Going against the current tide of Christianity—a culture that has lost the art of withdrawing and seeking, wasn’t and still isn’t easy. Religion taught that a commitment to Christ was shown by how many meetings you could attend and how much you could do for the church. The noisy chatter and activity covering over the neglect and emptiness within. Reinforcing these words has been the societal pressures that say we must live energetically and vigorously on the outside of life, being valued by what is seen and done.
Jesus, when teaching the disciples how to pray, was very practical. “When you pray, go into your room, close the door behind you and pray to the Father, who is unseen (Matthew 6:6).” Now Jesus was not criticizing public prayer but was telling them to find a secret place where their body, soul and spirit could be renewed and restored. Just as God is unseen, so must we be unseen. In the weeks that followed, the disciples found that regular withdrawal from people and activity was the one predictable thing about Jesus. Whatever demands were upon his life, he always found a time and place to hide away and pray. At first, the idea of spending time in solitude and silence seemed strange to the disciples and continues to be a strange thought to some today.
My first attempt at “hiding away” was spent at the no frills, fasting section of the local Catholic monastery. Upon arrival, a nun welcomed me, walked me down a long corridor to my sparsely furnished room where I was left alone for the next three days. No phone. No food. No people. The barebones room was outfitted with a hard narrow bed, one straight back wooden chair sitting by a small square table, two drawers to store my clothes and a shared bathroom down the hallway.
Although it felt odd to be alone, my anticipation overshadowed the silence. Stretching out of the bed, I promptly fell asleep and slept throughout the day and most of the night. To my dismay, I didn’t even have a dream to mark this spiritual adventure. Feeling guilty for sleeping instead of pursuing, I knelt beside my bed to pray. It didn’t take long for my knees to start cramping in this unfamiliar position, so I grabbed my Bible and note pad, and stepped out into the warm morning sun. Finding a place of shade, I leaned against a tall oak tree and once again attempted to quiet myself.
It didn’t work.
Almost immediately I was flooded with loud random thoughts, making concentration impossible. I had no idea such noise was in me!
But I didn’t quit!
Amid the noisy chatter I whispered the name of Jesus over and over until finally, hours later, I began to experience moments of genuine, absolute stillness. There was a physical quality to the silence. Intense. Alarming. Powerful. And it was here, that I finally discovered the sweet silence of God’s presence.
If you are withdrawing from the sounds of the world for the first time, know that the kind of experience I have just described is not unusual. Our minds are often like a ball of tangled yarn that can only be undone by the Holy Spirit. It takes time to sort through the clutter and clear out a silent space within us where we are drawn into His presence. Although it can be a deeply disturbing experience, the unraveling process is deeply loving.
Now I realize most people can’t go to a monastery to hide away. So, be creative. Whatever you choose as your quiet place, whether it be sitting in your favorite chair while the rest of the household is asleep, or in a parking lot on your way home from work—it needs to be a regular commitment—not a place to visit when you are in the mood. Once there, keep the time simple and don’t be tempted to fill it up with prayers and reading. Give the time to God and Just…Be…Still
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