The Sounds of Silence

“Nature speaks a silent message that can be heard when conditions are just right.… Truth exists in wild places—where the air is clean, the water pure, the land free.”

Scott Stillman, Nature’s Silent Message

Honestly, I’m not very good at listening out there…there where the sounds of silence speak volumes to those with ears to hear.

I had noble aspirations on my first multi-day backpacking trip. I planned six days of solo hiking on the Ice Age Trail in southern Wisconsin. Surely, the silence and solitude would afford plenty of opportunity to listen.

The woods were silent. I was not.

The first day I’d covered 11 miles and saw but two or three other people. Voices inside my head wondered if my wife would be worried about the solitude…that I might twist an ankle and be unable to walk, lying helpless on the side of the trail until…who knows when! Should I tell her how lonely the trail is?

Upon approaching a couple of road crossings, I could hear an occasional car whiz by, but that was it. I mused where the road came from…where it went…how far to the nearest town.

The map kept coming back to mind. How much trail have I covered? How far until I stop for a snack? What time will I get to the shelter?

I heard raindrops hit the brim of my hat and the leaves on the trees. Would my gear stay dry? Would the rain cover work? Would my sleeping bag get wet? What would it be like setting up my tent in the rain?

Alone at the shelter, silence reigned even as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. Along that horizon, though, I sensed the silence would be broken before long. Flashes of lightning lit up the darkening sky far off in the distance.

Checked the weather app. Tornado watch…severe thunderstorm warning for the area. Radar showed the storm hitting in less than an hour. Should I put the cover over my tent—in the shelter? Would my wife be worried sick if she knew? Should I tell her? Should I be worried sick?

The wind howled, thunder rumbled, rain pelted the roof of the shelter and my tent cover. “Had I not put that up, I’d be drenched,” I thought. And my mind considered the consequent misery.

Then the storm passed. Thunder faded in the east. Silence returned and my mind quieted as I drifted off to sleep.

For a while.

In my sleep I could hear scratching outside my tent. Mice? Racoon? Grizzly bear? Not really…knew better than that!

But I had to know if my stuff was safe. The food was in a waterproof bag hanging from a tree branch, but could a coon get it? Was some critter going to nibble a hole in my backpack? Where’s my headlamp?

Between the light and my shouting, the scratching stopped. But my mind didn’t for quite some time. I listened intently. I worried needlessly. Remember, this was my first backpacking trip.

In a couple of areas along the trail, the route led through soggy ground. A rather lengthy stretch cut through what was once a lakebed—Scuppernong Basin. Within minutes of entering the section, my feet sank into the marshy ooze, certainly made worse by the previous night’s storm. Didn’t sink very deep, just above the sole, sometimes a bit more. My Vasque hiking boots were waterproof and would keep my feet dry—wouldn’t they? I wondered.

No.

After less than a half mile of this, my socks were soaked. I began worrying about blisters. Would I get any? Is that a hot spot I feel on my heel? My big toe?

A couple miles later, my feet were killing me. Blisters indeed.

And all through this slogging, the only sounds were those my feet made sinking into and slurping out of the muck.

You’d think that with all the sounds of silence I would be listening to the quiet voices of creation. Well, I did some, but frankly, not much.

The conditions weren’t right—the internal conditions, that is.

Listening to creation’s message requires silence—a quiet mind as well as quiet surroundings.

Likely in his youthful shepherding days—years before becoming king of Israel—David wrote Psalm 19, a song of praise extolling God for His self-revelation. The first stanza focuses on the silent sounds of creation’s revelation:

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words, whose voice is not heard. Their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.

In them he has set a tent for the sun, which comes out like a bridegroom leaving his chamber, and like a strong man, runs its course with joy. Its rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them, and there is nothing hidden from its heat.

Psalm 19:1–6 (ESV)  

I can imagine David out on a Judean hillside after the sun has completed its circuit through the sky. The sheep are rounded up, lazily dozing in the grass. Not a sound but what nature has to offer.

His own breath.

The soft panting of sheep.

The plaintive howl of a wolf off in the distance.

Mesmerizing gurgles as rivulets of water tumble over rocks and pebbles in a nearby stream.

The sounds of silence amplifying the voices of firmament and heavens.

And in the silence, the shepherd hears.

Stillman notes,

“Animals live in this silence all the time, as do the trees, the rocks, the sun. Even the soil breathes this silence. It’s us who bring our noisy minds into nature, full of details, anxiety, and mindless chatter. We carry the noise and clamor of the city. But if we learn to quiet our minds and listen along with these silent beings, nature’s message can finally be heard.” (p. 100)

What is that message, anyway?

“The glory of God…His handiwork.”

• A God of power made this.
• A God of impenetrable wisdom.
• A God of beauty and splendor.
• A God of order and intricate detail and careful precision.
• A God of superb craftsmanship.
• A God of sustaining provision.
• A God of inexhaustible resourcefulness.
• A God of transcendence, but of intentional thoughtfulness.
• A God of infinite magnitude who designed the minutest sub-atomic particle.

Given that message, it’s no wonder David closed his song with the prayer,

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.

A myriad voices called out to me through the sounds of silence along the Ice Age Trail, if only I’d been listening. If only those voices weren’t drowned out by the cacophony going on in my head.

Then, as heavens and firmament intend, “I’d bow in humble adoration, and there proclaim, ‘My God, how great thou art!”