when there's nothing to say
maybe say nothing
It’s one week after Easter and I have nothing to say.
We spent Easter with church family. The morning started at 8am with a shared brunch and then the service was at 9:30. Our priest very aptly kept repeating “He is Risen!” to which we obediently responded “He is risen indeed, Alleluia!” but his sermon wasn’t long. “There isn’t much more to it. That’s the story. The whole story".” And then he said it again. And we again, responded in turn.
But then he tried something new.
“We are risen!” he called out.
There was an awkward silence, a funny muttering, an uncomfortable laugh.
“You don’t know what to do with that one, do you?”
We didn’t.
I loved that moment because I know what I wanted to shout in that moment.
“We are risen indeed, Alleluia!”
But, had I done what my gut told me to do, I would have been alone. There would have been discord. One unstudied, female voice calling out over the crowd the thing I knew was true. But I didn’t. And that’s ok. I didn’t need to. We all knew the answer, even if the words were clumsy and unscripted. The liturgy wasn’t there and we met it with awkward silence. But I expect that there was a lot of that after the resurrection.
There was so much to say after Christ’s resurrection was revealed, but not everyone knew what to say. Nothing was tidy, nothing was good enough. On the road to Emmaus, Cleopas and another disciple were grappling with the death and resurrection of Christ. They hadn’t seen him and when he strolled up next to him, didn’t realize who it was. It wasn’t until they sat down to eat with one another did Christ reveal himself just in time to vanish from their view. The scriptures say that soon thereafter they went to find the eleven to tell them what they had witnessed, but those moments in his reveal and disappearance, I doubt there were words.
Thomas will forever be one of my favorite disciples. He follows Christ, sees His works and miracles, and loses him along with the others. I know that his faith seems shaky when he asks to place his hands on the scars on Christ’s, but I personally appreciate his boldness to ask.
“Show me it’s you. Because I’ve heard your voice but this could all be a shared illusion of grief. Let me touch you because the last time I saw you, you were gone.”
Yes, he’s chided for his lack of faith, but I can’t help but think that I would want the same thing. When there are no words, he asks to touch him, and Jesus gives him what he needs. And 2000+ years later, Thomas’ requests gives us what we need as well.
What words are there?
I’m not a theologian. I didn’t go to divinity school or study to be a spiritual director. I have never taught the Bible to anyone. I sat through two courses in college that covered the story of the bible and how to exegete certain passages, but it was the tip of the iceberg. I know little. So I can’t speak the way biblical scholars speak. But neither could Mary Magdalene. Neither could Thomas. Neither could Simon Peter. They often got the words wrong. They needed to be shown God’s way. They had studied the laws of Moses and they knew of a coming Messiah, but when the Messiah showed up on their doorstep, the best that they could do was shut their mouths and move their feet.
I don’t think Christ was ever at a loss for words, but he certainly knew how to be silent. I often have wondered about the silence that Christ craved and the prayers that he gave to the Father in those moments (or days) where he got away from his friends. What did he ask? What was he seeking? Or was he sitting, meditating, resting, and waiting for the Father to reveal himself?
I have only just begun reading “The Nature Fix” by Florence Williams but it is a thoughtful and well researched work that shows the scientific benefits that getting into nature can have on the human body and mind. This is not new information—how many mothers have told their kids that they need to go and get some “fresh air” or that they need to “touch grass” in order for their day to go better? But I wonder if, in going out in creation and learning to be quiet, we aren’t all pulled closer to God? Is there not a deep desire to take a deep breath when your toes are sunk in sand and your eyes fixed on an endless ocean? Can we not at least settle the voices in our heads a bit better when we’re surrounded by a grove of trees? Obviously Christ was seeking to pray in these moments of solitude and respite, but we don’t see him going to the city center to seek it. He knew that being in quiet would breed more quiet.
Even Christ sought quiet.
I began writing this with a different intent. The title was different, the subject matter was different, and I stared at what I had written and thought “this is too noisy.” So I erased it all. Those weren’t the words.
The truth is that today I have been in severe pain. Once a month I roll a dice and see if my uterus and ovaries will play nice, and most of the time they don’t. Today was such a day. Most of the day I felt helpless, which is a feeling I’ve had once a month for roughly 28 years. That’s 366 specific times of helplessness attached to my body and the chronic pain I have endured since early womanhood. And those are just the helpless moments that are directly attached to my menstrual cycle.
Today, as I laid in bed, I didn’t have the energy to parent my son or show care for my husband or our home. I didn’t even really have the words to express my needs. I have been frustrated with other things surrounding my daily life and today was the great crash where frustration, pain, and sadness culminated into a full system shut down. But the silence that came with the shut down? Glorious. I groaned, I cried, and I there were no words that I haven’t already prayed before, so I slept through clenched teeth. I was helpless and quiet. This was pain I knew so there was nothing new to say.
I know that I started this article saying that I have nothing to say, and yet paragraphs later, it seems I’ve said something, but the fact is that I’m not sure I’ve said anything of merit. I suppose that retreating and saying nothing in a world that is constantly asking you to stand up and say something is its own form of protest. We stay silent, we listen, we sleep, we shrug, we say “I don’t know” but the voices around us scream “SAY SOMETHING! CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVE! HAVE AN OPINION ON THIS ATROCITY! PRAY THE WORDS! CALL FOR THE LIVING GOD TO MAKE THE CHANGE! THE TIME IS NOW, THE TIME IS NOW, THE TIME IS NOW! RISE UP!”
We are risen and have no idea what to do with that sometimes. Because we don’t always feel resurrected. Today I certainly don’t. And I don’t think it’s because we have forgotten that Christ is the Word. Maybe it’s because for so long, we were saying all the wrong ones. Or that we keep seeing the wrong words said over us even after our redemption.
Sometimes we don’t have the words. Today I don’t. I just have ponderings and hopes and fears and, specifically, uterine pain. I am hoping to be met on the road that I’m walking, hoping that the footsteps I hear coming up from behind me are the living Christ. Hoping he’ll reveal himself a little sooner and stick around a little longer. And that he won’t be too ashamed when I ask to touch his scars, because I still can’t believe it’s him.
Because I need proof. Because I need to feel the “I love you” and not just hear it. Because today, faith looks a little bit like doubt.
Always,
Emily
P.S. If one more person tells me to eat a raw carrot salad daily to help with period cramps, I will suddenly have words, but they won’t be nice ones.
Good read honey. We all look for proof because our faith can be strong and fragile at the same time. The important thing I think is that we are looking.