Once upon a time I lived on a tropical island where nearly every day of the year was sunny with a high of 75. The beaches were always calling and shorts, sandals, and sunglasses were just part of the regular attire. True story.

However, after 4 years of being stationed in paradise, this Iowa girl’s heart longed for the winter. When all the birds have flown south, the harvest is in, and the trees have lost all their leaves, creation itself is offering an invitation. It is an invitation to come away and be silent, to withdraw from the constant rush of activity and the noise.

A few years back my husband gave me the beautiful gift of a silent retreat at New Melleray Abbey, the Catholic monastery outside Dubuque, IA. As a mother of 8, this was a dream come true. After finding the beautiful monastery hidden amongst the woods and rolling farmlands, I was given an old-fashioned key which unlocked my little cell, a simple unadorned room with a single bed, desk, and a chair facing a window that overlooked a snow-covered courtyard. I felt as if I’d come home.

Following vespers (evening prayers) we all entered the “Great Silence.” The doors were locked and everyone returned to their rooms quietly. A reverent hush fell over the monastery. At about 230am I furtively left my room, padded down the hall and made my way into the dark chapel. There was no light except the red candle that burns continuously near the altar. The presence of Christ was almost palpable. I could imagine it being like the spirit of God hovering over the face of the waters before the creation of the world.

Artist Vincent Van Gogh wrote about an inner flame. He imagined that each one of us has a blazing furnace inside that is to be tended until it is fully ablaze. This flame is cultivated and kept alive by silence. He explained that when the door, as he referred to the mouth, was kept shut the inner flame of desire and love for God would increase in intensity.

The spiritual discipline of solitude and holy silence is not a new one. In Exodus we see Moses ascending Mt. Sinai, away from the people, to be alone and to commune with God. Elijah experienced God in the still small voice and the Blessed Mother “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Christ Himself often retreated away from both the large crowds and his disciples to pray and spend time with His Father in solitary places, particularly in times of suffering such as the garden of Gethsemane.

Teacher and theologian, Fr. John Hardon, defined silence as not merely the absence of sound or physical stillness, but rather the conscious effort to communicate with God or the invisible world of faith in preference to conversation with other people. Spending time in silence is restorative, a true leisure that brings us back to reality, allowing us to truly see and hear, thereby stripping away the need to justify and explain everything, ultimately reducing our dependence on emotions.

The monks of New Melleray admit that this road to simplicity in silence can be painful because we ourselves are fragmented. In time though, this simple, silent prayer of intense desire restores our integrity. We begin to see as God sees and so are restored to communion with God, with our brothers, and with all creation.

That being said, very few of us are hermits like the early Christian desert fathers. However, as we prepare to enter the desert of Lent and seek a deeper union with the Uncreated One, perhaps finding time for more silence with God would be worthy of our efforts.

And for those of you who long for periods of silence, but genuinely wonder how it could ever happen, I encourage you to sincerely ask your Heavenly Father for it. He is a giver of good gifts to those who seek Him and call upon His name.

Psalm 131:2 “Rather, I have stilled and calmed my soul, hushed it like a weaned child.

Like a weaned child held in its mother’s arms, so is my soul within me.”