This article made me recall my experience when I spent a few days at the monastery of Iveron on Mt. Athos. Briefly, Mt. Athos refers to a mountainous area on a peninsula whose northern border is made fairly inaccessible by mountains; situated on Athos are 20 main monasteries and many dozens of smaller monasteries and "cells". Athos has been home to monastic communities since around 800.

I remember one day when my friends who traveled with me and I, along with many of the monks, were working on polishing a good amount of brass items outside. My friends and I were talking about all sorts of topics as we did our work, and fairly loudly at that. I don't recall how exactly it happened, but I suddenly became aware of the fact that we were the only ones talking. The monks were diligently polishing in silence and probably trying to tune out our banter for the sake of paying attention to their work and remembering God. Of course nobody scolded us or told us to be quiet, but for whatever reason that only made me feel even more embarassed!

Now something mentioned in the article is that in the monastery, one has to face oneself and the Adversary. When I first came to Iveron I experienced a great peace and focus. But in only a few days, I saw how the simplicity, silence, and stillness of life made me come face to face with myself.

When it came time for meals, we ate in a large communal hall. Everyone ate in silence while one monk read something for spiritual edification, such as the life of a Saint. Although the monks generally don't eat meat, fish, or dairy, at times of feasts they will have fish and dairy. One day they served an absolutely delicious meal of fish and cheese on roasted eggplant. Then a few days later it came time for leftovers... I got a plate of beans, while someone near me got the dish I loved. And at that moment I became acutely aware of my utter lack of thanksgiving -- that I had food, that I was being served with such hospitality, that I could even make such a trip across the world -- because I was instead consumed with envy of my brother and his meal of fish. It was thanks to the quieting of my mind through the life of the monastery that I was even able to recognize this fact. But in seeing this weakness, this missing the mark (one translation of "sin"), I was given the opportunity to correct it.

There is also a different kind of silence that I experienced. Morning services at the monastery began fairly early; around 4:30 if I recall correctly (and many of the monks had already been up for their private morning prayers). One of my favorite memories of my trip was walking outside to the church at 4:30 because Athos has absolutely no light pollution. I had never before seen the arms of the Milky Way so clearly, and the sky was filled with countless stars. I find this to be an illustration of what we can see when we can move past the noise in our lives: it was only the "silence" of the lack of light pollution that allowed me to behold the true beauty of the sky.

In this silence, what we are really trying to behold is the Image of God in every person, including the ways in which we have obstucted it in ourselves. This silence is the silence of our judgments against others, our envy of others' blessings and accomplishments, our assumptions about the crosses others do or do not bear... all of the noise that prevents us from having true communion with other people -- and with God -- in an authentic and loving way. This silence reveals to us just how broken we ourselves are, and in so humbling us helps to eradicate all of the noise we inflict upon our neighbor and ourselves.

If you'd like to learn more about silence and the life of the monks on Mt. Athos, I recommend "The Mountain of Silence" by Kyriacos Markides.