Today, I don’t want to write anything. Is it possible to make words that make quiet? I think of the sounds rain makes as it falls on the house, the ground, the field. I like to listen to that sound and the way it quiets the world by way of its audible presence. A continual hush saying nothing but listen to this hushing as it shushes everything it touches. All the better if you’ve got a barn to shelter in – one with a tin roof. That sort of rainfall, for me at least, is the loudest, most quieting that I know. Listen to the word “wash.” It is that rainfall. It is a word that makes quiet, isn’t it? A hushing word. 

“Let me wash you,” Jesus told Peter. May we be quieted by that washing.  

What are other sounds – other words that make quiet? 

I think of kitchen sounds, cooking sounds. What do you hear? Not the clang or clamor of pots and pans. My Grandmother used to softly whistle while she cooked. It was a gentle, breathy, unconscious whistling. Never any particular tune, as far as I know. Just a wandering, carefree tunefulness, happy to be making its quiet way around the room as the cooking got underway. I find myself whistling like that sometimes in a quiet kitchen. I’m doing it for a while, before I even notice, and then I am glad to notice and then go back to not noticing.  

A favorite kitchen sound is eggs frying. Eggs cook quickly and they make the best music if you don’t cook them too hot. Just above a medium on the stove at my house is best. That’s right at the point when they’re hot enough to fry. I don’t know the temperature. When eggs are frying just right in butter, oil, or bacon grease, they make a flopping, warbling, murmuring sound. A low gurgle and slap alongside a crispy fizzing sound as the whites whiten. 

Cooking is a place I go in order to quiet. I like the sounds, the smells, colors and textures, even the movement and dance of it. I’m not even getting into all those things right now, but it’s a whole world of goodness. Like many things cooking has become so professionalized as to become scary to normal people. But it’s worth learning to enjoy, if pressure can be alleviated.  

“Go to the upper room and prepare a meal for us there,” Jesus told his disciples. May we be quieted and nourished by good meals. 

So far we’ve got rainfall, washing, whistling, eggs frying… where else might we find? Other sounds and words near at hand that make quiet?  

When I was a child, as the day wound down towards sleep in the evening, my mom would often read to me out loud. Being read-to out loud is a sound that makes quiet. A good story read to us by a loved one, especially if we’re warmly nestled next to them, is like wind bending the grass of a field, or the steadying murmurations of a little stream, or a crackling fire. To read aloud alone is wonderful too, but to be read-to in the evening by a beloved voice is a precious thing. 

  “Today, these words are fulfilled in your hearing,” Jesus told the crowd. May we be quieted and blanketed by good words read aloud. 

Rainfall, washing, whistling, eggs frying, reading out loud… What else? 

About a week ago a friend and I went stargazing. The temperature had dropped pretty severely a few days before and the night-creatures were all too cold to chatter. We only heard a single shivering frog and a few far-away owls. We’d gone to a rural spot to escape the light pollution and so there were no highways or cities nearby. It was a clear night, without even any wind to reverberate among the trees. We noticed the quiet even before our eyes had adjusted enough to attend to the stars. Have you ever been in a room when the washing machine or dryer that you’d forgotten was running finishes its cycle? The sudden quiet can startle you because you hadn’t realized there was so much noise. It was like that under those stars. Living in a city or near one, we hadn’t realized what kind of quiet was even possible. It was coming up for air. 

On top of that, now that we were away from the light pollution (it’s own kind of noise), the clarity and brilliance of the stars was like a music made of quietness to our eyes. Someone said that music, if it is to be life-giving, must begin in silence. Stargazing makes for quiet.  

“Look at the stars, can you count them?” God said to Abraham. May we be quieted beneath the silent music of starlight. 

Rainfall, washing, whistling, eggs frying, reading out loud, stargazing… What else? 

I think of birdsong. Occasionally, I don’t sleep very well. I go to sleep early, sleep a few hours, then I’m up from 2 or 3 am till 5 or 6am. I’ve been up a few times to hear the very first bird wake up and start singing. But even on the nights when I do sleep well, I don’t set an alarm clock. I typically wake up as the sun arrives, and I love to lie still for a long while and listen to the birds. Some birds, of course, are gravelly squawkers. But, in our yard, we have mostly little singers who pipe sweetly at the edge of dawn to welcome the light that is both new and ancient. Some mornings their music is a special calming, cooing mercy, if there’s been a nightmare or a grief to interrupt sleep. They bring with them the lilt and lift of lightness, of “ah! Bright wings” as Hopkins says. 

“And the Holy Spirit descended upon him in the form of a dove,” say the Scriptures of Jesus at his baptism. May we be good perching places for the Holy Spirit’s blessing of quietness and rest.  

Lastly, I remember a funny story when a buddy of mine stopped by to visit but we were both so tired that afternoon that the conversation drifted off slowly until he fell asleep on his couch and I fell asleep on mine. He said later, “now I know we are real friends.” That friendship required no entertainment, no performance, it didn’t even require being awake. One of the most wonderful things to me is to simply be quiet with someone and feel no need to fill the space with any distractions. That kind of quiet is itself a form of affection. It is a vulnerable, quiet trust in that other person’s love for us. It is a listening for a different kind of language, the quiet speech of simple, unadorned presence. The simple goodness of being with someone without any need to justify the worthwhileness of that presence. 

“I have calmed and quieted myself, I am like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child I am content,” says the Psalmist. May we be content in the affection of quiet. 

Rainfall, washing, whistling, eggs frying, reading out loud, stargazing, birdsong, quietness together… What else?