When Silence Speaks Louder: Advent's Invitation to Patient Waiting

As we enter the first weekend of Advent, the Church invites us into a season of patient waiting for the Lord's coming. This isn't the restless fidgeting we experience whilst queuing at the supermarket, the frustrated sighs when our bus runs late, or that immediate urge to pull out our phones and scroll social media. Advent patience feels different: quieter, more expectant. It's the kind Mary must have known, saying "yes" without seeing the full picture, or the watchfulness of shepherds under starlit skies, alert but peaceful.

A friend mentioned recently that they're attending a silent retreat this weekend, and I'll admit my first thought was rather puzzling. Doesn't Scripture call us to "proclaim from the rooftops" and "let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story"? Silent retreats have always seemed a bit counter-intuitive to me. Surely God wants us talking, sharing, spreading the Good News? How does keeping quiet fit with our call to evangelise? Maybe this tension reveals something I hadn't considered about authentic witness. Our world is drowning in noise: endless notifications, constant chatter, the pressure to have instant opinions about everything. In all that racket, stillness becomes something quite radical.

I'm wondering if this quietness isn't the absence of message but the cultivation of one worth sharing. Just as soil needs to rest between harvests, perhaps our souls need seasons of deep listening before we can speak with any real depth. My friend on retreat isn't abandoning evangelisation. They might actually be preparing for it. In the stillness, God's voice could become clearer than their own worries, plans, or need to fill every moment with sound. This Advent, I'm curious about embracing both: the hush that prepares and the proclamation that follows. Small pockets of calm might make a difference: turning off the radio during school runs, choosing to listen instead of speaking, focusing on understanding and absorbing rather than rushing to respond. Sometimes the most compelling witnesses aren't the loudest voices. They're the ones who've learnt to hear so deeply that when they do speak, their words carry real weight rather than just chatter.