordinate and
violent, of what sort soever they may be.”

God of the in-between-times, you seem always to be with your people in-between the promise and its fulfillment, the vision and its realization. You were with Abram and Sarai as they awaited the arrival of Isaac. You were with Moses and the people between the brickyards of Egypt and the land flowing with milk and honey. You were with the disciples between the horrors of Good Friday and the miracles of Easter day. You are with us, too, in all of our in-between-times. Help us who wait to know that you stay with us when all of our dreams are not yet realized — that we may give our dreams and our loved ones into your faithful care, trusting that you will watch over them while we sleep. On this wildly beautiful Hebridean Isle, where the edge of land and sea meet so dramatically and where the winds blow so fiercely — we are mindful of the many who have come before and made this place home and hearth.  May your ruach sweep over us this night as it has since the start of creation.  Grant us a restful sleep and peace at the last. † In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.