The Silence of God

I just finished Shûsaku Endô’s terribly beautiful book, Silence, about two missionaries who go into 17^th century Japan to find their beloved mentor, who is reported to have apostatized under unbearable persecution. It was assumed, even by Endô’s publishers, that Silence was about the silence of God. Yet, for the rest of Endô’s life as he lectured about the book, he stated, “I did not write a book about the silence of God, I wrote a book about the voice of God speaking through suffering and silence.”

I did not find God silent in Endô’s book. I found Him speaking generously, tenderly to Father Rodriguez, especially in his most excruciating moments. But perhaps the problem is in our definition of the silence of God.

There is the “silence” that terrorizes when God does not intervene in our suffering. It can drive one to insanity, as it nearly did me on the night my son almost died in a fire at age fifteen. When my friend sent the familiar protection words of Psalm 91, words my children had memorized as I read it to them every night before bed, I did not remain silent. I screamed, I cried, I raged against God until I fell into an exhausted sleep. I took up swearing for a time. But even in that supposed “silence” from God, the God who did not protect my son, God was there with me, and gently pressed me with the question, “Will you trust Me?” 

I decided I would.

He spoke through His Word. He spoke through nature, through anything and everything He desired. Some days in my darkness I wasn’t sure I could take any more of His words. They were everywhere!

I was the problem; I was the silent one. My faith did not understand this God who would do whatever He pleased with my life, my loved ones, my identity. Particularly when I had devoted my life to Him. What became silent was my expectations. My confidence in the rules of righteousness and results. They were silenced in the reality of His will. Is His will what we interpret as silence sometimes? His will, not mine, can seem like a kind of silence, I suppose, when it is very much not what I want.

God speaks through suffering and silence. He speaks treasure words, He speaks words that words cannot describe. He uses a wordless language, and perhaps the Japanese understand that better than I do. 

Japanese beauty is tied to sacrifice and a certain type of trauma. They have this preconception about reality predicated with their understanding of beauty, and that is the silent witness in Japanese culture that is honored by not talking about it.

—Makoto Fujimura

What if God is our silent witness, the only One who has witnessed It All in our lives?

I think King David’s daughter Tamar’s story captures the truth of this Witness. Because He was there, we know her story today. Her trauma is validated and our trauma is legitimized.

In the deepest pain and sorrow, I do not want words. I want presence. And presence is a kind of crescendo in a beautiful symphony of my Messiah’s love for me. Not silent.

I am reminded of something I learned about Zephaniah 3:17 (Tanakh Version, Jewish Publication Society):

The LORD thy God is in the midst of thee,

A Mighty One who will save;

He will rejoice over thee with joy,

He will be silent in His love,

He will joy over thee with singing.

The Jewish instructor explained that the line, “He will be silent in His love” is actually a Hebrew cultural concept of the deepest kind of comfort, that of one’s silent presence, powerful and alongside. Remaining. I have known this with my Lord. Have you?

Cultures reflect the diversity and complexity of God’s beauty.

“In Japan, silence is beauty, and beauty is silence. The most important thing in life is not to be made or talked about, but to uphold the reality, not reduce it to a particular brand or way… “

—Makoto Fujimura

What if God’s silent witness, His silent presence in the most sacrilegious moments of sin’s work in the world, is upholding reality in all its terrible fullness? What if it is a holy refusal by the Holy of holies to diminish our suffering with words?

The heavens and earth stood in silent witness as the Savior of the world hung upon a tree in history’s most profane moment, upholding the reality of our sinful state in its terrible fullness. God the Father seemingly refused to diminish the necessity of His sacrifice with mere human words.

I cannot explain it. I cannot comprehend the mysterious way of God in times of my suffering or yours. But I know His presence. And it has sustained me in the silence. 

Lord, I do not concern myself with matters too great for me. But like a weaned child, I rest in Your embrace in the silence of the unexplained. And low and beautiful, I can hear You singing over me. Amen.

@audreycfrank

Photo by Stefan Bischoff on Unsplash

 

To explore more:

Makoto Fujimura, Japanese Christian artist and cultural healing expert, discusses Endô’s work and its impact on his faith journey in this 5-part video series and in his book Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering

For the brave, the movie Silence directed by Martin Scorsese and featuring Liam Neeson, Andrew Garfield, and Adam Driver depicts Endô’s book by the same name. Very difficult to watch, as it graphically and authentically portrays the persecution of that time period.