Stillness and Silence

Making time for quiet prayer in a noisy season

Photo by Channel 82 on Unsplash

I had the privilege to attend daily Mass on Tuesday with my husband and our two daughters. It was, all things considered, a remarkable success for our little family of four, at least in merely human terms. (We, of course, have no power to determine whether or not the Mass is a success in spiritual terms, and there’s a huge freedom in that truth.) The baby only fussed once or twice, being wide awake, full of milk, and not gassy. And the toddler stayed (mostly) quiet and reverent, although busily moving up and down our otherwise-empty pew, as she is wont to do. She stepped out of the pew to genuflect a few times, joined in the Alleluia during the Gospel Acclamation (and added a few “Allulahs” of her own as well), and blew Jesus a kiss during the consecration of the Precious Blood.

But even with the (truly tremendous) gift from the Lord of a disruption-less Mass, I found it hard to focus on my own participation. I found myself constantly moving: swiveling my head to keep an eye on the toddler, bouncing the leg on which the baby was sitting, and swaying side to side while standing. And as I thought about it, I’ve begun to realize that this constant motion (which, admittedly, does keep the baby calm or calm her when she’s upset) is an almost-constant part of this season of mothering young children. And furthermore, I’ve begun to realize that this constant physical motion bleeds out beyond the time that the girls are awake and into my personal or quiet time as well. I’m constantly fidgeting, picking at spots on my arms, or fiddling with my broken phone case.

It’s got me thinking: how much does this lack of physical stillness contribute to a lack of spiritual stillness?

The same can be said for silence: between the coos and cries of our infant and the noisy chatter of our toddler, the times when they are awake are rarely silent. Even our visits to “Jesus’ house” (our parish church) during the week are usually filled with the occasional joyful exclamation and my “shhhhhhh” in response. And when the girls are asleep, the house is filled with the gentle sound of rain we use as white noise to help lull them into a (hopefully peaceful) slumber and block out noises from the kitchen and living room. In other words, moments of true physical silence are few and far between in my life right now. And come to think of it, the deep silence of the church during my holy hour leaves me feeling uncomfortable and restless.

Is there a correlation here between the physical noise of my life and a spiritual noise in my soul?

I cannot imagine that the two are unconnected, and we haven’t even touched on the constant mental movement and noise that come, not only with motherhood, but with adulthood in general, with a technology-bloated culture, with the rampant division between individuals and groups of people we encounter in person or online. Whether it’s a running to-do list, ruminations about real or perceived injury, the early stages of a newsletter post, or the juggling act that is scheduling four people with four very different lives and needs, my mind is rarely at rest. Quieting this internal chatter is profoundly difficult, and I know I am not alone in this.

This isn’t to say (of course) that noise and movement are fundamentally bad - music and exercise would beg to differ - just that the endless stream of noise and movement to which we subject ourselves ill-disposes us to the quiet personal prayer that is essential to our souls. We’ve all heard this story, but it bears sitting with (in physical and mental silence and stillness, if you can manage it, but if not, at least give it a skim):

There [Elijah] came to a cave and lodged in it. And behold, the word of the LORD came to him, and he said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He said, “I have been very jealous for the LORD, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the LORD.” And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

- 1 Kings 19:9-13

It is only when Elijah’s mind and body have been silenced and stilled that he is able to hear what the Lord is trying to tell him. We are no different. The Lord can, of course, speak to us and make His presence known in the midst of the chaos, the noise, and the endless movement in which we too often find ourselves, but we are best able to hear Him when we are best disposed to listen.

But we know all this already - the wisdom of the saints and the Church have said so for centuries and our daily experience bears it out. The question is not, “What do I need to do?” but rather, “How do I do it?”

And, more deeply, “What do I need to sacrifice in order to carve out times of sacred silence and stillness in my life?”

I recently read Holly Pierlot’s A Mother’s Rule of Life, in which she says that if prayer really is our highest priority, then we need to carve out and fiercely guard times for prayer. Pierlot makes the argument that these times ought to be placed on our calendar before anything else in our lives. But we all know that when littles are involved, nothing is set in stone and it can require a lot of flexibility to make anything happen, prayer times included. This is going to require sacrifice, and will often require us to evaluate our priorities, examine our consciences, and offer that sacrifice up in our prayer. So here are a few areas where I’ve been able to create feasible and fruitful time for silence in my own life, even when sacrifice is required:

Drive in Silence

I say this with a hearty grain of salt because the idea of driving in silence with two under two is, frankly, laughable. But on those occasions where I do drive alone, or where my passengers are asleep, my immediate desire is to play “my” music (in other words, anything other than Baby Shark or Heffalumps and Woozles) or catch up on a podcast or audiobook. I cherish this time and really look forward to it. But if there is no other time for intentional silence in my day, this can be an easy opportunity to claim that time. One year for Advent, my husband and I read Cardinal Sarah’s The Power of Silence (an incredible book!) and both gave up listening to anything in the car until Christmas. The first week was hard, but as the season went on, I found myself appreciating the time to silence my mind and heart as I went to work and again as I headed home. Even if this time isn’t used for a particular prayer, the physical silence creates a habit in us that will carry over into our prayer time.

Embrace the Physicality of the Catholic Faith

I love the way that the Church, in her wisdom, acknowledges our humanity and our embodied-ness by giving us very physical and tangible experiences. If you struggle to maintain mental silence and physical stillness at the same time, I would encourage you to roll the beads of your favorite rosary, walk the Stations of the Cross at your parish, or run the ribbons of your Breviary through your fingers as you pray. These little things allow our bodies to be occupied in mindless, repetitive actions, which can often free our minds and hearts to focus more deeply on prayer.

Sanctify the First or Last Moments of Your Day

This is a hard one for me, as I love my sleep. Especially in these newborn days where I’m often woken two or three times overnight. But I’ve recently discovered that, if I simply accept being awoken at 5:00 or 6:00 in the morning as a gift from the Lord, instead of angrily trying to coax myself back to sleep, I can find some treasured time of silence to pray, write, and enjoy a cup of coffee before the rest of the family awakes. Or, worst case scenario, one of the girls wakes early, but I have already accepted and embraced the day and taken advantage of a few moments of quiet personal prayer, so I can greet them with joy and affection instead of irritation and sleepiness. My husband does the same thing, but in the evenings, when he is generally more functional.

Take Care of Yourself

Ultimately, much of what we’ve been saying so far boils down to this: there are seasons when constant noise and constant movement are more or less a necessity of life, and this reality can leave us ill-disposed to quiet prayer. However, even in these seasons, it’s important to be attuned to our physical needs as well as our spiritual ones. We are embodied souls - the Lord designed us to need food, water, and rest, and when these are absent, our whole self suffers. The old saying, “if you think everyone hates you, you should eat; if you think you hate everyone, you should sleep” has never been more true than it is in this season of postpartum. I also love the work that Megan is doing over at Holy HSP, talking about sensory processing sensitivity and how a sensitive nervous system can affect the Christian life. Asking for help in order to facilitate taking a physical and mental break can allow us to more effectively enter into moments of prayer when we do carve out that time.

Even if not every moment of silence becomes a moment of intentional pre-planned prayer, cultivating the habit of silence and stillness will bear fruit. Of course, much of this is easier said than done! I’d love to hear where you’re struggling or where you’re succeeding in protecting your time, silence, and stillness for prayer these days!