The Fog Horn of Silence

Advent Greetings to all of you. Here at the monastery we are into our third day of our "Contemplative Days", which are days of silence and a more limited work schedule. These are not so much retreat days as (we do two formal eight day retreats each year) contemplative days in which we have a limited number of guests, we are totally silent, and while we continue to work on projects we have a limited amount of work around the house, no meetings, no retreats to lead, and no spiritual direction. It is good for us to practice what we preach!

Those of you who have been to the monastery know that we sit on a beautiful piece of land right on the Hudson River. It is a gorgeous spot and we are, each and every day, grateful that God has called us to this place. Today, the Hudson River Valley is totally fogged in. The Valley in fog is quite a site to see. It has a kind of mystical appeal that is difficult to describe, but it is one that makes me feel completely at home. It creates a kind of feeling within me that elicits that of being wrapped in a warm blanket, an invitation to sit still, have a cup of hot chocolate, be quiet, and to know that there is a bright shining sun just on the other side of that fog, reveling in the life it fosters and waiting to basked in;  or perhaps a moon-lit night hoping for an admirer to look up and fall in love with it's glow and mystery all over again.

I love the sun and the moon and the river and I love when I can see them all in their glory. But I also dearly love the fog because it captures an aspect of my faith life that must be acknowledged. I know the sun and the moon and the river are there but I'm just not always able to see them. Or perhaps, I'm not always allowed to see them. That feels like my experience of God sometimes. I have an incarnate faith and believing very deeply in that Incarnation, it is sometimes just good to sit in the middle of the fog. I know God is there, I just can't always see God.

I think sitting in the fog simply helps us embrace the mystery of a faith that is all about Emmanuel - God with Us - but is equally about a mystery so deep, so imaginative, so foggy, that you need a fog horn to lead you away from danger and toward the home in which you truly belong.

All day long the fog horns have been blowing on the two ships anchored behind the monastery. These are very large freight ships that have been there for a couple of days, and every thirty-seconds they are giving off two five-second blows of the horn in order to ward off any other ships or boats that can not see them. I promise you, these are very large ships, yet the fog is so thick, that this safety precaution is necessary. Living on such a major river thoroughfare, I have certainly seen (heard) this before, but not quite like today.

And all of this racket in the middle of our silence. Frankly, I love it. All that blowing of the horns has begun to make me think of silence as a kind of fog horn. When we have a lifestyle that includes some periods of intentional silence, with a goal of listening for God, that is a tool that can help us to navigate the river of our life. That tool is God's way of helping us to ward off danger, but more importantly, to bring us closer to our home. Closer to safe harbor. Closer to God.

This Advent, I invite you to listen for the fog horn of silence. Sometimes when we can't see, we need to hear. And when we hear, we know that God is near, very near indeed.

Peace be upon you.