The Sound of Silence

I have always loved the melody of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.” Haunting yet inviting, it stirs something within me. Perhaps it’s not only the music that captivates me but the theme of the song itself: silence. Like the music, which evokes opposing feelings of caution and longing, silence, too, can produce opposite effects. It can be a conduit of harm or a channel of holiness.

In Simon and Garfunkel’s vision, it is the former. Rather than being a virtue, silence is depicted as a corrosive force, a by-product of modern humanity’s inability to connect and communicate with one another. While silence can be dangerous, there is also a silence that is deeply sacred—a silence our noise-saturated culture has almost forgotten and yet so desperately craves.

Silence—A Virtue?

This summer, the National Catholic Register reported on a rising number of Gen Z women flocking to monasteries and convents to seek respite in silent retreats. Why? Because we live in a time of so much noise: 24/7 news; endless social and digital media; phones in our pockets. Noise. Noise. Noise. Yet, within the human heart, there is a deep longing—might I even say ache—for silence, and the psalmist tells us the reason: “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). 

As Cardinal Robert Sarah poignantly wrote in The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise, “God speaks in silence” (p. 22). He explains that the most profound miracles, like the creation of new life, occur in silence. For it is in the quietude, in contemplation’s hush, that we release the burdens of this world and make space for the presence of Divine Love—a presence that is a fount of abiding peace. St. Augustine knew this so well: “You have made us for yourself, Oh God, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”

As with any virtue, silence must be taught, watered, and tilled. And our Catholic schools, which espouse the twin purposes of personal sanctification and social reform in light of Christian values, have the awesome opportunity and responsibility to cultivate a renewed sense of silent contemplation and prayer throughout their schools. This renewal begins with the administrators and teachers themselves.

Over 300 years ago, St. John Baptist de La Salle, an inspiring saint-educator, outlined what we now call the “12 virtues of good teachers.” These virtues are gravity, silence, humility, prudence, wisdom, patience, reserve, gentleness, zeal, vigilance, piety, and justice. I have the privilege of teaching an introductory education course, Foundations of Education, at Franciscan University of Steubenville. This course examines the philosophical, anthropological, and professional aspects of the call to teach, including the importance of virtue development for both teachers and students. 

Each semester, I ask the preservice teachers in my Foundations class which of St. John Baptist de La Salle’s 12 virtues are most needed by today’s teachers. Overwhelmingly, silence ranks in the top three. Yes. Silence. 

At first, I was surprised by this. But as I reflected on the cultural context in which these preservice teachers find themselves, it made perfect sense. Even though a part of us is attracted to the noise around us, we also innately realize that silence, in the right measure and context, is a great good. Those who teach recognize that silence—whether expressed through wait-time as students grapple with difficult concepts or through active listening as students share their thoughts and reasoning—is a vital part of educating and forming students. And listening, which requires silence, is the beginning of relationship, tapping into the essential affective dimension of teaching and learning.

But teachers also need to cultivate silence in the form of prayer. Cardinal Sarah shares that God sketches out a spiritual pedagogy—one that is rooted in silence—in the biblical account of Mary and Martha. What the Lord shows us in this Gospel story is that we must first become Mary, sitting at the foot of the Lord in silence and listening, before we become Martha. Otherwise, we risk becoming agitated and bogged down in the flurry of our work. How true this rings for teachers! 

Silence before the Lord enables the flow of grace that teachers desperately need to model a virtuous life and nurture the integral development of their students. Furthermore, as Stratford Caldecott notes in Beauty in the Word: Rethinking the Foundations of Education, if listening and attention to the child is the key to a teacher’s success, it is the child’s own quality of listening and attention that is key to learning. “The important thing, the real goal of study, is the development of attention. Why?” he asks. “Because prayer consists of attention, and all worldly study is really a stretching of the soul towards prayer” (p. 30). The teacher who has woven purposeful silence into both her prayer life and pedagogical practices has the beautiful capacity to foster the same eternal fruits in her students.

Cultivating Silence in Our Catholic Schools

The saying “you can’t give what you don’t have” certainly holds true here. If we want teachers to model silence—a silence that bears the fruit of attention and serves as a conduit of prayer—our Catholic schools must create a culture where silence and contemplation are not just encouraged but actively pursued. There is no better way to foster silence than through time spent before the Blessed Sacrament. 

Many Catholic schools are blessed to have within their walls small chapels where Eucharistic Adoration can be regularly coordinated. What a beautiful gift it would be if teachers were invited to sign up for routine times of silence before the Blessed Sacrament and if administrators made it easy for them to incorporate this practice into their school day. In doing so, administrators would convey just how important the practices of silence and worship are to the whole educational endeavor.

And, I might add, teachers ought not to go at this alone. Catholic schools are called to be animated by communion and community—an essential mark that can and should be nurtured through communal prayer. For Scripture tells us, “Where two or more are gathered in my name, there I am in their midst” (Matthew 18:20). Having faculty share their adoration time with two or three colleagues fosters unity. And from this unity is born solidarity.

Catholic schools should also foster community through school-wide Eucharistic adoration. Just as virtues like patience and prudence must be taught and practiced, so must silence. Many people, even faithful Catholics, do not know how to quiet their minds and hold vigil during a holy hour, or even a portion of one. Direct instruction in this way pays dividends. 

I was fortunate to grow up in a home where we had family prayer in the morning for many years. Our prayer time was short, to accommodate a range of attention spans, but it was beautifully structured. My mom made a sign for our prayer room that said “ACTS,” an acronym that outlined a simple prayer structure:

A—Adoration: Praising God for who He is—His holiness, power, love, mercy, etc.

C—Confession: Performing an examination of conscience, confessing our sins, and asking for forgiveness.

T—Thanksgiving: Expressing gratitude for God’s blessings, works, and mercies in our lives.

S—Supplication: Bringing petitions and requests before God, both for ourselves and for others.

This little “lesson” of a simple prayer format served as a foundation of contemplation for me. Through the years, my prayer time grew to include Scripture meditation, listening, and the Rosary. Ultimately, these early foundations developed within me the capacity to be still, to be silent, and to simply know that He is God. 

While times of prayer and silence need not be formulaic, having something concrete from my parents provided a needed scaffold. We must offer our teachers explicit supports like this to foster their growth in contemplation. Similarly, the lived witness of others, experienced through shared times of prayer and worship, is a powerful teaching tool.

The Dawn of a New Sound

The virtue of silence in a teacher bears the fruit of active contemplation—a gift that attunes the ear to the sure and steady voice of Divine Love, a voice the teacher can follow as she seeks to live and share the Gospel with her students, a voice still audible even when the classroom is teeming with noise and activity. As we begin a new school year, with a fresh sense of hope, excitement, and abundant activity, it is my prayer that our Catholic schools might welcome and enjoy a new sound throughout their buildings—the beautiful and inviting sound of silence.