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Mary’s Quietness
Text: Luke 2:19
“But Mary kept all these things, pondering them in her heart.”
I wish Mary were the patron-saint of travelers to Bethlehem. I wish that we could make
her, at this time every year, the founder of a new order – the Order of Quiet Inwardness. I
wish we could honour her at this time and make her name a slogan, a motto, and a
proverb.
Mary kept all things and pondered them in her heart. She let them go inwards; she was
silent. Christ has been announced in heaven, the story has gone out on earth, but Mary is
silent. Wonder and surprise have overtaken everyone – there has never been a night like
this either before or after in the record annals of history – never such a starlit army as the
host of the “Hosanna’ – never such a commotion of sound, of singing and celebration –
but Mary is silent.
Christ is born in Bethlehem!
What would you have Mary say?
I prefer her refusal to speak
I prefer this holy reticence
I prefer her attitude of reflection.
That is why I would like to take vows at this time, to qualify me for membership of the
Order of Quiet Inwardness. Temporary vows, if you like – vows to sustain me through
the next few weeks as the long trek to Bethlehem gets under way. For us, it has become
no pilgrimage through lonely places towards a rough and ready stable; it has become an
endurance course.
The signals coming to us are flashing lights, and winky tinsel, and gaudy windows, a
barrage of sights outshining the bravest efforts of a single star. Instead of angel choirs, we
hear the jingles and the jangles of our strident songs … and instead of Mary’s silence, all
too often what we hear is nothing but clergy denouncing from their pulpits the brash,
commercial Christmas which we celebrate. It if I hear the phrase ‘the real meaning of
Christmas’ I shall scream I think.
The endless moralizing that church people indulge in at this time is now as much a cliché
as any other facet of our Christmases – as predictable as the blue jokes which are more
and more evident in every pantomime; as jaded as the routine antics of our television
heroes whipping up their own version of festive glee; as ineffectual as the countless
warnings both spoken and written which admonish us to drink or drive, but not both.
For us, the long trek to Bethlehem is if anything more arduous than the journey of the
wise men those many years ago. There are more distractions, more deflections on the
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way, more obstacles to true and unimpeded worship; more cause for cynicism and doubt
and disillusionment. You and I are caught up in the flurry of preparation, the shopping
expeditions, the writing and the posting, parceling and labeling, parties and celebrations,
entertaining and visiting, the cooking and the cleaning, the remembering…. I do not need
to spell it out. All I want to do, before it all gets out of hand, is to ask if it isn’t really so
impossible to share some of Mary’s quiet thoughtfulness in the midst of the excitement
and harassment.
So “Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.” She let them go
inwards.
Mary’s silence speaks to us of the value and the importance of an interior life. The
importance of allowing experience to become part of us, so that we can assimilate more
significantly the meaning of what happens to us. The importance of cultivating an attitude
of calm, so that we find stability in ourselves to cope with the pressing nature of our
lives. An interior life leads to strength: quiet inwardness does not mean defeatism or
resignation; it makes for that vital mastery of self which we all long for.
Amazingly it is often the busiest people who find most time for the cultivation of this
quiet inwardness. Either at the beginning of their day or at its close, they set aside some
precious minutes for silent thought, or contemplation, or meditation. I know of a person
who takes the phone off the hook at noon every day, so that she can have a few minutes
for uninterrupted prayer – not for herself, but for all sick and suffering people. I know
one couple, both busy and harassed people, who sit together every night for ten minutes
or so before their meal, not just to ‘unwind’ but to come together again, so to speak.
Whether you practice quietness alone or in company, you will find that it gives a depth
for your living; your quiet time will become for you a rock-steady defense against storms,
a pleasant outlook-tower in times of gladness. Mary knew this vital secret; serenity
begins at home, you cannot go and get it, but you can wait for it.
Mary knew the importance of an interior life. So few of us have really tried to put her
secret into action. Perhaps the pace of life conspires against us – we have deadlines to
meet, rendezvous to arrange, letters to get off, phone calls to make, expeditions to
organize, buses to catch, programmes to watch… was there ever a time when the tyranny
of time was so oppressive? But it is not rush and hurry that prevents us from cultivating
quiet inwardness; it is the way we so often fill our leisure moments with still more
activity, still more meetings, still more talking. It is as if we were in flight from ourselves,
rushing into the company of others so that we don’t have to face the awful prospect of
having nothing to do.
T.S. Eliot has put it beautifully describing passengers in a subway:
‘Or as, when an underground train, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you are behind every face the mental emptiness deepen,
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about…”
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If we rush from one distraction to the other, sharing ourselves out so much that in fact we
are beginning to spread ourselves too thin – than of course we are liable to be horrified
when we are confronted by moments of pause. But ‘pause’ does not automatically mean
‘waste’. One of my teachers at school used to say sarcastically, ‘Some people sit and
think. Some people just sit.” I wish there were more of them.
There is no reason at all for allowing a time of silence to become a time of ‘mental
emptiness’ as Eliot describes it. It is always an opportunity – for reflection, for selfexamination, for thanks, for thought, for laughter or for tears. Watching a blade of grass
growing would be a more complete education for us than any amount of university
classes.
Think for a minute of a few of the opportunities presented to us in our daily lives – times
of pause which can happen by accident, so to speak. You arrive at the doctor’s waiting
room and you realize that there is a formidable line. You can go and select a magazine
from his/her table, or you can sit and meditate. Why not choose meditation.
You are waiting for clothes to be washed - you can go for a walk, you can read, or you
can focus your mind for a brief while on some aspect of life. Why not choose meditation.
We do have opportunities for quiet inwardness. Why don’t we seize these moments as
treasures and cherish them as such – instead of simply resorting to the quite criminal
device of ‘killing time’. Time is too precious for such treatment.
This Christmas, with Mary as our guide, let us try to still the urgent voices, babbling on
every side ‘Buy, give, get!’ and let us try to derive something very personal form the ageold story of the birth of Jesus Christ. We shall hear of him from every quarter – the
printed word and the television screen, the carols that we sing and listen to, the talk on
everybody’s lips is nothing else but this: it’s Christmas!
But no amount of reporting, no amount of chatter, no amount of festive atmosphere, no
amount of speaking can bring us nearer to the cradle and the Child, no amount of
nostalgia and memories of other Christmases, no amount of Santa’s and no amount of
reindeer can really help us to arrive at our own, private and unique vision of who he is.
As of old, he comes to us not with a fanfare or a flourish, but speaking with a small, still
voice. In quietness and clam we may yet hear him as if for the first time. Take time out
this Christmas for the quiet inwardness of Mary as you contemplate and celebrate the
birth of Jesus Christ.