Wholeness from the Homeless: The Dignity of Silence

   
      On my most recent street walk, my teammates and I met a man standing near a bus stop. It was difficult to have a conversation, since his speech was somewhat incoherent, and drowned out by the sounds of the city. He used his hands to make many gestures, trying to express the many thoughts that clearly had been percolating in his mind.  
 
      If you’re in a situation like this, perhaps your instinct would be to try to clarify verbally what the person is trying to say. You'd understandably want to keep the conversation progressing. It also avoids the awkwardness of silence. I definitely experienced this tension as my street team and I stood there, trying to make sense of this man’s words. I wanted to jump in with a question, or even a comment that *hopefully* would have something to do with what he was saying, to encourage dialogue.  

       But I felt a gentle tug away from these impulses whenever they came up. It silenced the words that tried to escape from me. I think my team felt it as well. Here and there, we asked him some basic, get-to-know-you questions. But for the most part, we stood there quietly, doing our best to give this man the space he deserved to express his mind...even as we lacked understanding.  

       I think many of us, whether or not we are conscious of it, have an aversion to silence. We shove in earbuds whenever we go out (I’m listening to music as I type this up). We watch video after video and scroll endlessly on the internet. We try as much as possible to avoid the dreaded “awkward silence” in conversations. Perhaps it’s even worse for those of us who have been hurt by other people’s silence. We desire as much communication as possible from others, so that we aren’t left in the dark, to be assured that everything’s “fine.” 

What are we running away from? 

Silence as Reverence 

     When my friends and I go out to the streets, some may be surprised to find that we often adopt a posture of silence with the people we encounter. We aren’t doing it just to be silent; it is so that we can give these men and women the space to be authentically themselves, and for them to be truly heard from the depths of their hearts. Too often has society denied them the chance to be truly seen and heard.  
 
Could it be possible that silence is not the enemy we think it is?  
 
    We come to know the other—and ourselves—better because of it. We hear them better, with what is spoken and what is unspoken. This is especially true in our relationship with God.  

    Sometimes we may be angry at Him, for seemingly ignoring our cries for help. But perhaps He is trying to teach us something through our perceived silence from Him.  
 
   What if He was giving us the space to be truly ourselves before Him, without any masks (no pun intended.)? That He may truly know us? Of course, He already knows us inside and out, but He desires for us to willingly reveal ourselves to Him.  

       Could it be that the silence is the answer to our questions for the time being? That perhaps this is how God sometimes honors the totality of our hearts—with all that is whole and broken--instead of a clear-cut response? To let us be completely and utterly human before Him? To let us have our say instead of silencing us? 
 
     I will be the first to admit that this can be very frustrating. I am still not 100% certain as to why I endured the things I endured. It feels as though I have even more questions. And every time I cry out to Him in the silence of prayer, or process these things with my spiritual director, nothing has really penetrated quite yet.  

       In the silence, though, I come to know my own inner poverty, and just how desperately I need to depend on Him. I come to know what I severely lack, and what I’m running away from. Only then, can I lower my defenses and surrender it all. His silence is a silence that does not condemn; it is one that is an invitation to a deeper, more profound relationship with Him, one that calls us to become as authentic as possible. And that authenticity brings about an unexpected healing, as it opens us to receive the ultimate gift: God Himself. 

Hazel Jordan is an Office & Communications Assistant at Our Lady of Lourdes. She is currently pursuing a Master's in Theology at the St. Paul Seminary School of Divinity. A recent graduate of the University of St. Thomas, she continues to be active in the faith community there, leading and developing a street ministry program that forms students to encounter the homeless in the Twin Cities. Among other things, she is a self-taught artist and musician, proudly acquiring graphic design and guitar/songwriting skills!