at a loss for words

. . . and yet I still have so much that I think I need to say. That seems to be the nature of emptiness, we need to fill the space with words. The words don't always need to make sense, because it is noise that we think we need. How appropriate that this should come during a season of Lent, that I must be forced to choose between the hideous notion of trite and random thoughts and the meditative quiet of passing time, where I might just be able to snag one brief listen of the still small voice.

Words reinforce, reproach, remove. Thoughts, however, have the ability to redirect and renew. Perhaps it is because we are people who are more than the sum of our body parts, we are minds that think and we are spirits which connect. Time given to reflection during life's poignant moments is a fast in itself, and the deflection of clamoring can stop the recess of a person into the fallen and give opportunity for the Spirit to raise up.

This, of course, is why the world is so loud. The primary function of those things which are non-kingdom is to keep us from being about our king's business. And if the noise drags us downward, and we are caught up in the noise then we are not being part of this kingdom. So, we are called to be empty of ourselves and of our world; completely emptied and without any words at our disposal, a loss of great magnitude. More than that, it is a loss of eternal significance. Being emptied of the world and not even being able to find our words - for, so great is our depravity - is the only way to hear the deafening silence of his intensely pure presence.

Such is the only path to becoming filled. But not filled with more words or noise or stuff of the earth. It is instead the filling of his life and his love, his breath and his bread, his wisdom and his word. There is hurt in noise, for so often we allow the most untamed part of us to reek havoc on persons, relationships, families and churches. There is healing - most importantly, there is peace - in the still small voice. So, let us always remember the words of Qohelet.

. . . a time to be silent and a time to speak . . .