When I went to Taizé monastery on Friday, June 14, I planned to do a week of silence after I got accustomed to the rhythm of daily prayers and such. That's how I said it - "do" silence. Like it was something I would have to work at. And I did think it would be difficult. I mean, I'm a girl who talks out loud to herself if no one is around to talk back. Plus, I thought that it would be an intense week of wrestling with God, crying in frustration and desperation about why I believe in Jesus or should encourage anyone else to put their faith in him. I thought I would be struggling for answers about my future, and that maybe there would be some divine inspiration that would strike like lightning and illuminate my future. Consequently, I thought this week of silence would require a big effort.
However, when I talked to the brothers and permanent volunteers at Taizé about doing a week of silence, they referred to it differently. They told each other, "She's going into silence." I had to speak with a sister about it, but when she approved my decision, I moved to a house off of the main campus of the monastery to live with 5 other girls who were participating in the week of silence. As I walked to the house after group prayer Sunday night after I had begun being silent, I considered the strange reference to the week of silence.
Going into silence.
Like it was a place, something that I entered into. Maybe it reminded me of a journey, somewhere I was moving through. In my journal I wrote, "Going into silence. I wonder how I will come out."
The truth is, the phrase is exactly right. Instead of being something at which I had to work, I simply had to enter a place where I could rest and listen. The sister who was guiding us in the journey through advice and prayer texts said that the goal of silence is not silence itself. We are looking for intimacy with God and ourselves; the silence helps us have more space and attention for what is going on in our hearts. The next day she said that we often consider prayer something that we have to do or make, a result of effort. Sister suggested that prayer is something which is already there since God's life and movement are in our hearts. Prayer, with the aid of silence, is something for us to give time and space to, and to be fully, humanly open in. By looking carefully and being present, we become more aware of God's presence in us. Therefore, we go into silence. We stop listening to some things around us, including our own voices, to listen to things that are quieter than our voices.
I came out of silence a bit reluctantly the next Sunday morning. Already on Saturday I had started pulling out a bit, thinking about regular things and planning ahead. I began to interact in a livelier way with people around me. However, it is peaceful to be silent at times, and the week of silence was also a sort of private adventure that unfolded slowly and beautifully since I did not have to process everything linguistically right away. But when the girls who had been silent for a week or two days broke silence and bread together on Sunday morning, it was a wonderful time of encouragement, joy, and sharing with each other.
I think I came out of silence changed. It was not the silence so much as the closeness I experienced with God and myself. I remembered things I liked doing that I had forgotten. I allowed myself to dream about "someday" things. Jesus impressed upon me that I am beautiful. He loves me. The love of God became more clear to me than ever before in my life. The way I experienced God's love and presence while I was in silence connected pieces of me that had felt dissonant before. Many of my questions and fears no longer mattered because in Jesus, the answer is yes.
The time of silence at Taizé will continue to affect me. Though I have come out of it, I still remember that place (not the effort), and the sister assured us that like a good wine, our hearts will remember this good thing we have experienced with God. Considering how I feel that I have come out of the desolate, wild place in my soul to a vibrant, lush garden with streams of water and ripe cherry trees, I know that this week will impact me for months and years to come. The silence allowed me to open myself and prepare my heart for light, and the Light of the World has shone in it.
Yes, "going into silence" is the best way to describe it. May you be able to go on a journey with God yourselves. Well, you already are. May you become aware of God's movements in your life, I think is a better way to say it. The peace of Christ be with you.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Identity
During my week of silence, I jotted this note down after praying through John 20:11-18. Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene, but she does not recognize him until after he says her name. His question, "Whom do you seek?" reminded me of his same question to the mob in the garden of Gethsemane days earlier (John 18:1-8).
To those who seek Jesus but don't know him, he responds with a statement about himself. To the mob in the garden, he said "I am he," which surprised them because they knew God as "I AM."
To those who seek Jesus and know him, he responds with a statement about them. To Mary while she wept for his corpse, he spoke her name like he knew her, and she recognized him because she heard her name from him.
When we accept God's love, he tells us about who we are to him. As I experienced last week, we are loved, intensely and in ways we only begin to understand. He knows us best, loves us deeply, and gives us our identity in Christ. No more hiding or searching for the wrong things. He loves us, and when he calls our names, we recognize him.
To those who seek Jesus but don't know him, he responds with a statement about himself. To the mob in the garden, he said "I am he," which surprised them because they knew God as "I AM."
To those who seek Jesus and know him, he responds with a statement about them. To Mary while she wept for his corpse, he spoke her name like he knew her, and she recognized him because she heard her name from him.
When we accept God's love, he tells us about who we are to him. As I experienced last week, we are loved, intensely and in ways we only begin to understand. He knows us best, loves us deeply, and gives us our identity in Christ. No more hiding or searching for the wrong things. He loves us, and when he calls our names, we recognize him.
Wonder is Involuntary Praise
I just spent three weeks in France. Most of the time, I was flabbergasted when I realized that I, Adrianna Oudman, was traveling in Europe. The countryside was beautiful, and the experiences were amazing. As I looked around me, I kept thinking, "Who gets to live like this??" Well I do, obviously. And probably many other people. But I hope it keeps being wondrous, that I never lose that starry-eyed feeling towards the things around me in life that are worth stopping for and exclaiming, "I can't believe I actually get to witness this right now!"
Part of me wants to give you all the details of the trip right now, and part of me wants to wax philosophically. So I'll try to balance my parts.
I spent 5 days in Annecy with the Fluit family, my friends from British Columbia for whom I am some sort of ambiguous relation (daughter? sister? friend? As Atticus (age 3) looked at me and said one day, "Are you a mom, or a dad?" and he kept calling me Dad even though his father was very much present with us...). Anyways, it was great. We swam in the very cold lake, went for bike rides and hikes, painted pictures, and had picnics. Then we drove south to Provence, to St. Remy, where the Dutch painter Van Gogh spent his days in an asylum. Again, we ate picnics (bread and nutella, anyone?), explored, took a tour of a castle, picked fresh cherries from a monastery, etc. It was fabulous weather, and their place had a pool so we usually played in the pool in the afternoons before eating supper outside.
Then I left my BC family to go to Taizé, an ecumenical monastery not too far from Lyon. I spent 10 days there with hundreds of other youth and adults. I spent 5 of the 10 days in silence, living in a separate house with other girls who were silent, attending the group prayers, and spending time learning to be attentive to myself and to God.
The time at Taizé was better than I could have hoped or imagined. One of my friends had gone a couple of years ago, and he recommended it to me. I went into the week of silence hoping for answers regarding my future and justification for my faith. Instead of answers, God gave me himself. I had told the nun who spent the week guiding us that I thought meeting God could be scary, but she replied that meeting God is never bad. God only brings good things. She was right. The whole week, God simply overwhelmed me with his love for me. I expected to wrestle, and instead he hugged me. I thought we would shout at each other, and instead he whispered sweet and good things to my heart. I realized that many of my questions did not matter once I realized more deeply that God loves me and all people. The basis for faith and ministry, for life on this earth, is God's love.
It was easy to fall in love with a place like Taizé with its patchwork quilt of fields, poppies and roses blooming, peaceful atmosphere, and kind people. The challenge will be to continue abiding in that love and becoming part of the people who are people of prayer. I'm still not sure what that will look like in my life, but I guess I'll try praying about that, too. :)
More to come...
Part of me wants to give you all the details of the trip right now, and part of me wants to wax philosophically. So I'll try to balance my parts.
I spent 5 days in Annecy with the Fluit family, my friends from British Columbia for whom I am some sort of ambiguous relation (daughter? sister? friend? As Atticus (age 3) looked at me and said one day, "Are you a mom, or a dad?" and he kept calling me Dad even though his father was very much present with us...). Anyways, it was great. We swam in the very cold lake, went for bike rides and hikes, painted pictures, and had picnics. Then we drove south to Provence, to St. Remy, where the Dutch painter Van Gogh spent his days in an asylum. Again, we ate picnics (bread and nutella, anyone?), explored, took a tour of a castle, picked fresh cherries from a monastery, etc. It was fabulous weather, and their place had a pool so we usually played in the pool in the afternoons before eating supper outside.
Then I left my BC family to go to Taizé, an ecumenical monastery not too far from Lyon. I spent 10 days there with hundreds of other youth and adults. I spent 5 of the 10 days in silence, living in a separate house with other girls who were silent, attending the group prayers, and spending time learning to be attentive to myself and to God.
The time at Taizé was better than I could have hoped or imagined. One of my friends had gone a couple of years ago, and he recommended it to me. I went into the week of silence hoping for answers regarding my future and justification for my faith. Instead of answers, God gave me himself. I had told the nun who spent the week guiding us that I thought meeting God could be scary, but she replied that meeting God is never bad. God only brings good things. She was right. The whole week, God simply overwhelmed me with his love for me. I expected to wrestle, and instead he hugged me. I thought we would shout at each other, and instead he whispered sweet and good things to my heart. I realized that many of my questions did not matter once I realized more deeply that God loves me and all people. The basis for faith and ministry, for life on this earth, is God's love.
It was easy to fall in love with a place like Taizé with its patchwork quilt of fields, poppies and roses blooming, peaceful atmosphere, and kind people. The challenge will be to continue abiding in that love and becoming part of the people who are people of prayer. I'm still not sure what that will look like in my life, but I guess I'll try praying about that, too. :)
More to come...
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