The Fertility of Silence

Years ago, St John’s once held a weekend of creativity. Part of my contribution was a set of mini-booklets, 75mm square, each page containing a single thought from a past sermon. I decided to produce another one, this time for the post-Pentecost meeting of the Centering Prayer group.

The idea was to link silent prayer with creative output, and to encourage everyone to look out for the signs of its benefits in their own spontaneous creativity.

I was led in this direction partly by experience, but also by a phrase scattered throughout traditional literature: ‘the fertility of silence.’ Thinking about it opened a door to a region of spiritual life that often seems on the periphery of our awareness.

Most of us are well aware of the Holy Spirit. Sixty years ago the western churches were in the grip of the emerging charismatic movement, a dramatic rediscovery of the Holy Spirit which still influences church life and worship to this day. It had a transforming effect in many people’s lives and also led to a flowering of creativity, particularly in music.

I think of this when I hear of Christians imploring the Lord to come and revisit them with a great manifestation of power. It’s as if the Holy Spirit has gone away again. But in my experience one of the consistent themes in the Bible has God saying, ‘Why don’t you ever listen to me?’

Silent prayer is based on listening – really listening, giving God full attention. And when we do, things happen. Peace enters our soul. Troublesome habits lose their power. A real relationship with God develops. Prayers begin to be answered. It takes time; it happens mysteriously; and it often turns out differently from what we expect.

But here’s the thing: peace, empowerment, answers to prayer – are these not the very things that we ask God to send the Holy Spirit to produce in our lives? If these are the results of silence – ‘the fertility of silence’ – then silence and the Holy Spirit are more or less the same thing.

Which is as it should be. The universe was created in the silence of God, but it was a pregnant silence. From it God spoke a word, and the universe came to be. This pattern is repeated in a million little ways as the presence of the eternal continues to push into the material world.

Great mystical writers like St John of the Cross insist that God is both active and passive in our spiritual development, so it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch to think of silence and the Holy Spirit in the same breath. The Spirit isn’t simply the active arm of God.

St John of the Cross

We tend to think of silence as just the absence of noise. But once we’re used to it, the silence of God can seem almost like a substance, a velvety blanket that envelops the soul. ‘Substance’ sounds like a drug, something that gives you a high, but this is lifegiving, not death-dealing. This is the ‘pregnant’ silence, the silence that yields the fruit (and gifts) of the Spirit.

Mature life in Christ has the silence of God at its heart. Forget amazing stories, heart-warming maybe but which never seem to happen in our neck of the woods. This is what it really means to be filled with the Holy Spirit. And the best thing is that there is a path to it, pioneered by Jesus himself, which all of us can take if we have a mind to.

It’s just a question of intention.

Revd. Phil Bradshaw