The Other Side of Silence

Hello silence, my old friend.

If there was one thing I was not expecting from Africa, it was copious amounts of silence. This parish is ironically in a very loud district of the city. The local marketplace is a flurry of noise, the roosters have no concept of time so they crow throughout the night, and an Islamic preacher feels the need to call the neighborhood to repentance every morning around 4:30am. The silence I refer to is that inner silence, that silence resulting when there are no TVs, computers, phones, or entertainment to distract us from, well…ourselves. And that is scary. Africa has been a testing ground in this desert of silence. A friend from home described to me once how she can’t stand the 30 seconds of silence of her daily elevator ride to the floor where she works—it’s the loneliest part of her day.

“Loneliness may just be God asking us to spend time with Him.” A brother seminarian told me that this past year, and it truly radicalized my perspective of loneliness and these moments of silence and solitude. Those periods of loneliness we all go through are actually opportunities to listen to that still, small voice. We Americans usually hate silence and instead numb ourselves with noise and immediate gratification, anything to keep us from reflecting upon ourselves and that pesky God question. I am speaking to myself as well here—I do love my iPod—and I have found Africa to be a precious school of silence as well as a school of poverty. That indifference to God, which we “First World” citizens are all daily exposed to, comes to screeching stop when silence rears its ugly face.

Bishop Biguzzi allowed me to spend an hour in his private chapel. He departs for Italy tomorrow and will not return until I myself leave the country. I remember meeting the Bishop on the first day I entered Makeni, thinking “Wow, I probably won’t see him again with his busy schedule.” I have seen the Bishop no less than three times a week over this past month, running into him around town, hanging around with his priests, being summoned to scan documents, and being invited to private pasta sessions. He has played an integral role in making me feel at home in this country. And now I was granted an hour in his chapel. I reflected during that hour of silence on all the blessings I’ve received since first landing in Africa, especially all the email support and prayers from good friends and family back home (he snapped a picture of me when I wasn’t looking).

There’s a U2 lyrical verse that speaks of “the roar that lies on the other side of silence.” Any of the many mystics of our rich faith tradition will affirm that our God awaits us on that other side of silence, open to all who have the courage to enter. This country, Serra Lyoa (Lion Mountains), was named so by a Portuguese man who witnessed lightning and thunder ripping the sky open across the precipitous shore, akin to a lion roaring across the mountain range. I have sat through many hours of silence here, but I have faith that I will hear His roar soon enough.

-Bob
written 06/27/11