Monastic silence

Spending the Easter Triduum at Turvey Abbey was a very special experience for me. It meant far more than I anticipated in growing my Christianity. There’s a lot for me to reflect on, and I’ll write about aspects of what happened in the coming days.

Meanwhile, I’m often asked me what it’s like to stay at a monastic community and particularly how to keep silence without going mad! People wonder how it’s actually physically possible to keep silent for a number of days, and ask why we do it, what’s the point?

And of course not all retreats and courses at monasteries are silent.

Well let’s walk through the schedule of this Easter weekend at Turvey to get an idea of what might happen. The twelve of us guests arrived during the afternoon on Thursday. We each rang the doorbell (nothing unusual so far!), were greeted by one of the nuns and shown to whichever room we would be staying in. We were given time to settle in, and asked to meet together at 17:00 in the guest house conference room.

At that first session, we each said a little about ourselves and then we were given timetables and some background to the liturgy, and to the structure of the weekend. After supper that Thursday evening, we would be expected to keep silence until after the Easter Vigil on Easter Sunday morning.

The silence is not a penance. It is intended to allow us to sink more deeply into the presence of God, and to give us time and space to be self-aware. So not only are we silent when alone, we are silent when in the company of others.

There are probably a lot of misconceptions here. For example there is no complicated system of sign language to get someone to pass you the salt. You simply ask, in a low voice, for the salt. But it’s interesting how often the silence gives you the awareness of when somebody wants the salt so you can offer it before they ask.

There is a massive relief in realising that even if you are in the kitchen making a cup of tea with someone else, nobody expects you to speak, to make small talk, to comment on the weather.

When life is not ruled by conversation, another kind of hearing gradually comes into being. The sounds of nature, of road traffic and of humans around you, the sound of peoples’ pain, the sound of your own inadequacy, the sound of joy. Even the sound of your own and others’ tummy gurgles during silent meditation when everyone’s hungry!

If someone is in real distress, there is the opportunity to speak privately with a member of the community.

Having been silent overnight, the first time we use our voice is in the chapel at the opening of the Office of Readings, the first monastic office of the day, usually at 06:10. The cantor sings “Oh Lord, open my lips” and we respond “For my mouth shall declare your praise”. This is repeated three times. A wonderful and creative way to begin the day, to use our voice in praise of God.

This weekend some of us took part in the work of the monastery: weeding the guest house garden. There’s something very companionable in physical work with other people without words.

And so we enter into the rhythm of Benedictine days: the offices prayed in chapel at intervals through the day, the work of the monastery, private prayer and study. We journey through the days together, arriving at Easter Sunday breakfast, after the early morning Vigil Service. And then we talk. And for a little while, speech seems stranger than silence. We’ve been given the gift of silence and in different ways we’ve heard what we needed to hear.

It’s often the most garrulous, sociable people who find the greatest gifts in silence. And it’s often easier than they think!