Silence
I don’t often delve into the forum of religion (specifically mine) on this blog (or anywhere for that matter). It shouldn’t come as any surprise that I am LDS (Mormon); that I attend an LDS sponsored Univeristy where, being a member of that church, I get a discount on tuition; nor should it be a surprise that I am active within my local congregation – though not because I need it to attend school (that is true); though being active means I can attend school.
Today in a History of Christianity class taught by a professor of Religion on campus, we were, briefly, introduced to the monastic theory of life. The word monk is derived from the Greek word monos meaning alone or solitary. The second half of monastic is derived from ascetic which also comes from the Greek askesis which means to exercise in a physical sense.
The term monk carries with it the notion of a solitary life. To be a priest of the Church (Catholic – you decide which version) also meant a monos or solitary life – dedicated to the church and God first, through which your actions would seem pure and simple by serving, as Christ served, those around you. In a parish this would mean the parishioners or, back to Christ, the flock. However, as a monk the objective was, separate from everyone else, to grow closer to God through silent meditation removed from the world. As a cursory examination of the monastic life, the monk would spend time growing closer to the Spirit (e.g. God) through silent and persistent meditation, rarely returning to the world because exposure to the world removed one from the pure communion that exists between God and the monastic servants.
This is not exactly conducive to LDS theology. Meaning, as a church we believe the best way to serve (and grow closer to) God is to serve the people around you. This is not limited to a parish or a specific flock, but rather an expansion of the notion of neighbor presented by Christ to a certain man. Asked of Christ: ”…And who is my neighbor?”
30. And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.
31. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.
32. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.
33. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him,
34. And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.
35. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.
36. Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?
37. And he said, He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.
(New Testament | Luke 10:30 - 37)
This definition offers a very broad view of who our neighbor is and should be. What this is meant to illustrate is that the monastic life is one that is… abhorrent (?) to the Lord because, in essence, you are removing yourself from the presence of society as a whole thereby removing yourself from the opportunity to serve. This opportunity is essential (in my opinion) to proper worship; and yet, through strong Greek influence, the monastic lifestyle took hold in early Christianity and caused men (and women) to remove themselves from society as pious believers and followers of a flawed order (again, this is my opinion).
And yet, the ideal of silence, of silent, thoughtful worship is not counter to proper religious worship and understanding. In the monastic structure the belief can simply be stated that the individual can most effectively grow closer to God through persistent, constant, silent meditation. In essence, you give away all that you have, all that you are, in order to obtain mercy from God. And yet, where does the notion of neighbor play into the overarching scope of what it means to truly worship God?
As an active member of the LDS church I get the opportunity to serve within whatever congregation I am a member of. At present (because I am single) this is limited to specific areas. My current “calling” is as a ward clerk. When the Bishop (principle ecclesiastic and temporal authority over the congregation) asked me what I thought about having my name put forward for the calling his initial statement was something like, “How would you feel about going after the lost sheep?” Meaning, there were members of our congregation that had not been to church, had not attended meetings, or had moved and not had their records moved that were unknown to the ward leadership (e.g. the Bishop and his two councilors). It would become (I believe this may still be accurate) my responsibility to find and record these “lost sheep,” which in turn means hitting the pavement to find them.
This is not exclusive of human contact. It is not monastic. Instead, it is a very open and outgoing position that requires me to be something other than what I normally enjoy – the loan wolf. I think this represents how the LDS church represents its core theological beliefs. We are to go out into the world and attempt to bring people to Christ through our example, our actions, and, where necessary, through concerted efforts in teaching. We are not to teach or convert through coercion, through force, through trickery, or through other abhorrent means. The calling of a missionary is a public and direct calling out in the world where the missionary is among people but, at the same time, through Christ separate from them.
Therein lies the rub. Religious tradition would dictate that silent meditation is the best, and most direct, way to get to God. The monastic lifestyle, though appealing to me, would mean permanently separating myself from society, leaving behind my worldy possessions and the things I like, hold dear, and dedicating myself, twenty-four/seven, to silent, contemplative worship of deity. The result would be, someday, that I would achieve a measure of exaltation through my forgoing the world in order to worship the Savior.
There are examples, in current canon, where people have separated themselves from society for a time to commune (converse) with God. In the Old Testament, Moses went on the Mount (Sinai) to converse with God for 40 days at a stint. In some instances he was accompanied by his brother or other elders, in most instances he was alone hearing, being taught, and learning to understand the word of God.
Christ went into the wilderness (the desert) to commune with His Father (we call him Heavenly Father or God) and as such, spent a period of (supposed) solitude conversing with God, being taught, and (presumably) learning to understand his role.
In the Book of Mormon we have other examples. Specifically, Enos went into the woods and conversed with God through prayer. The Brother of Jared went into the mountains to converse with God, alone, and as a result saw the finger of God. Nephi went to the top of the mountains to receive direction (alone) and came back with knowledge on how to build a ship. His descendent, Nephi, also spent time alone on his tower praying to God and causing such a stir at his mourning for his people, had attention drawn to his solitary act and was able to preach and prophesy the Word to the Nephites (who had begun to apostatize).
The idea of a silent, monastic life has some foundation; but in following that life we forget that we are also called to serve others. We are called to be out in the world, living our lives, and helping out wherever we can. We are instructed to be like the Samaritan, who was abhorrent to the Jews because of his mixed breeding, and help out anyone who needs our help. A Jew on the side of the road who was ignored by a priest and a Levite who ignored him on their way. Did they have good cause? Possibly. Christ doesn’t tell us more about them other than their status in the Jewish society; but the Samaritan, someone who was considered as dross, chose to stop, help, pay for the injured man’s lodging and care, and promised that if he did not provide enough money would give more on his return visit.
Being a monk (to me) means leaving behind the headaches that come in dealing with other people. Admittedly, it is a struggle, some days, to deal with the people around me. Not that I don’t like them or appreciate them, but because we see life from totally different spectrums. It sometimes feels like I am around a lot of people who allegedly believe the same things I do and constantly miss the point. With that said, it is probably me that misses the point; but leaving society, people, the world behind me is not going to draw me closer to God. Rather, that concerted effort for long periods of time, though good in the short run, becomes counter-productive and I don’t grow closer to God, but rather build distance between me and deity.
There are places, as members of the LDS church, where you can go and be quiet. The most notable of these is the Temple. There are a lot of them and as I am in Utah, I believe we counted 13 operational or under construction (read announced) temples. For most people, a short drive, and you are removed from the hustle and bustle of the world. You get to meditate on life, on self, on things pertaining to God and, in the process, grow closer. The temple, according to LDS theology, is literally the House of God or where God may be among his people. As this is the case, you remove the negative influences of the world by 1) being personally worthy to enter God’s house; and 2) through his authority that made it a sanctified place.
At the same time, if you want to be more like examples from canon, you can go into the woods and spend some solitary time there with your thoughts and with God discussing, through prayer, the ideas that you have while trying to prepare yourself to receive an answer. Answers don’t always come immediately or quickly, but they do come. They are not blasts of light or knowledge, an audible voice, and often represent a feeling or impression, something that urges you in a direction; though the stronger feelings can come. These feelings, though, come through quiet contemplation, sincere meditation, and preparation by the individual to grow closer to deity. They require observance of commandments and expectations. They require that you be a part of the world but not of the world and only through this practice can you achieve the connection (communion) with God that you desire.
Another place is in your room at night before bed: study, pray, ponder, meditate. These are the elements that are necessary for the individual to grow closer to God, to His son, and ultimately, it is probably a collection of these silent moments that build together to form a greater understanding (and communion) with God. You can’t just dedicate your life to a monastic philosophy and hope that God will, one day, decide to commune with you. If you are not, inherently, doing your part in the process (“Feed my sheep, feed my lambs”) than communion may never happen.
You can turn off the radio in your car and spend the time in careful and quiet contemplation. If I am driving alone and I know I am going to be hours on the road I like to have a running dialogue with God where I speak, out loud, my thoughts and feelings, I weigh what I am feeling in response, and ultimately, I feel better for having done it. Granted, this is not always silent – though some trips are made in complete silence (outside of the road noise and hum of the motor), but the solitary nature of the journey helps me to embark on a personal journey that helps me draw closer to God. In short, I grow closer to true communion with God (I feel) when I prepare myself in advance and then spend hours in verbal and silent conversation with Him.
The idea of silence as a concerted and temporary effort may be unique to other Christian faiths. I think as an LDS member of the church it isn’t a bad idea to take oneself out of the world, for a time, and just contemplate things that are beyond mortal understanding and mortal comprehension. We are flawed in that we grow old and die in a relatively short space of time. One of the defining characteristics of God is that he existed before the world was and will continue to exist after the world ceases to exist. In essence, according to science, He’s been around for millions of years (at least) and this time reference gives Him an understanding that far surpasses our.
I think that moments of silence are precious and should be sought after. I think we can grow closer to God by finding moments of silence where we can, temporarily, separate ourselves out of the world. I think that a monastic belief is counter-productive to the overall schema of religious growth. I also think that we should seek after all things that are good and lovely and silence is both good and lovely in its place.
One of the tenets to LDS theology is that most things are good in moderation. We talk about eating meats in their season, and grains in their season; we talk about exercise, about reading the scriptures, about all sorts of things that, taken out of context and used out of moderation become bad things. The problem is that what would be out of moderation for me is not necessarily out of moderation for someone else. What is out of control for someone else may not be for me. We are not asked what is our point of moderation, though, but commanded to be faithful in all things. Within the LDS theology one of those things is The Word of Wisdom.
Can someone find a level of moderation in what is forbidden in The Word of Wisdom? Absolutely. But we are not given that as an option. We are not, literally, given a monastic life as an option. We are not asked to give up the world for a strictly religious life. We are not asked to forgo human contact in lieu of spiritual contact. We are not told to do a lot of things that zealots choose to do with their lives because they see one road, they resonate with that road, and in the end they follow that path to its conclusion. In monastic theology the conclusion is a complete separation from the world with concerted, and consistent, daily worship in silence.
This is not something LDS theology follows, nor do I think it something LDS theology will follow. In short, we are to be members of communities, giving back, helping those we can help and those we come across on our travels, we are required to serve within the church, to worship in our meetings, to lift up others in their worship, to visit those who need visiting – in its essence, we are required to be neighbors to all those we come in contact with. We are required to love all people; but, at the same time, we are expected to find moments of silence, of personal time, of contemplation where we can, for a brief moment, draw closer to God. It is through the principle of loving ones neighbor that we achieve true growth, enlightenment, and communion.
Look for moments of silence; seek for those whose lives you can be a part of.