Sound and Silence, or Surviving Spiritual Whiplash

/ J. Thorp

On Thursday, I attended a day-long silent retreat with the rest of the staff from our Catholic church and school. Father Park opened the retreat with the Old Testament account of Elijah in the cave on Mount Sinai, waiting for the Lord to pass by:

And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

– 1 Kings 19:11-13 (RSVCE)

It was a scriptural reminder that God speaks to us in silence, but I didn’t need convincing. For the past several years I’ve tried to make an annual, three-day silent retreat to reconnect with the Lord and re-examine what He is doing in my life. I find great solace in the silence. I feel Him near, and if I work at quieting my head and heart, I hear that still, small voice.

Thursday was no exception. After the longest three months of my life, comprising…

  • the arrangement of in-home care and support for my dad and mom, respectively,
  • followed by Christmas with most of the kids and a trip to Italy to visit the rest in December;
  • Dad’s rapid decline and death in January;
  • three trips to Michigan and back (one flying; two driving);
  • a surgery for my bride;
  • and a mad scramble to keep up with work in between

…even a few hours of silence were, to me, like a soft, steady rain on parched earth. I could feel my heart expand to fill the hollow between my lungs. Slowly, tentatively at first, it stirred to life and began to beat again. I spent two fruitful hours in silent reflection. I prayed a rosary while picking my way through the ruins of the frozen lakefront outside the retreat center. I spent a restful half-hour before the Blessed Sacrament—so peaceful, in fact, that I fell into a deep and silent slumber.[1] When the priests intoned the Tantum Ergo, I suddenly and unexpectedly levitated.

At the end of the afternoon, Father asked us to share a little bit about our retreat experience. When the mic came to me, I said, “I lost my dad recently. It was good to spend a day with my Heavenly Father, and with our Mother in Heaven, while I try to care for my mother on earth. I like silence and try to make a silent retreat every year. I missed it this year, so even this short retreat was a blessing—now I get to take three middle-school girls to the Toby Mac concert!”

Nearly everyone laughed.

For those who don’t know, Toby Mac is a well-known Christian singer and rapper who got his start in the 1990s with the Christian rap/rock group, DC Talk. These days, I would describe his music as R&B- and hip-hop-infused Christian pop. It is good music, but not my style.

Our 12-year-old, however, loves it to the point that one of her Lenten sacrifices is not listening to Toby Mac unless involuntarily (e.g., we’re listening to the radio and he comes on—a frequent possibility) or, specifically, at his Leap Day concert in Minneapolis. Tickets to this concert were the top item on her combined birthday and Christmas list this year, and she believed it to be such a longshot that she even declared she would be fine if it were the only thing she received for both occasions. At one point, she was convinced it was sold out, and her only recourse would be winning tickets.

Unbeknownst to Lily, we had already purchased five—two for Jodi and me; three for her and two friends.

When we purchased the tickets, I was not really aware of the staff retreat the same day. One of the great challenges of making a silent retreat is maintaining that closeness to the Lord—that spirituality of silence—as you reenter your day-to-day life in the world.

Hence the laughter at my comments.

I arrived to a surprisingly quiet house—Jodi, still recovering from surgery, was working quietly on her laptop, and the three concert-bound girls were giggling in her room with the door closed. But it was not to last. An hour later, when we loaded up and headed to Maple Grove for an early supper before the show, the radio was tuned to KTIS (the Toby Mac Pre-Show Party) and turned up; the laughter and talking was loud and non-stop. We ate at Shake Shack, where pop music of a different sort was piped in over three televisions showing preseason baseball, hockey recaps, and Teen Titans Go!. The laughter and loud talkativeness continued, of course.

We arrived at the Target Center just as the doors opened: the relative calm before a storm of lights and sound. This was Lily’s first concert experience, and she took everything in, wide-eyed and smiling. She sat between the Herbst twins, with Jodi, then me, alongside.

I have had the privilege of an eclectic concert-going history: from Ray Charles and Mary Chapin Carpenter to Blind Melon and George Clinton; Yo-Yo Ma and Max Roach to Pearl Jam and Metallica. But the two Christian concerts I’ve attended are altogether different.[2] No concert-hall politeness or pretense. No drinking or drifting clouds of pot smoke. No scandalous female fashions, alpha-male stupidity, or sloppy PDA. Imagine instead 10,000 people of all ages on their feet, eyes closed, hands raised, some smiling, some crying, praising God at 120 decibels.

In an eight-foot radius of my seat, I saw a gray-beard like myself in his vintage DC Talk “Jesus Freak” shirt next to his son, who was wearing a new Toby Mac tee; a group of teens who never sat and knew the words to almost every song sang by six artists over three-and-a-half hours; an elderly couple who sat quietly, smiling softly; two families with small children (including an adorable little girl with a small, handmade sign proclaiming herself Toby’s biggest fan); and two heavyset sisters who sat, more or less stationary, recording the experience.

And of course, our three superfans. With each new song, they would briefly put their heads together and stand or sit—generally based upon whether they knew it well enough to sing along. They clapped, sang, danced, and cheered. During the intermission, they took information about a young girl in Cambodia they hope to sponsor as a group. And all the way home, they discussed their favorite songs and performances, loudly, over the KTIS broadcast of the Toby Mac after-party (album versions of all the songs we just heard).

It was, truly, a great night. The spiritual whiplash was endurable, primarily because the noise was joyful. John Reddick opened with soulful, gospel stylings and the rolling cadence of a preacher; Toby Mac band member Terrian brought the radiant smile of a self-proclaimed “church kid” and a joyful urban bounce to her short set. Mac Powell’s down-home baritone and Third Day shout-outs briefly turned the Target Center to a revival tent—he seemed like the elder statesman, despite being several years younger than the headliner.[3] Tasha Leighton belted her witness of God’s love with reckless abandon, then Cory Asbury, in my humble opinion, stole the show with raw emotion and simple, silly joy. All that before a nearly 60-year-old Toby Mac took the stage with a guitarist, bass player, and drummer; backup singers, including Terrian; a DJ; and a horn section; and shared his high-volume, high-energy heart.

I’m almost 50, and I admit, I was moved by the whole thing. (I’m almost 50, and I admit, I could not have performed three songs at his level without needing oxygen and a chiropractor.)

I had a good time. For most of us, silence is not possible 24-7—but the noise we allow ourselves to be immersed in matters. Despite the stark contrast of my day, I didn’t lose the interior silence, because I was surrounded with praise. I heard the still, small voice on retreat and was blessed during the day. It felt good to respond in gratitude: a full-throated cry of thanksgiving.

Check Out the Artists

Here are my personal favorite songs by each of the artists from Thursday’s concert:

[1] I am assured by those around me that I did not snore, talk, or otherwise disrupt the quiet.

[2] The week before Christmas 2016, Jodi and I were blessed to see Matt Maher with I Am They, John Guerra, and Hannah Kerr. They raised money for a pro-life ministry during the intermission and performed Christmas songs together at the end of the show.

[3] Two things: First, he sounds like Travis Tritt—am I the only one who thinks so? Second, I was once mistaken for him on a retreat.

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