91Èȱ¬

From Dave Tomlinson, writer and vicar at large: 
Just as we were stirring into consciousness on Tuesday – half-awake, with breakfast news mumbling in the background – storm Francis knocked out the power to our neighbourhood. Suddenly, I was wide awake, deafened by the silence. No power…no TV…no mobile signal…no wi-fi. Nothing for it…but to listen to the quiet. It’s not easy, I find - facing silence when we live in a world of ceaseless din and chatter? I’m one of those people who feels compelled to fill silence with words: you know, those awkward silences when the other person’s saying nothing. It took me years (decades, probably) to realise that some people are genuinely comfortable with quiet, that I don’t need to speak when there’s nothing really to say; to understand that silence sometimes conveys more than a thousand words. 
I reckon religion, mostly, has too much to say. The Irish writer, John O’Donohue says there are no words for the deepest things. So maybe the Quakers have it right with their meetings comprised mainly of just sitting quietly. The mediaeval mystic Meister Eckart said there’s nothing in the whole universe that resembles God as much as silence. Some of the most moving and powerful moments I have spent with people suffering through bereavement, sickness or betrayal have been completely silent. At one time, I would have tried to speak words of comfort – or worse, try to offer explanation when there is no explanation, no comfort apart from attentive presence. I’ve been thinking lately that moods are a kind of prayer – feelings of yearning or sadness; of compassion, calm or joy, even feelings of anger I reckon may be a form of prayer. I do not believe that organised religion has a monopoly on prayer. 
And maybe the deepest prayers are outside the realm of religion, when we sense in our belly the unutterable longings, or melancholy, or pleasure, or ecstasy involved in being alive…moods which are not religious, as such, yet intensely religious. I won’t lie, I was relieved when the power returned with its coursing stream of news headlines, emails, social media and the like, yet even those few moments of golden silence – once I relaxed and embraced them – helped me to enter the day more calmly and gratefully (and pleased that Francis was done!)