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The winter is winning.

All around me, autumn is surrendering to the inevitability of winter.  The dazzlingly decorated leaves are mostly fallen now, curled and crispy on the ground, leaving only a few faded ones clinging to the empty-handed trees.  All crops of fruit and field are reaped; the pastures stretch in barren expanses of dry stubble.  Even the air seems to have changed, transitioning from the blessing-bound expectancy of autumn to the hushed dormancy of winter.  It’s an odd time, a blurring line between seasons—a time of silence and stillness and perhaps, a bit of sadness too.  Yet as the rich symphony of autumn dwindles to a decrescendo, the quiet of these days leaves the perfect backdrop for one of my favorite woodland creatures, one that seems to typify this silent time:  the owl.   

Four species of owls make their home in Arkansas year-round:  the Eastern Screech-Owl, the Barn Owl, the Barred Owl, and the Great Horned Owl.  The first two are reclusive; in all my years of woodland wanderings, I’ve never seen or heard either.  But the last two figure prominently in the natural world around me, welcomed denizens of the pastures and forests around my home.  

Glimpsing an owl is rare; I can count on my hands the number of times I’ve had the privilege.  Very occasionally, if I’ve looked up at just the right moment, I’ve caught sight of Barred Owls, brooding sentinels guarding the treetops.  Once in Colorado, on an autumn afternoon slanted by silver sheets of misty rain, I unexpectedly came face-to-face with the secretive Great Horned Owl; for a few breathless moments we stared at each other, wrapped in the whirl of the foggy mist.  But on the whole, owls are much more frequently heard than seen.  And the best time to listen for their calls is now—during the enchanted evenings of late fall.  

Step outside one of these nights, just at dusk, when the sky simmers in muted swaths of color and the trees are as starkly black as paper cutouts against the fading sunset.  Wait in the crispy chill, in the layers of quiet, until the harvest moon floats above the horizon and spills light like golden streams across the landscape.  And if you are patient, if you are silent, you will hear it—a haunting query echoing from the woods.  Perhaps it will be the rhythmic inquiry of the Barred Owl, or the pensive baritone of the Great Horned, or even the strident neighing of the Screech-Owl.  But all, in their different voices, will ask the age-old question of the owl:  “Who?  Whooo?” 

There’s a magic about these creatures—stealthy, silent, serene.  For hundreds of years, they have remained steeped in a mysticism and mystery not shared by any other bird.  Perhaps that’s due in part to their elusiveness—as nocturnal creatures, they inhabit a different sphere from the prosaic daily world, hovering like ghosts around the edges of our awareness.  Or perhaps it’s their distinctive presence, their innate sense of dignity—anyone who’s ever glimpsed an owl poised regally on a tree limb or floating gently across the sky has doubtless noticed their tranquil aplomb, their obvious confidence in their own supremacy.  Then again, maybe it’s their striking beauty—feathers streaked in a dozen shades of brown, elegant wings, piercing golden eyes.

All of this is impressive, but the characteristic of owls that is perhaps the most remarkable is often overlooked:  silence.  The color and pattern of their plumage forms the perfect disguise, allowing them to blend into the backdrop of the forest; the Barred Owl is the mottled brown of dry autumn leaves, while the Eastern Screech-Owl’s silvery gray is uncannily identical to tree bark.  Cloaked in their camouflage, they can perch unmoving on tree branches for long hours, as if suspended in time, completely unnoticed by the world.  And amazingly, they’re just as silent in motion as they are when at rest.  Thanks to specially designed wingtip feathers that muffle noise by actually changing the airflow pattern, owls can fly soundlessly, giving no clue to their presence even when they are mere inches away.  And this silence is the key to their survival—enabling them to capture prey readily and avoid detection by other animals. 

It’s remarkable, really.  Owls are creatures of immense strength—fearless hunters, dominant predators, speedy fliers with fierce talons and powerful wings.  Yet the secret of their success is not found in their might or muscle but in a much humbler quality—their ability to be silent.  

Might it be the same for us? 

My friends, we live in a world that becomes louder by the day.  Jumbo jets and freeways, rock concerts and subway trains, honking horns and squealing brakes and insistent doorbells rip the fabric of peace.  But in this raucous world, we humans are still the loudest by far.  We’re told to “let our voice be heard,” “speak up,” “say something.”  We’re bombarded by people confidently proclaiming their opinions.  Especially in these tumultuous times, we’re inundated with polarizing noise from government leaders, sports figures, celebrities, awareness groups, news anchors, and even our neighbors.  Indeed, our culture seems obsessed with noise—and anyone with a social media account can choose to become a self-appointed steward of dissonance.  But as the noise increases, our listening decreases.  And now, it’s out of control.  What might have begun as a thoughtful discussion has long since disintegrated into a shouting match.  

But as much as we might deplore the noise, we often feel unable to respond in any other way.  Against the panoply of chaos, silence seems like a paradoxical choice.  We view silence in contempt, as weakness (“I have to stand up for myself”), or vacuity (“I have to say something to prove my intelligence”), or defeat (“If I don’t say anything, they’ll think they’re right”), or even irresponsibility (“I can’t let THAT go unchallenged”).  

Changing minds begins to seem more important than changing hearts.  Spreading truth takes a backseat to spreading our own opinions.  Sympathizing is replaced by soapboxing.  And so we jump into the fray, opinions blazing like firebrands—but instead of cutting through the noise, our words only augment it, and the ear-splitting cacophony of the culture continues.  No helping, no healing, only a maelstrom of noise that whirls faster and faster.  And frustration seethes in our souls—what will it take to get these people to listen?  I can’t scream any louder!

Could it be that the reason we’re not celebrating results is that our approach is all wrong?  What if quiet—so derided, so maligned—was not a weakness but a weapon?  What if silence was for us what it is for the owl—our greatest strength?  

There’s a misconception that being silent equals being ignored, retreating to the shadows and skulking like wallflowers on the outskirts of important issues.  But you see, practicing silence skillfully doesn’t involve abandoning all words or muffling our opinions.  What it does require is that we learn when well-chosen words are required, and when silence can speak more powerfully than any words we could say. 

Scripture is replete with references to silence.  “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10a ESV) is perhaps the best-known verse on this topic.  Its message is echoed by Psalm 62:5:  “My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him” (NASB).  The prophet Jeremiah reminded his readers, “It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD” (Lamentations 3:26 ESV).  And through Isaiah, God told the Hebrews, “In quietness and in trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15 ESV).  Interestingly, all of these verses present silence not as apathetic passivity, but as a very dynamic state:  a posture of trust before God and an essential precondition for spiritual victory.

But how could silence be effective?  How could it be mightier than spoken words?  For one powerful reason:  silence enables us to listen. 

Just think of the owl again.  As impressive as its silence is, it’s only a prerequisite for an even more vital talent:  listening.  The concave pattern of feathers on an owl’s face, called the “facial disk,” is carefully designed to collect a wide range of sounds, functioning somewhat similarly to a satellite dish.  The sounds are then funneled directly to the owl’s acutely sensitive ears, a miracle in their own right.  In the marvelous wisdom of the Creator, an owl’s ears are offset, with one just slightly higher than the other.  This allows the owl to analyze sounds in a manner akin to modern triangulation, making complex depth calculations and pinpointing the exact location of prey.  In fact, so keen is owls’ sense of hearing that they can detect the scurrying movement of a single mouse under three feet of snow!   

And so it is with us.  When we have stripped away the noise and become “quick to listen” (James 1:19 ESV), on the bedrock of silence we can tune into what would have otherwise been ignored.  We’ll find that the things that lay beneath the surface of our lives, the things that were buried by layers of noise, become apparent.  

So how can we practice such a controversial virtue in our very noisy lives?  Like all things, silence must begin first with God.  The prophet Habakkuk reminded his readers, “The LORD is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before Him” (Habakkuk 2:20 ESV).  This verse invites us to experience the Presence of God in extraordinary ways—basking in the wonder of His glory, soaking in His grace, calming our racing minds with His peace.  But how rarely we obey this admonition!  We fill the space between God and us not with reverent silence but with worship songs and church activities, Sunday school lessons and hurried prayers.  We say so much about God, but we rarely leave room for Him to answer.  That’s why the practice of silence must begin with recognizing the sovereignty of our King.  “Be not rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be hasty to utter a word before God, for God is in heaven and you are on earth.  Therefore let your words be few” (Ecclesiastes 5:2 ESV).  Renewal begins when we intentionally carve out time to be silent before the Lord—to suspend our human pompousness and hear His words of grace.  As spiritual author and sage Henri Nouwen once commented, “Solitude is the furnace of transformation.” 

Like a pebble tossed into a pond, silence before the Lord creates an epicenter of calm that spreads its ripples through our lives.  The next step is to be silent with ourselves—and oh, how we seem to fear that.  We cram our days full of activities—work, school, soccer practice, clubs, outings, appointments, vacations.  And if we have a few scraps of time, a handful of moments when silence might begin to intrude, we reach for the anesthetic of our phones.  Why are we so afraid of ourselves?  Imagine if we disciplined our minds to think deeply, to ponder our strengths and weaknesses, our past and present, and how all of those fit into the story God is writing in our lives.  We might find that the process involved was one of fine-tuning our spirits—and that when we listen to ourselves, we can course-correct before minor snags become major catastrophes. 

When we’re silent with God and silent with ourselves, we then have the freedom to be silent with others. Author and spiritual guide Tracy Balzer believes that “it is through solitude—through intentional times being alone with God only—that we are transformed into people who demonstrate compassion to others.”  What would that look like?  Perhaps it would be the choice to practice silence when complaints and criticisms crowded our minds.  Maybe, even better, it would resemble practicing silence when we ourselves are criticized—refusing to make a battleground out of small issues and thereby yield the peace in our spirits.  And perhaps it would be choosing to listen, truly listen, to others—not just to what they say, but to how they say it.  When we “let our words be few” and intentionally listen to someone else’s heart instead of only their mouth, miracles of connection can take place. 

But as amazing as silence and listening are, there’s yet a third member of this sacred trinity of serenity—wisdom.        

Did you know that in the mythology of nearly every western culture, owls represent wisdom?  They’re presented as all-knowing guardians or helpful guides or enigmatic sages.  Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, was portrayed as carrying an owl on her shoulder; owls were engraved on Greek coins.  Native American tribes viewed owls as religious symbols or prophetic talismans.  Owls even figure prominently in the iconography of academia today.  Could it be that the owl’s reputation for wisdom stems from its willingness to listen?

We think of wise people as those who disseminate their opinions with the world—professors, preachers, prophets.  However, the main characteristic of wisdom is an eagerness not to speak but to listen.  We live in an age with more access to knowledge and information than ever before—yet wisdom is on the decline for one simple reason:  its parents, silence and listening, have been virtually exiled from our culture.  Today, let’s return to a different standard.  Recognizing that there are more voices in the world than ours, gaining the empathy born of hearing others’ viewpoints, striving to understand the motives of others instead of dismissing their perspectives—these are the ways we embrace wisdom.  

“When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but whoever restrains his lips is prudent” (Proverbs 10:19 ESV).  Our culture is living the first half of this verse—and the noise only grows louder each day.  But as followers of Christ, we have the authority to change the trajectory.  So the next time you hear an owl asking its haunting questions of the moon, or are fortunate enough to glimpse one roosting in the treetops, remember to make peace with silence and make room for listening.  Then, and only then, will our hearts overflow with “the wisdom from above [that] is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere” (James 3:17 ESV).  

Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use some more silence in my life. As we near the end of this most crazy chaotic year, perhaps what our splintered souls need is just some time to rest. So, with that in mind, I’m launching Silent Seven! It’s a “silence experiment”–spending seven minutes in silence before God, for seven days, and seeking the tranquility, the trust, and the transformation we’re all desperate for.

Does this sound needed to you? It definitely does to me. For the week of Sunday, December 6, I’ll be releasing a new prayer prompt each day on my social media. We’ll pray through the prompt and then sit in silence for seven minutes before the throne of God. And I believe that in these minutes of quiet, we’ll hear His Word spoken to our spirits.

Care to join me in the adventure? Be sure to follow me on Facebook and Instagram! (Worried about missing my posts? Follow these instructions to “favorite” Wilderness Words and never miss my content.) Or, if you’d prefer, click here to sign up for each day’s prompt delivered conveniently via email! Let’s settle into the silence, friends.

The quotations in this post are drawn from Tracy Balzer’s amazing book, Thin Places. Find out more about her and her beautiful writing here! Also, the owl facts were derived from Owlpages.com, asknature.com, and Arkansas Online. Another source utilized was the following Audubon video; I encourage you to check it out for some up-close-and-personal views of these amazing birds!