The movie Amadeus features a memorable scene in which Emperor Joseph II approaches Mozart after the premiere of his opera Die Entführung aus dem Serail and awkwardly suggests that Mozart uses “too many notes.” A perplexed Mozart responds, “There are just as many notes as I require.” To which his patron replies, “There are in fact only so many notes that the ear can hear in the course of an evening…. Just cut a few, and it will be perfect.”
Trying to tamp down his indignation, Mozart asks, “Which few did you have in mind, Majesty?”
Churches are in the word business. Our “notes” are words of scripture, preaching, teaching, meeting, and greeting. As you look at your ministry, are there too many words?
Throughout scripture we hear invitations to silence, imperatives to keep silent and wait for the Lord, insistences that in the hush we gain wisdom and an experience of the living God.
Psalm 62:
For God alone my soul waits in silence;
from him comes my salvation.
God alone is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall never be shaken.
Isaiah 41:
Listen to me in silence, O coastlands;
let the peoples renew their strength;
let them approach, then let them speak;
let us together draw near for judgment.
Psalm 46:
Be still and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations;
I am exalted in the earth.
Psalm 141:
I call upon you, O Lord; come quickly to me;
give ear to my voice when I call to you.
Let my prayer be counted as incense before you
and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.
Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord;
keep watch over the door of my lips.
So too, in the Gospels and Acts, teachings from Jesus or the Apostles and others are preceded by silence—the crowd grows hushed, falling silent before hearing testimony about the Living God.
And yet, in our own eagerness to know things, tell things, and do things as part of our faith life, silence gets crowded out. What would happen if we tried to use not quite so many “notes”? Not everything is improved by more explanation. Often, the more words used, the harder it is to experience the Holy in our midst. Alas, the default setting for most Western Christians is to tell, talk, announce, orient, and explain.
In the following poem, American writer Elisabeth Murawski catalogues the varieties of silence we might hear in the hush.
Kinds of Silence
by Elisabeth Murawski
After heavy snow.
After the last breath.
Before lightning strikes.
Before the first breath.
In a spider’s web.
In a musical rest.
Of a sleeping dog.
Of a stone general’s breast.
With an old friend.
With a favorite brother.
From the mouth of God.
From a cold mother.
On closing a book.
On fearing what’s to come.
Under a witch’s spell.
Under a dictator’s thumb.
By a frozen river.
By a stone that’s leaning.
At the end of a war.
At another war’s beginning.
What do you notice about the kinds of silence that Murawski names?
What kinds of silence are you drawn to?
When in the course of an ordinary day do you fall silent or practice silence? (And …what is the difference between “practicing silence” or “falling silent”?)
When in the course of a worship service does your congregation practice silence?
How about in the course of a church board meeting? What happens after the silence?
Which words could you take out of your church board meeting without loss of meaning?
How about your worship service?
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