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When God is Silent: Divine language beyond words
When God is Silent: Divine language beyond words
When God is Silent: Divine language beyond words
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When God is Silent: Divine language beyond words

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An enduring classic from award-winning writer Barbara Brown Taylor, exploring how we communicate with a God who often seems silent. Arguing persuasively for simplicity and economy when speaking of God, it reflects on the eloquence of Jesus’ silences and how we can find ways of bringing tired, old language about God back to life.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 12, 2013
ISBN9781848254565
When God is Silent: Divine language beyond words
Author

Barbara Brown Taylor

Barbara Brown Taylor is the author of thirteen books, including the New York Times bestseller An Altar in the World and Leaving Church, which received an Author of the Year award from the Georgia Writers Association. Taylor is the Butman Professor of Religion at Piedmont College, where she has taught since 1998. She lives on a working farm in rural northeast Georgia with her husband, Ed.

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    When God is Silent - Barbara Brown Taylor

    ONE

    Famine

    How shall I break the silence? What word is more eloquent than the silence itself? In the moments before a word is spoken, anything is possible. The empty air is formless void waiting to be addressed. Depending on what is said, earth could be all ocean, a blue waterworld in space. Adam could be a self-regenerating monk who sleeps alone by the glow of two moons, or three, and has to make his own decision about the fruit of that one beguiling tree.

    Anything is possible until God exhales, inspiring the void first with wind and then with the Word, which is both utterance and act, which makes something out of nothing by saying that it is so. God says, and the logos yields the cosmos. God says, and a solemn procession of creatures steps out of the darkness, so steady on their feet that it is hard to believe they are using them for the first time. God says, and there are bats, bluebirds, fireflies, and luna moths. God says, and there are sea horses, manta rays, plankton, and clams.

    But the most dangerous word God ever says is Adam. All by itself it is no more than a pile of dust—nothing to be concerned about, really—but by following it with the words for image and dominion, God sifts divinity into that dust, endowing it with things that belong to God alone. When God is through with it, this dust will bear the divine likeness. When God is through with it, this dust will exercise God’s own dominion—not by flexing its muscles but by using its tongue.

    Up to this point in the story, God has owned the monopoly on speech. Only God has had the power to make something out of nothing by saying it is so. Now, in this act of shocking generosity, God’s stock goes public. So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them—human beings endowed by God with the power of the Word.

    Anyone who stands up in front of other human beings to speak knows what a frightful gift it is. This power of ours has no safety catch on it. We are as likely to make nothing out of something as the other way around. According to one survey of people’s greatest fears, fear of public speaking rates much higher than fear of sickness or death.¹ The fear of self-exposure is basic to our nature, along with the fear of judgment by our peers. However well you have prepared, there is nothing like that moment of silence before you begin, when you look out at all those waiting faces and wonder if you are about to waste their time. Have you done your homework? Are your words the very best you could find? Will your body cooperate? Will your voice, your face, your spine, your hands help you make your point or contradict it? How will you break the silence? What can you say that will be more eloquent than the silence itself?

    When the speech delivered happens to be a sermon, the stakes go up even higher. The conversation is no longer two-way but three-way, and the fear of judgment by one’s peers takes a back seat to a more potent fear. There is a text, and a presence within the text, that wishes to be heard. The preacher must listen as well as speak, performing an act that is more complicated than solitary creation. The preacher’s task is to create speech with One who has already spoken—to interpret what has already been said—so that it sings in the ear as something heard for the first time.

    There are a dozen things that must go right in order for communication to occur, and not all of them are under a speaker’s control. Because language is a communal act, as much depends on those who listen as on those who speak. Every word is a smoke signal sent up with great effort. The fire must be very hot. The wood must be very green. The wet blanket must be lowered and lifted at just the right moments. But none of those is any guarantee. If no one is watching the sky, you might as well be roasting marshmallows. In order for communication to occur, you need someone watching who also knows the language.

    Even a knowledgeable partner is no guarantee that the message sent will be the message received. Language is porous, not solid. Every word carries its own history inside of it. A word such as charity does not mean the same thing now as it did a hundred years ago. Depending on a listener’s own history with the word, the hearing of it may evoke a glow of contentment or a flush of shame. Send up a smoke signal that says Practice Charity and one person who sees it will go kiss her rebellious teenager while someone else will start rummaging through his closet for old clothes to give away. A third, who is perhaps most typical of our age, will have no context for responding to the word at all.

    The inherent instability of language seems to be of more concern in literary circles than in homiletical ones. While the scholars of deconstructionism insist that even our best, most carefully chosen words are not sturdy enough to bear the truth, most preachers wield words such as God or faith as if they were made out of steel instead of air. It is not hard to understand why. Like the rest of us, those speakers rely on such language to pin down the flapping edges of the universe, even when it does not match up with all that we know to be

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