For those who know me well, you know I am very sociable and a bit of an extrovert. I love to be surrounded by others and thrive in social situations. As I belted out 'Simply the Best' at the parish party to see in the new year of 2020, little did I know that, just a few weeks later, I would be forced to live a life that was so out of character. Illness can cause you to miss out on so much. I soon realised that I was not alone as the nation was plunged into lockdown—not once, but twice. As a pastor, my visits to schools, hospitals, nursing care homes, and families were taken from me. While I improved my social media skills through WhatsApp and Zoom, I missed that social and personal interaction. I missed, especially, being able to share the Eucharist with wonderful fellow parishioners: I missed breaking the Word of God, the Sign of Peace, sharing the Bread of Life and the Cup of Blessing—I missed the social time at the end of mass when we shared time together. I missed the pastoral activities that ranged from RCIA to the Drama Club. I missed meeting people in the locality in places as diverse as Asda, the park, and our local pub. I just missed being around people and sharing that social interaction that brought life to my life. Please do not get me wrong, I am so grateful for the gift of my Salesian community—their friendship, support and care mean so much. I am aware of the support and encouragement that I have received from professionals and, especially, my spiritual director. I have become more aware of the strength and wisdom of our Sacraments, especially Reconciliation. I hope that I have been able to make a small contribution to the mission that we share, especially in discovering a new joy in writing. However, standing at a computer screen just is not the same—there is an emptiness that was transformed when we returned to some sort of normality. However, I realise just how lucky I am compared to those who have spent time in ICU wards or nursing homes—physically and social separated from those that they loved. During the height of the lockdown experience, I do not think that I had spent so much time alone in my life due to the need to self-isolate for various medical procedures. This alone time has been a God-given time too, for me to appreciate the gift of silence.

I have learnt to live with myself: the danger of being totally and fully involved in pastoral ministry is that you do not give enough time for yourself. Indeed I, honestly, saw that it was not good to take time off—I felt guilty if I was not on the mission... Burnout, combined with physical illness and a global pandemic, can lead you down some dark alleys if you are not careful: mistakes are made, and you become very vulnerable. Thank God for supportive confrere, family, and friends. I began to realise who I could rely on and trust. It is so true that in times of deep crisis and trauma, you discover who your true friends are—others can, conveniently, use the very good excuse of a global pandemic to cut off ties. I cannot pretend that being ignored is easy: I had 'friends' that I thought would always be there for me, and now their silence is very telling, even though it is obviously so hurtful.

One very valuable lesson that I have learnt from these past few years is to be able to live with silence and quiet. I have been so blessed in over forty years of Salesian ministry: I have shared the beauty and joy of Resurrection, perhaps those Covid years was an invitation to share a Good Friday experience? Perhaps these years are a chance to be open to the totality of the love of God even when things are going wrong? It is that opportunity to move into what the experts refer to as your shadow. I was away from the hustle and bustle of active ministry in parishes and schools, but I came to appreciate the strength of living a Salesian way in a most unusual way—something that I would not have thought possible. In the First Book of Kings, the great prophet Elijah finds God not in the tornado, earthquake, or storm, but 'in a sound of sheer silence' (1 King, 19: 11). My mum would always remind us that God will always open a door, or perhaps a small window when the world seems to viciously slam other doors in our faces. She taught us to look for hope in the most difficult of situations and circumstances. She taught me to find God even in the absurd.

In these days we have had to learn to live our lives in a new way. It might be no better or worse than our pre-pandemic life-style, but it certainly can be different. I have learnt to spend more time with myself and to accept more times of silence than I previously had. I have found it hard and challenging, but have also discovered a richness and life. I was delighted that Pope Francis used his time to help us to appreciate the gift of silence in one of his weekly catechetical reflections for pilgrims:

…we need silence. Silence is important. I am struck by a verse from the Book of Wisdom that was read with Christmas in mind, which says: "While gentle silence enveloped all things, your all-powerful word leaped from heaven." The moment of most silence God manifested himself. It is important to think about silence in this age in which it does not seem to have much value. (15/12/2021)

I know that many people gain much help and satisfaction from the messages of our Blessed Mother at Fatima and Medjugorje. To be fair, others find them a distraction and open to interpretation that is not always helpful. I know I can be accused of bias, but I love the apparition of Our Lady of Knock. In the midst of the Irish Famine, when the nation was being destroyed and the population decimated, Mary was seen by a group of parishioners in the tiny Mayo hamlet of Knock. In their pain, Mary simply stood with them. Not a word was uttered, and none were needed. In her living and loving silence, Mary offered comfort—she was available. Today millions travel to Knock in person or online to experience that simple silence that the shrine offers. The message of Knock reveals the unconditional care of God within the simple and ordinary. We do not need a torrent of words to help us appreciate that love.

In the life of Joseph of Nazareth, we are reminded of his simple and quiet life. Joseph appears in the Gospel of Matthew as the man of honour, who cares deeply for Mary and the infant Jesus. When faced with the wickedness of Herod, the foster father ensured the safety of his family. John's Gospel presents the birth of Christ in his beautiful poetic prologue: 'the Word became flesh and lived among us.' The creative Word of God is enfleshed in Jesus—Christmas is our chance to listen carefully to that Word. As you pray at the crib, it is good to reflect that this Word of God was unable to speak at this time of birth. He learnt his language at the feet of Mary and Joseph. Indeed, the hidden years of Jesus are so important as they show a God who lives our experience. God is to be found in the noise of the playground, in the prayer at the synagogue, in gathering with family and friends, in Joseph's workshop, and in the silence of sitting on the hill overlooking Nazareth.

As we reflect on the written Word of God in scripture, we see the activity of Jesus. In his ministry we have the beauty of healing, the strength of parables, the preaching of a just Reign of God, and moments of deep silence. Jesus saw the need to get up early or to take his friends away for retreat. He goes out into the loneliness of the desert and climbs high mountains to meet God in the silence of his heart—he is even content to sleep through the storm that hit the Sea of Galilee: once woken by his terrified disciples, he immediately brings calm, peace and quiet once more.

In the Pope's address to pilgrims, I felt he was speaking directly to me. This dramatic change in my personal life has opened me to a level of contemplation that would never have come without the heartache and problems of these past years. I have come to realise that there is a difference between activity and activism:

How good it would be if each one of us, following the example of St. Joseph, were able to recover this contemplative dimension of life, opened wide in silence. But we all know from experience that it is not easy: silence frightens us a little, because it asks us to delve into ourselves and to confront the part of us that is true. And many people are afraid of silence, they have to speak, and speak, and speak, or listen to the radio, or television...but they cannot accept silence because they are afraid. (15/12/2022)

It is amazing that it took a global pandemic to bring a silence to the world. In the height of the first lockdown, I remember travelling through London for a hospital appointment. Euston Station and the tube was eerily quiet in a way that I had never experienced before. Walking through one of the biggest cities in the world I made my way down empty streets, closed shops, and silence! We need to live that silence, and not to fear it. We do not always need to have a TV blaring in the kitchen, music blasting out in the bedroom, and personal headphones so that we can always be connected. There is a time to make glorious, happy and loud music, but enjoy the peace and quiet too. The Holy Father encouraged the noisy crowd in St Peter's Square:

This is why we must learn from Joseph to cultivate silence: that space of interiority in our days in which we give the Spirit the opportunity to regenerate us, to console us, to correct us. I am not saying to fall into muteness, no… Profoundness of the heart grows with silence, silence that is not mutism as I said, but which leaves space for wisdom, reflection and the Holy Spirit. We are afraid of moments of silence. Let us not be afraid! It will do us good. (15/12/2022)

The quiet Joseph appears to be a man of few words, but he is a man of action. As a Church we are called to not just share the Words of Jesus - but live them. We probably all know those good Christians who can quote chapter and verse from the Bible, who attend their prayer meetings and need to be seen in Church on a Sunday, yet make lives so difficult for others—their hypocrisy speaks volumes! Enjoy the silence if you can get it—as a celibate religious I know I speak from a privileged position. I am constantly in awe of my friends who are parents, who never seem to have time for themselves, who are always on call. What a great gift older children and friends can give them this Christmas: the gift of time, space, and silence. With new year resolution time coming up, perhaps you can give yourself the gift of space. You do not have to become a contemplative to find this solitude—it could be built into your day. I have a wonderful family member who works in an active inner-city school: combining life as a busy and loving mum, while being fully involved in her community. Every lunchtime she makes time to pop over to her local parish church and spends a short time in contemplative prayer. She inspires me to make time for silence: if she can do it, with all the plates she has to spin, then it should be easy for me. Thank you for that inspiration! I hope this time has given us all that chance to use our words wisely. I hope that we have learnt not to fear silence—we do not have to fill the quiet with inane and empty words. Live your silence well—it will inform your words that can make a real difference, as you build up others. John O'Donohue offers us hope, as we learn to move forward:

You have travelled too fast over false ground;

Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up

To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain

When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,

Taking time to open the well of colour

That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone

Until its calmness can claim you.

Author: Fr Gerry O'Shaughnessy SDB

Photo by Amy Tran on Unsplash