Laryngitis as a Spiritual Discipline

I’ve barely spoken for the past four days. Who knew laryngitis could last this long? (It’s getting better, so no one should worry.) It’s also been a really fascinating experience.

Ten days ago, I got a bad cold and was in bed for 3 days. I was well enough to preach and preside on Sunday, but I woke up on Monday with no voice whatsoever. That week, I tried to keep quiet but did more whispering and croaking than I should’ve. I used slips of paper (fun!) and lots of gestures to communicate, but still used my voice too much. By the end of that week, my throat felt like it had a big horny bump in it and swallowing was unspeakably painful. So, I went on total vocal rest. Some church members were able to step up to lead worship and preach this past Sunday, thank goodness.

Since then I haven’t spoken a word. It’s very, very strange. If you thought being without internet is tough, try going on total vocal rest. A tool you rely on – for relationships, identity, and daily survival — is gone.

To communicate with Adam, I have to use facial expressions and gestures, or write on my phone, my laptop, or the back of an envelope (admittedly, this is starting to drive him nuts). I can’t call or reprimand my dog, so I bang on things or try to whistle. I can’t answer the phone or make a call. I can’t talk to store clerks or say hello when a stranger greets me. (I just smile and feed odd and mysterious.) I can see what they call this being “dumb,” because that’s certainly how it feels in social situations. It can be lonely and isolating, and you lose some control over your surroundings with no voice.

But it’s also quite profound. After four days, I can feel the silence in my whole body. My throat feels full of quiet (I can’t think of any other way to put that). My brain feels different because very few of my thoughts get expressed or shared: no advice, no chatter, no judgment, no explanations, no excuses, no stories, no small talk. Thoughts pop up… and they can’t go anywhere. Do they need to? Do we need to express so much of what goes on in our heads?

Earlier this morning, I went to visit a parishioner before surgery with a member of our healing prayer team who did the talking for me. E. prayed with K. and her husband, and I gave them each a little slip of paper with a note I’d written. They chatted, I patted their arms, smiled, and hugged them, and though it sometimes felt like having a translucent sheet between us (or, again, that “dumb” feeling), it also felt like enough.

E. and I sat down to talk a little afterward. Or, she talked since I couldn’t. This was the most interesting part, to listen to a parishioner catch you up on their life, and NOT SAY ANYTHING. I mean, this is the ideal, right? Person talks. Pastor/ counselor/ friend/ whatever, listens. I could nod, shake my head, smile, grimace, pat her knee or shoulder, roll my eyes, and scribble a few comments on a piece of paper.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if part of being a priest or pastor meant to take a vow of silence – except for preaching and leading worship? Totally impractical, but might put things in perspective. We get so used to talking and hearing the sound of our own voice, thinking people need our advice and counsel. What if we just offered our presence? Sure, there are benefits to sharing our thoughts with words and voices, insights we can offer, questions we can ask, but my sense is we do too much talking. Sometimes it’s good to just shut up, listen, nod, and give someone a hug.

It’s good for your spiritual life, too – the calm, depth, and quiet you can feel in your body. It makes you realize how much chatter there is in the world, how we use language to fill gaps, control situations, alleviate anxiety, and sell stuff.

E. said to me this morning in the hospital hallways, “Seems like God is doing something for you – you’re a writer, it’s good for you to do less talking!” It does feel like a kind of sideways gift. A vow of silence I didn’t choose, but that has been kind of like a retreat, in place.

I think my throat will be well enough either Wednesday or Thursday to start talking again. That will be interesting, too.