I recently attended the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra’s Rachmaninoff 3 “Shines” presentation. The first half featured Jean Sibelius. As the music enraptured my heart and soul, the intensity steadily rose until the conductor abruptly stopped with his hands still in the air. Not a breath was heard until he resumed. This happened at strategic points throughout the first segment. As I wondered how much intensity my heart could handle, a moment of spiritual illumination emerged. The intensity was most profound in the moments of silence. Sibelius understood the power of silence and the soul’s yearning for it.

A while ago I was struggling with the concept of silence; more precisely, the silence of God. Often when we go through the dark valleys of life we cry out to God and long for a response. When we feel that there is no response or action from God, we don’t know how to interpret this. Sometimes we question his presence, concern, love or power. Sometimes we interpret his silence as indifference or impotence. Personally, I am confident that God is present and I am assured of his love and concern. I marvel in his power. But I admit to struggling with his silence. It is like having a conversation with someone who doesn’t say anything to reassure you that they are listening.

Michael Card sings a song called The Silence of God (words and music by Andrew Petersen) that includes the following lyrics: “It’ll drive a man crazy, it’ll break a man’s faith, it’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane. When he’s bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod and the heavens’ only answer is the silence of God.” The silence of God can cause us to grapple with the very essence of our being. I don’t believe that this is such a bad thing.

It is through the disequilibrium of life that we allow God to work most fully. When we cry out to him and he seemingly doesn’t respond, how do we react? In The North Face of God, Ken Gire tells the story of the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15:21-28. In verse 23, we see that Jesus gave her no reply, not even a word. Gire states that this woman had to deal with issues of pride, dignity and self-sufficiency. Her tenacity in calling out to Jesus elevates her experience. “Had she abandoned the climb,” Gire suggests, “her view of God might have been forever clouded by her disappointment with him.” When we experience the silence of God, do we allow our pleading to be overshadowed by our disappointment?

As I listened to the WSO, I began to understand my heavenly Father’s use of silence. It was not punishment, inaction or indifference. Rather it is recognition of the chaos of life and the yearning to connect intimately with our heart. Just as the silence of the music intensely captures our hearts, so the silence of God captures our souls. The silence of God is an essential and powerful part of the symphony of life.