JOURNAL
(Photo to the right, taken by Aimee Zaring in Santorini)

Lessons in Silence
April 1, 2008

I’ve been working on my first novel for years, and many times I’ve gotten frustrated with how long it has taken. It doesn’t help, of course, when people continually ask me, “You done with that novel yet?” or “How come Nora Roberts can crank out a new bestseller every six months?” But after learning how long it took director Philip Gröning to complete his beautifully shot film, Into Great Silence, I’ve decided to take it easy on myself.

In 1984 when Gröning asked for permission to film on location at the Monastery of the Grand Chartreuse (the motherhouse of the Carthusian Order) in the French Alps, one of the most ascetic monasteries in the world, he was told it was too early. Maybe in another ten years. Maybe longer.

Sixteen years later, he received the call. The monks were ready. Twenty-one years elapsed from the time Gröning had the initial idea of the film to the time Into Great Silence saw the light of day.

And still, after all that time and energy and perseverance and courage, most people would probably rather watch paint dry than a three-hour movie about the day-to-day lives of contemplative monks.

I will concede, you must be in a particularly patient and generous frame of mind to watch this movie. You must be willing to watch minutes at a time of monks shoveling snow, preparing meals, kneeling in prayer, chopping wood, and sweeping floors. You must be content listening to nothing but the occasional, simple sounds of rain falling, feet shuffling, robes rustling, pages turning, doors closing, and monks chanting. You must be willing to surrender yourself, at least for a few hours, to an austere and unsettling silence.

One of the hardest things for me when I first began watching the movie was the silence. I noticed I wanted to keep turning up the volume on the TV. But what bothered me more than the silence was the fact that I found noise necessary at all, that I have been programmed to expect it.

In a recent episode of Cold Case a deaf boy explained that he hears with his eyes. I suppose I did the same thing as I watched Into Great Silence. I’m sure the silence of the monastery also influenced how the film was shot. Without sound, sight plays a more critical role. Each scene must do twice the work. But unlike big-budget, action-packed Hollywood movies, the scenes in Into Great Silence do not seek to entertain but rather to move the spirit. The camera often moves outside of the monastery, to the world of nature and the unfolding seasons. Or back inside, to a cup of steaming tea, fruit on a plate, dust motes floating through shafts of light, flickering candles. All these are made to bring the viewer into a state of contemplation and stillness.

But in the film, even our sight is limited. Many shots are grainy or have the jumpy, stuttering movement of old home movies. For the most part, only glimpses of these monks are shown—in profile, in the shadows, at a distance. But these oblique views lend a reverence and awe to the film, as if not even the filmmaker and his crew wanted to intrude on these monks’ quiet lives.

Only periodically throughout the movie are we shown a few monks head-on, staring into the camera. What is beautiful about these shots is how the tables are turned, the viewer becoming the exposed, vulnerable one. There is the sense that something is being exchanged between the monk and the viewer, and I think of that wonderful quote by Thomas Merton: “The deepest level of communication is not communication, but communion. It is wordless. It is beyond words, and it is beyond speech, and it is beyond concept.”

And this is the type of communion the monks seek, between themselves and God. One of the things that impressed me most about these monks is their deep level of intentionality, humility, and thankfulness in everything they do. Every task is regarded as an important one, an opportunity to draw closer to God, whether it be delivering trays of food to the monks’ cells or shearing a fellow brother’s head of hair. Even the bell ringer prays thoughtfully before grabbing the rope and tugging. His eyes seem to fill with tears after completing his task.

I wonder where we’d all be if we approached our lives with the same degree of intentionality, the same mindful attendance to the present.

In a rare moment at the end of the film, a blind, elderly monk responds to some interview questions, and it is as if the long silence we have endured throughout the film has at last been rewarded, the monk imparting some of the wisdom he has gained from decades of intense communion with God:

“The past, the present, these are human. In God there is no past. Solely the present prevails. And when God sees us, He always sees our entire life. And because . . . He is an infinitely good being . . . He eternally seeks our well-being. Therefore, there is no cause for worry in any of the things which happen to us. . . . Because everything that happens is God’s will, and it only happens for the well-being of our soul. God is infinitely good, almighty and he helps us.”

When I begin to doubt or worry about what will happen with my novel, if all my hard work has been for naught, I will remember this film. I will remember that perseverance pays off. I will remember that nothing done with love and intention is ever in vain. I will remember that all things will come to pass, as they are meant to, in God’s good time.

VISIT THE GERMAN WEBSITE FOR "INTO GREAT SILENCE".