Condemning Our Fear of Silence

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In the first Passion prediction in Mark 8:31-38, Peter speaks when he should be listening, revealing how important it is to listen — because we’re likely to get the mission of Jesus wrong.


Condemning Our Fear of Silence

We are so bothered by silence, we struggle to hear Jesus
Lent 2B  |  Mark 8:31-38

This story of Jesus is one of my absolute favorites. This is Jesus, the rabbi at his best.

And we, as teachers and students of Jesus’s gospel of love should really take notice.

So let’s back up just a hair to what happens right before this story begins. Because this is the second half of a two-part series. And unlike most shows, the happy resolution comes before the cliffhanger.

Good News

We remember that Jesus starts the conversation earlier in chapter 8. They’re in the north, near a prominent Greek city. And he’s walking along; they’re following.

Jesus asks his followers who people think he is.

They offer some pretty predictable options. He’s more than just a faith healer and more than a regular prophet: he’s got real power like Elijah. So people are talking in that ballpark.

So then Jesus asks these followers who they think he is.

And Peter says—the Messiah/Christ.

A word which should remind us of that opening line of Mark:

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

It’s that same word in Greek. Christ/Messiah. So when we hear Peter say that, we already know he’s saying the right thing.

Peter names the truth out loud.

And moments later, Jesus is rebuking Peter for speaking up at a different moment.

Identity

Jesus asks them about his identity. This isn’t some idle conversation; this is teaching. They’re in their rightful position behind him.

He then teaches them something far more difficult to hear.

“Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.”

Now, this isn’t a dialogue. It’s time to be quiet and listen.

Peter, who gave us the right identity answer like he aced the test, now tries to correct the teacher in front of the class. A correction which does three things.

  1. It proves he didn’t understand the right answer he gave moments ago.
  2. He attempts to prevent Jesus from doing the work he’s called to do.
  3. He physically moves himself and Jesus out of the rabbi/disciple relationship with Jesus in front of Peter to one of equals.

Peter becomes a stumbling block, an impediment to Jesus. And Jesus constantly rejects and condemns stumbling blocks throughout the gospel: things which impede growth, faith, maturity, and development are sinful.

Here, Peter is physically, literally placing his body between Jesus and his work.

The physical movement of their bodies demonstrates the deeper meaning in their words. And this leaves the teacher no choice but to condemn his student and the student’s action.

Peter is out of line (literally) and becomes a tempter and stumbling block—like Satan, and the very thing he’s supposed to be doing, being silent and listening, he isn’t.

Dealing with Silence

In our talky culture, we can’t handle silence.

Studies show that people grossly overestimate the amount of time which passes when we’re silent. Teachers will invite students to sit in their seats, put their heads down, and without counting in their minds, they are invited to raise their hands when they think a minute has passed.

Students start raising their hands after only 15 seconds.

Silence is powerful and uncomfortable.

Most of us feel the need to fill the space. With talking or music. I used to get up in the morning and turn on music because I needed something for the 45 seconds it took me to gather my clothes and jump in the shower.

But our lives are full of noise and stimulation. And research is finding a great correlation between a lack of boredom and a lack of creativity. We’re filling our lives and it’s making us less capable of handling them.

Think about that slippery slope: indulging our fear of silence makes things worse. And our fear more certain.

And the greatest obstacle to human flourishing, vibrant living, eternal life is fear.

Jesus’s constant and consistent reminder to not fear may be his most important teaching.

Silence in our Liturgy

We so often embody this fear of silence when we come together on Sunday morning and race through our liturgy.

Some of you may know what it’s like to experience a “Micro Machines Liturgy” — where a fast-talking priest races through the prayers like he’s being charged by the minute.

Or you know the aching that comes from embracing silence. I could prove that ache to us by sitting down and making all of us sit in silence for 5 minutes. And maybe 2 or 3 of us would actually like it.

But our liturgy is full of intentional breaks from talking: from the monologues and dialogues of worship.

And one place I like to pause is right before the Collect. You won’t find a rubric for silence here, but the collect is our first collecting prayer—like they say in another liturgy “collecting our prayers and praises into one”.

So I want us to pause long enough to actually do that; to collect our prayers together. That means collecting the thoughts and concerns and hopes and anxieties each of us came in with and offering them up to God for release.

And then we sit and we listen. We listen to scripture and a response from the pulpit. A time to hear Jesus speak to us and reflect and learn; to learn how to follow and become students and teachers both. Students and teachers of love.

Remembering in Silence

Together we say the Nicene Creed, then praying responsively, listening and responding — appealing, interceding, praising, and longing — sometimes filled with silence.

But the only place in our liturgy in which silence is not an option, but the norm is the Fraction.

We’ve prayed together as a people of great longing and hope for the Spirit to be with us at the table. We’ve heard about our human need and the sacrifice of Jesus — the teaching and the remembering — and we have finished the great prayer of thanksgiving with a loud AMEN!

And then prayed the prayer Jesus taught his followers: The Lord’s Prayer.

Here, the Prayer Book is direct. On page 364:

“The Celebrant breaks the consecrated Bread.
“A period of silence is kept.
“Then may be sung or said”

The bread is broken and silence is to be kept.

This is the only time silence isn’t optional — the time we stand and feel and listen and ache in our anxious selves. This part, when we break the bread and remember, we keep silent so we can remember.

Of course, the church can’t handle it. We have to have music. Or we have to race past the moment to get on with things—like brewing coffee, eating donuts, or gathering for our vestry meeting.

But the rubrics couldn’t be clearer.

“A period of silence is kept.”

So I keep it. And I bow in honor so we can all remember.

Facing our Fears

We need silence. Not just to listen, but to pray, to hear, to quiet our minds and our fears.

We need silence so we can face that fear and hear what Jesus is actually trying to say. That he is the Christ/Messiah. But that doesn’t make him a king or a conqueror. He isn’t ruling over the powerful but showing the weakness of power.

Silence helps us put others before ourselves: to listen, to dignify, to value them.

Silence helps us hear. We’ll speak soon enough.

Now we listen. Like God will say on the mountain in the next chapter: “Listen to him!”

Listen to these teachings and what is to come: to the upside down economy of God’s jubilee kin-dom. Hear how we are all walking to Jerusalem, to the cross, to a time of darkness and death with Jesus’s words singing in our ears

“For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”

Listen to what we are truly being saved from: fear, anxiety, and lives emptied by hate. Saved with sacrificial love, fraternal love, generous love, hopeful love, passionate love. Saved by our own sacrifice, facing our fears, knowing we are never alone in this. Even when we can’t hear anything.