Welcome to "Tuesday Mornings," a source of encouragement for Christians everywhere.

 

We attended our first "completely contemporary" church worship service on Sunday. I thought I understood "contemporary." I wasn't even close. I thought I understood "loud." I wasn't even close on that count either. I thought I understood "theater." Strike three.

 

But we attended church in the company of about 200 young people who understood it all. And they enjoyed it all. And they accepted us, just as we were. We may go back.

 

During the musical part of the service, I thought how nice it would be to be deaf. It was a fleeting thought. I have close friends who are hearing impaired, and my heart goes out to them. They can't "hear" music played or sung. They can't "hear" the deep rumble of a base guitar or a low register on a pipe organ. They may be able to "feel" it—like we did Sunday, but they can't "hear" it. They can't hear a robin sing or a baby cry. They will never hear Itzhak Perlman play Tchaikovsky or Mendelssohn.

 

I cannot comprehend what it would be like to live in a world of silence. Some people have done this all of their lives. Helen Keller was one who did. And she was blind as well. But she overcame amazing odds to make her mark in society. Her quotes are amazing as her accomplishments. Here is one of her quotes I like:

 

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched.

They must be felt within the heart.

 

Within the heart. She knew something. She knew that "reality" could be felt, even if it couldn't be seen or heard.

 

One more thought. At the tomb of Lazarus in John 11, Jesus taught his friends a lesson about deathly silence. He cut through the silence of death when he shouted into the tomb, "Lazarus, come forth!" The corpse of Lazarus heard, and he came out of that tomb. Have you ever wondered what would have happened at that cemetery if Jesus had not called him by name? I think I know. Every dead corpse buried on those grounds would have heard and responded. His voice could be "felt" even where death prohibited it from being heard.

 

Today's epistle is entitled, "Silence." It is attached. Read on whenever you are ready. Then be prepared to listen to the voice of Jesus cut through the silence of your life. Even if you cannot hear it, you will feel it. Lazarus did.

 

Tom Barnard

A Senior Encourager

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Silence

Tom Barnard

 

f “silence is golden,” as the old saying goes, then “listening must be platinum.” My dad used to say that it is better to remain silent and be thought dumb than to speak and remove all doubt. Not exactly Shakespearean, but it’s good for a man who went to school only through the ninth grade.

 

Silence, for almost everyone, is a learned behavior. There are many people, however, for whom silence is not an option—it is a byproduct of being deaf and mute. Add blind to the mix, and you have Helen Keller. Helen was born on June 27, 1880 in Tuscumbia, Alabama, the daughter of Captain Arthur Keller and Kate Adams Keller. In February, 1882, when Helen was only nineteen months old, she became seriously ill, and for a time the family feared she would die. Eventually, however, the fever left, but so did her ability to hear and see. She was to remain without sight and hearing for the rest of her life.

 

When Helen was seven years old, a friend of the family helped them connect with Anne Sullivan, a sight-impaired young woman who had just graduated from the Perkins Institute for the Blind in South Boston. Anne and Helen became friends, and Anne became Helen’s close companion for 49 years, until Anne’s health failed. After Anne’s death in 1936, Polly Thompson—who had worked for Helen as a secretary for nearly 20 years—took on the role of accompanying Helen on the many trips she took, lecturing and campaigning for the rights of those who were physically challenged.

 

In her autobiography Helen closed her life story with these words:

 

            “Silence sits immense upon my soul. Then comes hope with a smile and whispers, ‘There

            is joy in self-forgetfulness.’ So I try to make the light in other people’s eyes my sun, the

            music in others’ ears my symphony, and the smile on others’ lips my happiness.”

 

Solomon said, “A wise man will hear, and will increase learning; and a man of understanding shall attain unto wise counsels.” (Proverbs 1:5) Silence can be a bane, or it can be a blessing. It can be used as a tool of anger and hatred, or it can be used to meditate, pray, and listen to what is going on around us.

 

In his book, A Touch of Wonder, Arthur Gordon reflected on a particularly bleak period of his life—“a sudden drastic dip in the graph of living when everything goes stale and flat.” He consulted with his physician, who suggested that he revisit one of his favorite childhood haunts—a stretch of beach that he remembered visiting many times when he was young. The doctor wrote out four “prescriptions” to follow for his day alone at the beach. The doctor’s instructions were simple: “Open these, one every 3 hours, beginning at 9 a.m., finishing at 6 p.m.” It was a cold day—a nor’easter was blowing. Arthur was alone, and he took nothing with him except the four prescription forms from his doctor. He opened them one at a time, just as the doctor ordered. Here were the four prescriptions:

 

“Listen carefully.”

 “Try reaching back.”

“Re-examine your motives.”

“Write your worries on the sand.”

 

He disciplined himself to open one prescription at a time. The last was the most important. Here is what he said about that prescription: “I let the paper blow away, reached down and picked up a fragment of shell. Kneeling there under the vault of the sky, I wrote several words, one above the other. Then I walked away, and I did not look back. I had written my troubles on the sand. The tide was coming in.”

 

Maybe it’s time for you to write your troubles on the sand somewhere. Maybe it’s time to listen to what God wants to say to you. Maybe it’s time to leave your troubles behind and begin a new life for you and for those you love. It all begins by being silent, and listening. Why not begin today?