Dead air, living silence

I recently wrote about my first experience with video-taping Sunday morning worship. I began that service by lip-synching the opening theme to “Misters Rogers’ Neighborhood.”

But my favorite Mister Rogers moment actually involved silence. The television icon was aware that many parents, like myself, will respond to a persistent child by saying, “Just wait a minute.” So, Mister Rogers decided that he would devote time in one of his shows to demonstrating exactly how long 60 seconds took! There, on national television, Mister Rogers set a timer and sat in silence for one … full … minute.

Can you imagine that happening on TV today? We refer to silence as “dead air.” It makes most of us uncomfortable. Whether on TV or in real life, we interpret silence to mean that something is wrong.

I’ll readily admit that, when faced with a problem, I like to hear a solution. When something is unknown, I like to hear an explanation. And yet in this time of the COVID-19 pandemic, there are so many questions without answers. The unknown looms ahead like a formless void of deep darkness. In any tragedy or national emergency, a timeless theological question hangs in the air: “Where is God in the midst of this?”

I could fill this “dead air” with a rush of words, well-worn clichés, even Bible verses. But instead, what if I took Psalm 130 seriously? I wait for the Lord, my soul waits. Waiting with hope, waiting in silence.

Our church is empty and silent. I have a deep longing for the air to crackle with that Sunday morning energy, for music to fill my ears and heart, for the bright, shining faces of the congregation to fill our sanctuary.

Yet I know we have a long wait ahead of us.

Following the recommendations of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), our session has voted to suspend all large group gatherings until mid-May. At least until mid-May! We will reassess at that point. Honestly, I don’t know when we will be able to gather again.

What we know is that we will not be back to business as usual for Easter. What we know is that, by choosing to remain home, we help to save lives. Right now, communities of faith must refrain from gathering so that we might protect those who are vulnerable and assist our healthcare system.

Waiting, then, is our holy calling. Of course, we can use various technologies to connect and communicate. But I return to this idea of waiting in hope, waiting in silence. An American pianist, Russell Sherman, wrote: “Without silence there is no music. … Silence is the bridge for receiving instructions from the angel.”

This year, a silence from long ago is speaking to me: My soul waits for the Lord, more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning. That first Easter morning, I remember that the empty tomb was not dead air after all. The silence spoke the Living Word…  and in his word I hope.

ANDREW TAYLOR-TROUTMAN is the pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and the author of “Gently Between the Words: Essays and Poems.” He and his wife, who is also a pastor, are rattled and blessed by parenting three young children.