Wordless

At right, early spring flowers in our yard. Of all the colors in the Creator’s palette, I’m most fond of blue.

She who spoke not, said the most.

I spoke four times at a women’s retreat this weekend. But I think the most profound teaching didn’t come from my thousands of words, but the silence of an attendee with aphasia. I was touched by the sensitive spirit with which her disability was explained on the opening night. The other women were encouraged to connect with her and ask questions that could be answered with a nodded “yes” or “no.” One woman was her companion, helping her with feeding and personal needs.

Fittingly, one of my topics was “friendship.” Watching the women touch her, ask “yes” or “no” questions, and simply include her was a more powerful teacher than my “prepared” remarks on the traits of a F.R.I.E.N.D. (Oh, the acrostics that speakers build on!)

I thought of another person from the Bible left unable to speak, the priest Zechariah. Learning from an angel that he would father a son in his old age, he mocked at the impossibility, then his tongue went dumb. His speech returned when relatives disputed over what the newborn should be named. He settled the argument by writing on a tablet “John,” the name announced by the angel before the baby was even conceived.

Stop and wonder at what happened next: “Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue was loosed, and he began to speak, praising God” (Luke 1:64).

My father was a “John,” a name that means “God is gracious.” (My name is a feminine form of John since I didn’t turn out to be John Junior.) It was exactly the right name for John the Baptist, who readied the Jews for the ministry of his cousin Jesus. For is not the story of Easter that of God’s grace? Of our deserved punishment for sin taken by God’s own Son?

The stores are full of the phony Easter, the fake grass and plastic eggs, bunnies and “Happy Spring” cards. But if we really—yes, really—consider the reason for Easter, we would be at a loss for words. Probably on our knees. Speechless before God.

Yet, like the women at the retreat, He reaches out to us. Hugs us. Connects with us. Cares for us. Reminds us that we are loved.

Yes, she who spoke not, said the most. And for that I praise God.