The Sound of Silence

Many of you are familiar with Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor and theologian known for his heroic stand in opposition to the Nazis during World War II, and his ultimate martyrdom in a concentration camp for the cause of justice. But there’s a lesser-known part of his story that I’ve always found profoundly moving.

From 1930-31, just after finishing his doctoral degree at the age of 21, Bonhoeffer spent a year as a fellow at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. During his time in New York, he was involved with the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem, one of the historic African American churches of the city, where he worked with the youth group and, as he put it, “heard the gospel for the first time.” He returned to Germany after that fellowship year and was ordained as a Lutheran pastor, and in 1932, he was assigned as part of his ordination process to teach a confirmation class of boys at the Zion Church in a poor area of Berlin known as the Wedding District. The class of 50 boys was unruly, loud, and essentially uncontrollable. They terrorized their previous teacher, an elderly minister, who died mere weeks after turning the class over to Bonhoeffer. Richard Beck writes this about the day he took over the class:

“As the minister and Bonhoeffer first climbed the stairs in the school where the classes were to be held, the boys, on the landings above, threw things down upon them. Once they arrived at the classroom, the minister informed the boys that a new teacher was taking over. His name was Bonhoeffer. Hearing this, the boys started screaming and chanting louder and louder ‘Bon! Bon! Bon!’

The harried minister beat a hasty retreat, abandoning Bonhoeffer to the chaos.Facing the storm, Bonhoeffer stood silently, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Minutes passed. The boys quieted some, and then Bonhoeffer began speaking.He spoke in a quiet voice. Only the boys in the front row could hear him. Silence soon fell across the room.

Bonhoeffer told a story about his time in Harlem. The boys stayed quiet, listening intently.When he finished, Bonhoeffer said that if they wanted to hear more stories he would tell more next time. Then he dismissed the class. And that was the end of all the behavior problems.”

I love that story about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in part because it’s such a “small” and seemingly less significant part of his larger story. When we think of him, it’s usually in the context of his opposition to Hitler, his work with the underground church, and his death at the hands of the Nazis. Big events, world history—a stage that would seem to require a big personality. But sometimes, to get people to listen, you have to be quiet.

That’s a lesson the prophet Elijah learns in one of my favorite stories from the Hebrew Scriptures. In I Kings 19, Elijah is on the run from King Ahab and Queen Jezebel after defeating their false prophets. He’s feeling a bit sorry for himself as he sits under a tree in the desert, when God comes to him and takes him to the entrance of a cave. All kinds of great and amazing things pass before him—a fire, an earthquake, a great wind—but God is not in any of them. But then, a sound of sheer silence, a still small voice—and there, in the silence, Elijah meets God. It wasn’t in the expected places, the dramatic signs and wonders, but in the silence. Elijah’s journey took him to the edge of the abyss, and he learned to never think about life in the same way again.

Elijah’s extraordinary experience would, I think, be good news for a lot of people today. We live in a world that doesn’t often know how to slow down and listen. All around us, we are surrounded by noise and by competing voices, trying to shut down the others by sheer volume or force of will. We live in a loud world, and not just audibly; the constant glow of screens, neon and bright lights, a barrage of advertising and spectacle competing for our ever more limited time and attention. The cacophony can so easily drown out the small, still moments, the quiet voices, the ordinary people and places that God would have us notice. It can overwhelm us and make us feel that there is no real place of peace in this world; or worse yet, dull our senses so that we wouldn’t notice it if we tried. We have so many choices and options now that we can become paralyzed and frozen into inaction, unsure of just which way to go.

But God’s way of operating is different from the way our world works. In God’s way, as Elijah learned, it isn’t always the grand or flashy moments, the special effects or the mighty people, that bring new life and transformation. It’s in those places where we least expect to find God, that God shows up. In the stillness, in the midst of a world gone mad with noise. In the humble baby born of peasant parents rather than in the halls of royalty. In the still small voice within, instead of the shouting of kings and generals or presidents. Even in prayer, we sometimes need to learn, we can talk too much, when sometimes we just need to learn how to listen. There’s a story that once, when Mother Teresa was asked about her prayer life and what she said to God in prayer, she responded that she didn’t say anything; she just listened. The interviewer then asked her what it was that she heard God say when she listened; and she responded that God didn’t say anything either. He listened.

Today, I hope you’ll find a quiet moment or two and listen for that still, small voice that whispers your name and reminds you that you are beloved.