I woke up this morning with Paul Simon’s “The Sound of Silence” running through my head.
I love that song. The title, the soothing notes of the acoustic guitar, the first lyrics,
“Hello darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence”
I have gone to Quaker Meetings in my faith journey, and learned the value of silence. The Society of Friends, as the Quakers are called, have a meeting format that looks a little like our testimony meetings, except that the Quaker variety has long periods of silence. Silence in our testimony meetings is awkward, and someone has to fill the gap.
Not so among the Friends. After someone shares their spiritual experience, the congregation is *supposed* to be silent — it’s how the spirit talks to us.
I also have spent time in meditation in India. Sri Ramana Maharshi founded an ashram — a contemplative retreat — at the base of a sacred hill in Tamil Nadu. Ramana from his youth found the joy of silence, by communing with all that is, becoming One. His method of teaching was…silence.
So silence has its place. It is a personal, spiritual choice to seek silence amidst the storms of life.
So this morning, as I heard “the Sound of Silence” running through my head, I decided to listen to the song, to look up the lyrics, and to realize what it really says.
As the music builds from its silent, peaceful start, it sings:
“And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence”
It occurs to me that silence is a two edged sword. As a personal contemplative practice, it uplifts me. But when silence suppresses the song of my heart; when I am unable to speak my story, I am, as Paul Simon intones, writing songs that voices never share, for we durst not disturb the sound of silence.
Paul Simon continues his ballad:
“Fools, said I, you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence”
One of the biggest challenges in relationships, in life, is the suppressive act of silence. Sure, in my relationships, blurting out every negative feeling I have for someone is not a good idea — it doesn’t help the relationship. But there is something even more toxic, the silence that grows like a cancer, when we are unable to express our true feelings.
It’s often said that great relationships endure, not because people don’t disagree or fight, but rather, that they know how to express feelings, and always are open to the other’s words and expressions. Silence in a marriage is often a cancer that destroys the relationship.
So also it is within our churches. When I sit in silence amidst declarations of privilege for us and contempt for the “other”, a part of me is in agony. When I hear policies that condemn those who choose to love differently than I do, and if I remain silent, I want to go home and take a shower — I feel filthy because of my silence. When I hear Patriarchy proclaimed and Feminism frustrated, I want to scream out and suppressing this injures my soul.
My voluntary silence destroys me.
But not all silence is voluntary. Sometimes, many times, silence is the tool of oppression. Paul Simon finishes his ballad:
“And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sounds of silence”
This song was written in the 1960s, when there was no internet, no Facebook, no Twitter. When oppression occurred in those days, the voice of expression was not found in the media — these were controlled by the patriarchy. Instead, the “words of the prophets” — and in this definition, “prophets” were those who pointed out the problems in the system — the words of the prophets were written as graffiti.
Today, we have a new means of expression. The oppressed can speak out, and be heard. The words of the prophets, those who speak truth to power, no longer need to be written on subway walls or in tenement halls, but can be proclaimed using social media.
Last year, Alyson Milano asked a question, “Who had been harassed or sexually assaulted?”, and suggested that anyone could come forward on social media and say “me too”. You see, until then, any expression by a woman, or a homosexual/bisexual male that s/he had been assaulted was effectively silenced by shame and a burden of proof so great that very few ever broke the silence.
Last week, the week before conference, the #metoo movement, aided by social media, went on trial, and in a word, was defeated by patriarchy. Mormon patriarchy. Then, at conference, our Prophet asked women — not men — women, to remain silent for the next 10 days on the only effective means they have to speak the sound of silence in the face of oppression.
Coincidence?
Is it also a coincidence that in the Women’s session of conference, the presiding patriarchal leadership of the church lectured women on the traditional roles of women?
A verse in scripture comes to mind. Paul the Apostle allegedly wrote to Timothy (the authorship of 1 Timothy is disputed):
“Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.”
(1 Timothy 2:11-12)
So, from a patriarchal, Christian fundamentalist point of view, the role of women is clear: to be silent, and to be subject to their husbands in silence. No woman can have authority over a man. This is, after all, in scripture, the very Word of God.
Except…not so.
The reality is that deep within fundamental religion is the protection of patriarchy. This verse reveals something very powerful and true to me, that Patriarchy uses silence to suppress and control women.
How rich it is, that in the very weekend that women across the world are reeling from a patriarchal defeat of feminism, that our Prophet would ask women to not only be silent, but to ignore the only place where we can speak truth to power.
Regardless of which side of the fence we are on, regardless of our level of belief in the LDS church, there is a moral issue here:
Shall women be told by men to be silent?
Silence is not an option.
Elie Wiesel said that silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. He should know: he survived the holocaust while losing almost all his loved ones. Ginette Sagan said, “Silence in the face of injustice is complicity with the oppressor”.
When I woke up this morning, I sang the song of my heart, the “Sound of Silence”. Little did I realize that instead of a peaceful ode to contemplation, it is an imperative to break the silence with our voices, our hearts, and our souls.
In like fashion, Jesus Christ, whom we worship as the Son of God, the Prince of Peace, was never silent in the face of oppression by his church. To follow Jesus is to do what Jesus did, to stand in the face of oppression and defend the powerless, the victims, the disenfranchised.
I cannot be silent.
We cannot be silent.
We must not be silent.