A most unusual protest took place this past fall in a convent in New Jersey. Four nuns locked themselves in a tiny second floor infirmary and have taken a vow of "near silence." They are protesting new rules established by their new prioress, Mother Theresa Hewitt. It seems that Mother Theresa has introduced television, secular videos, recorded music, bright lights, and (horror of horrors) daily "sweets" into the convent. The sweets consist of a tin of candy which is passed around each day and each nun is supposed to indulge. In the words of one of the protesting nuns (who are among the younger nuns in the order, by the way) the new prioress is turning monastic life into "one big party." In order to express their revulsion of these ungodly changes the four sisters have locked themselves away.

I can sympathize. There is much in our brave new world from which I would like to withdraw. I can sympathize with Simon Peter who wanted to build three booths and stay on the mountaintop of Transfiguration in the presence of Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Unfortunately he was not given that option, and neither are we. We must live in this world of strident, discordant noise. There is no retreat.

I read somewhere about an enterprising salesman in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, who realized that each time he drove through a certain highway tunnel in that town his radio would go silent.

On the conviction that people would prefer any kind of noise to silence, the salesman convinced those in authority to have the tunnel wired. Now commercials and public service announcements are broadcast constantly in the tunnel. The only way you can escape the noise is to turn your radio off.

There seems to be no escape from noise in our society. Wouldn’t it be nice though, from time to time, to experience what Peter, James and John experienced on the mountain of the Transfiguration? They had gone away to a secluded spot for prayer with the Master. Doubtless they were not prepared for what happened there.

It is interesting that on the two occasions when Jesus took Peter, James, and John to a secluded spot for prayer, the disciples fell asleep. It was these same three who nodded off while Jesus prayed in Gethsemane. This time when they awakened, however, they experienced something that they would never forget. They were not only in the presence of Jesus, but also two of the most significant figures of the Old Testament Moses, representing the Law and Elijah, representing the prophets.

Doubtless the three disciples were stunned. Peter spoke up and declared, "Master, it is well that we are here; let us make three booths, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah." Good old Simon Peter. Putting in his 2 cents worth as usual. About this time a cloud the symbol of God’s presence moved in and enshrouded them and they were afraid. A voice spoke from the cloud, "This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to Him!" When the voice had spoken and the cloud departed, Moses and Elijah had vanished. Luke tells us that in the face of this experience the three disciples kept silence and told no one anything of what they had seen.

What was there to say? There are some experiences for which words are inadequate. How can words express what you feel when you first hold your newborn child? What words are adequate to comfort one who has lost their life’s partner? Even more strikingly, what can you say when you have been in the presence of the living God? Luke tells us that they "kept silence," and that is an appropriate response. We could learn from that.

Ralph Harper writes, "We know that serious things have to be done in silence. In silence men love, pray, listen, compose, paint, write, think, and suffer."

Many of us are afraid of silence. We grow uncomfortable as the conversation wanes. But there are occasions that demand silence. What are some of those occasions?

SILENCE IS THE BEST RESPONSE, FIRST OF ALL, IN THE PRESENCE OF A MYSTERY TOO GREAT FOR OUR UNDERSTANDING. That was the disciples’ situation. They were in the presence of a mystery simply beyond their power to comprehend. James and John had sense enough to keep silence. Simon Peter, however, "not knowing what to say," Luke tells us, blurted out his suggestion that they build three booths and stay on the mountain. But even he grew silent as the mystery intensified.

We may not want to admit it, but there ARE mysteries that demand silence. The mystery of suffering is one of these.

In his book, THE LIGHT WITHIN YOU, John R. Claypool relates the very painful story of the lost of their young daughter to acute leukemia. Very quickly upon diagnosis of this dread disease, his daughter had been given a medicine that enabled her to go into a remission. For some time she was almost perfectly normal. Naturally, this created many hopes for her family. Had the diagnosis been a mistaken one? Had she experienced the miracle of divine healing for which her father and so many others had prayed?

It was not to be. All of these hopes came to an abrupt end, ironically, on Easter Sunday morning, when the old pains reappeared and she went into a severe relapse that involved hospitalization for some two weeks. Part of the time both of her eyes were swollen shut, and pain racked every part of her body. John Claypool reports that moving with her through those two weeks was an unspeakably draining experience. He found myself stretched in every way physically exhausted, emotionally dissipated, his faith itself challenged as never before.

The worst moment of all, however, came one night when his daughter could get no relief, and she asked him, "When will this leukemia go away?"

He answered, "I don’t know, darling, but we are doing everything in our power to find an answer to cure it."

There was a long silence, and then she asked in the darkness, "Have you asked God when the leukemia will go away?"

Her pastor/father hedged a bit and said, "You know, darling, how we have prayed again and again for God to help us."

But she persisted: "Have you asked God when it will go away? What did He say?"

Claypool asks, "How do you respond to such childlike directness at a time when the heavens seem utterly silent...?" *

There are some questions without an answer. When I as your pastor come to you in the hospital or at the funeral home in an hour in which you have experienced a great tragedy, please do not expect me to come with a lot of glib, ready made answers. I will sit with you, I will struggle with you to find meaning, I will pray with you, but please do not expect me to have all the answers. In turn, I will try to restrain myself from giving answers of which I am unsure. His ways are not our ways! Some questions have no answers. Such times demand a measure of silence. We can but wait on the Lord and trust that though we see through a glass darkly, one day we will see face to face. That is one occasion that demands silence. Here is another.

SILENCE IS THE BEST RESPONSE, IN THE SECOND PLACE, WHEN WE ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF SOMETHING OR SOMEONE GREATER THAN OURSELVES. We need that kind of inspiration from time to time to ponder a masterpiece or to sit at the feet of a legend. At times like that we do not chatter on. We sit quietly, expectantly, reverently with a longing to soak up as much of the greatness as we are able.

In the early 1900s a young stage actress spent two years in Europe. Much of this time was spent in concert halls and art museums. Later in life when people asked why she had given so much time to things that were not directly related to her successful career, she answered, "I wanted to expose myself to the best, so I would always know what was better."

That is not a bad idea for us. Of course, this is one reason we come to worship. In his autobiography, Albert Schweitzer said that one of the main things his parents did for him as a child was to take him to worship services, even though he was too young to understand much of what was going on. He claimed it is not important that children understand everything. What is important is "that they shall feel something of what is serious and solemn...."

Can you see Peter, James, and John as they contemplated what it meant to be in the presence not only of Jesus but also Elijah and Moses, and then on top of all that, to hear the voice of God as well? No wonder they were silent. Here was dust encountering divinity, the temporal in the presence of the eternal, the imperfect face to face with Holiness itself. How we need such experiences today. Such experiences demand silence. In that silence, however, there is power.

Historians have written that, on the night before a great battle, Napoleon’s commanders all went to their commander’s tent one by one. Reportedly, it was a strange procession, for no one said a word as they came into Napoleon’s presence. Each man simply looked into his commander’s eyes, shook his hand, then turned and walked out of the tent ready to lay down his life for his beloved general.

Silence is appropriate in the presence of a mystery too great for our understanding. Silence is appropriate in the presence of something or someone greater than we ourselves. One thing more.

SILENCE IS THE BEST RESPONSE IF WE WOULD HEAR THE VOICE OF GOD. As a young man, Benjamin Franklin was somewhat arrogant in his opinions and wanted to do most of the talking in his conversations with his friends. He was so quick to tell people where they were wrong that they began crossing to the other side of the street to avoid speaking to him. A Quaker friend kindly informed Franklin of this unpardonable fault, and convinced Ben by mentioning several instances in which he had rudely dismissed the opinions of others. Ben Franklin was so stricken by this revelation that over half a century later, when he was seventynine years old, he wrote these words in his famous autobiography:

"Considering that in conversation knowledge was obtained rather by the use of the ears than of the tongue, I gave Silence second place among the virtues I determined to cultivate." That was an excellent step on Franklin’s part.

Now, for just a moment try to put yourself in God’s place when it comes to prayer. It must be frustrating for God when we come to Him in prayer, supposedly seeking His guidance, and then proceed to do all the talking. Suppose YOU had a friend who always talked and never listened. Wouldn't you be frustrated? Yet so often we make our requests of God and then move on to other things without giving God a chance to say anything in return.

Either that or we drown Him out in the cacophany of noises with which we surround ourselves daily. "The voice of God is a gentle voice," Evelyn Underhill wrote, "and we can't hear it when it is in competition with other voices."

There is a time for silence. There is a time for shutting out all conflicting noises. There is a time to stop talking and to listen.

So, maybe those four nuns in New Jersey are on to something. Maybe we should all lock ourselves away from time to time. Not in protest, but in prayer. To listen. In silence.

Peter, James. and John were silent and heard the voice of God speak: "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to Him!" Good idea. With Frances Havergal we pray, Master, speak! thy servant heareth, Waiting for thy gracious word, Longing for thy voice that cheereth; Master, let it now be heard. I am listening, Lord, for thee: What hast thou to say to me?

* (Waco: Word Books, 1983).