You experience it every time you watch a movie at the cinema. Today, the requests have even become commercials or short films featuring M&M candies or the stars of an upcoming film, but it used to sound like this: “Please be quiet and courteous, and silence your cell phones now.”[1]

Why would you choose this kind of silence? Is it because other people are more important than you? No. Is it because this request is an act of hegemonic oppression by the cinema, reminding you who is boss? No. Instead, you should choose the silence of respect precisely because you recognize that you are as valuable as anyone else in the theatre, and that they are as valuable as you. Your mere presence has an effect on others.. You are not the only viewer, the only guest. That older woman in the front row, that young family in the row behind you—they are just as significant as you, and they too have paid to experience this film, not to hear your cell phone’s ringing, buzzing, or notification bloops. If you don’t choose silence in advance, they won’t have it either.

There is a term for this, a surprisingly recent one. Today (in an era so far into the digital age that the name “digital age” sounds woefully outdated), we have become accustomed to putting our devices into silent mode. Not just in the cinema, but anywhere respect is appropriate. In the process, we have been introduced to a powerful concept.

Practicing silent mode

Turning off the volume on your digital device may seem unremarkable. When you stand back from it in your mind, it may even feel funny, an unprecedented twenty-first century social habit like digital cameras felt to a recent generation, and self-driving cars might to the next. I encourage you to think about what exactly is happening in silent mode. It’s not an act of silencing something that should be heard; we’ve already dealt with that in the chapter on the silent treatment. It’s also not a malicious move toward our not-yet-sentient devices, reminding them that humans are more important than technology (though this is of course true). Instead, silent mode offers respect toward those around you by placing limits on yourself. We put our phones on silent mode in meetings, at a shared lunch, at church, so others can have the benefit of our presence while also the benefit of silence’s presence too. We choose in silent mode not to be silenced by others, but to silence ourselves.

For me, the idea of silent mode has become highly suggestive. This silence of respect, so well typified by silent mode, is actually an extension of listening. It’s an acknowledgment that we can choose silence not only to listen to what people are saying, but also in order to experience something equally valuable: them. We typically silence our cell phones when something special is about to take place: a film, a concert, or a dinner with friends. The silent mode of respect is similar: it’s often the voluntary choice of silence in the face of extraordinary situations.

Consider the digital Sabbath. You are no doubt familiar with the regular Sabbath, where work stops for a day. Well, imagine doing that with your digital devices: putting them down, choosing not to use them for a day. Yes, an entire day. It may feel more like fasting, like a hunger strike, when you’re as addicted to technology as most of us are. But increasingly, people are deciding to take digital Sabbaths—including the creators who invented our devices and their features in the first place. The curious part is that they’re even calling them that too: Sabbaths. Sam Altman, the young entrepreneur who leads the startup accelerator Y Combinator, admits: “Digital addiction is going to be one of the great mental health crises of our time.” So he takes digital sabbaths.[2]

You can take an online version of the challenge at digitalsabbath.io.[3] The site invites you to boldly go where few have gone before: into a life without any form of digital technology one day a week, over a three-month period. For most people, that’s much harder than it sounds. For most people, it’s exactly what we need. The point of a digital Sabbath, after all, isn’t to practice deprivation; it’s to practice being present, and to practice respect for others.

You might consider a smaller step at first. I’ve had many friends who began with a technology-free night. As soon as they got home in the evening, their phone went away. And they didn’t look at it again until the next day. Or—if they were especially nervous connected—right before bed. This break was healthy for them, of course, but just as importantly it was a sign of deep respect to their families. Remember the picture the little girl drew of her dad staring into the eyes of a smartphone? She wasn’t being listened to when her dad was listening intently to his phone. She wasn’t being respected. Imagine how her world would be different if her dad had practiced technology-free nights.

The season of Lent is also silent mode. You’re identifying a part of your life that’s become too important to you, too precious. And you’re choosing to put it on silent mode for 40 days, between Ash Wednesday and Easter. What you give up these days is just as likely to be Netflix as it is beer or chocolate. A few years ago, Lent became a doubly profound practice of silence as respect for me, because that year I determined to give up interrupting other people. During those 40 days, I felt silent mode in my bones every time I waited and waited, not just listening, but also learning to simply appreciate the other person. This is apropos, because in observing Lent, you’re identifying with the silent mode Jesus took on for 33 human years (not just 40 days). He took it on, we’re told in the verse so famous that it goes by its reference at sporting events, because he appreciates us too. According to the Gospel accounts of Matthew and Luke, even now Jesus has chosen to be a tee-totaler, to put wine itself on silent mode, until the day we enjoy it with him in person. Now that’s patience.[4]

Savoring, secrets, and the moment of silence

Speaking of wine, silence is a wonderful way to appreciate and savor things, to give them the respect they’re due. A great meal. A wonderful concert. A meaningful conversation. Leaving a Good Friday service with tear-filled eyes bowed low. These extraordinary moments call for silence. They call for respect

Keeping secrets is another way friends practice silence as respect. One of my college professors once told me that a mark of a mature mind is taking more pleasure in keeping a secret than in telling it. By the way, whom do people usually trust with their secrets? People who truly listen to them. People who know how to use silence. What a gift to be entrusted with a secret, and given the opportunity, again and again, to let it rest in your silence.

There are also times when there is no right thing to tell someone except to give them your silence. This is especially true when you’re present with people who’ve experienced suffering or loss. It’s the reason Kelsey Crowe and Emily McDowell wrote the book There’s No Good Card For This.[5] You know the best thing to give someone who’s suffering? A silent hug. As long as you dare. If you need to speak, the safest thing to say is a simple, “I’m sorry.” When my little sister Missy passed away unexpectedly, I can confirm that there’s nothing quite as comforting as the long and silent embrace of a friend. It’s far more eloquent than words.

Sometimes, the losses we experience are on a larger scale. They’re shared. And so, together, we practice silence as respect in the ritual we call a moment of silence. For instance, after Alexander Graham Bell’s death, all telephone service was silenced for one minute in his memory. Nine years later, Thomas Edison died, and President Herbert Hoover asked everyone in the nation to join him in turning off all electricity for one minute at 10:00pm.[6]

Other moments of silence are even more profound. Almost every year for the last two decades, there have been several, sequential moments of silence out of respect for the loss of life on September 11, 2001. In the United Kingdom, on Remembrance Day, two minutes of silence are observed at 11:00 in the morning. As Britons sit or stand in silence, they remember the day World War II came to an end for their country.[7]

For me, the most affecting moment of silence is what Jews celebrate on the day they call Yom HaShoah. This is Holocaust Remembrance Day. There are still many in the world today who deny that the Holocaust ever happened; they imagine that six million people were not gathered together and extinguished. So for Jewish people, this is an important memory. It’s one they keep alive by their public tributes on this day. Aside from other ceremonies and services, an air raid siren at 10:00am sounds throughout the country. No matter where they are or what they’re doing, Jews stop and wait, in two full minutes of silence. Many of them, in fact, even prepare for these two minutes in advance, so they can make the most of them. Highways are empty, cars pulled off to the side, their drivers standing at attention, many with heads bowed. When the sirens fade away, the drivers return to their cars, one by one, reluctantly it seems, coming out of that silence a different person than they entered it.[8] Respect.

How might we respect others with our silence . . . others still with us, as well as those who have gone?

Where might we choose to live in silent mode, for an hour, an evening, a day, a lifetime?

No matter our reasons for silent respect, as theologian Henri Nouwen expresses it, “Silence teaches us to speak.”[9] By choosing to stay in silence, even for a moment of respect, we are often choosing to identify with the experience of those who have been silenced, have been consigned to the sunken place, or who live only in silence now. We’re also becoming much more aware of the value and kindness of others who listen to us, include us, love us.

Listening recalibrates the spirit so we can understand our place in the universe. Respect builds on that recalibration to honor the valuable fellow humans we’ve discovered as a result of that Copernican revolution.

[1] A version of Regal Cinemas’ request to silence cell phones can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNg453ghzpc.

[2] Sam Altman published his thoughts on digital addiction as a tweet, here: https://twitter.com/sama/status/804868886340345856?lang=en.

[3] The Digital Sabbath challenge can be found at https://digitalsabbath.io/.

[4] Jesus’s decision to drink no wine until he is reunited with his disciples can be found here: https://biblehub.com/matthew/26-29.htm and here: https://biblehub.com/luke/22-18.htm.

[5] Crowe, Dr. Kelsey and Emily McDowell. There is No Good Card for This: What to Say and Do When Life is Scary, Awful, and Unfair to People You Love. San Francisco: HarperOne, 2017. 

[6] An account of the moment of silence after Alexander Graham Bell’s death can be found here: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/telephones-were-silenced-one-minute-after-alexander-graham-bell-died-180964296/, and the account of the moment of silence after Thomas Edison’s death can be found here: https://www.wired.com/2010/08/0804alexander-graham-bell-funeral-silence/.

[7] An overview of the multiple moments of silence observed on September 11th in the United States can be found here: https://www.911day.org/node/54. An overview of Remembrance Day, celebrated in the United Kingdom, can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Remembrance_Day.

[8] An overview of Yom HaShoah can be found here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_HaShoah, and a video of traffic stopping to observe it can be seen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddsD1BtxXQ0.

[9] Henri Nouwen’s thoughts on silence teaching us to speak, originally published in The Way of the Heart, can be seen here: https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/682397-first-silence-makes-us-pilgrims-secondly-silence-guards-the-fire.

Selah

I invite you to take a moment of silence. A moment of silence for someone who has been important to your life.

Maybe it’s someone who’s sacrificed for you, made your life possible. Respect them with your silence.

Set a timer for two minutes. Or 4’ 33”. As long as you like.

Remember them, as specifically as possible, and be grateful.

Your Turn

We all want to be respected. It makes sense: we are all respectable enough that we get to bear God’s image. We are deeply human, just as human as the world’s ‘best’ person and the world’s ‘worst.’ The wonderful news is that we can create more respect in the world when we choose to give it more often and more fully to others. Consider the following options as you start putting this use of silence into practice:

• If you share your living space with others, commit to putting your mobile device away when you get home. If you need to start small, pick one night and plan it—put a reminder on your calendar. Decide where your mobile device will go, specifically.

• When you’re ready for it, try to practice “phone away” every evening for a week. Then, consider adopting it as a new habit.

• When you’re having a conversation with someone else, determine not to put your phone on the table, or somewhere visible between you.

• When you’ve gotten practiced at keeping your phone away around others, determine to ignore your phone notifications when you’re in conversation with others, or are their guest. If you’re convinced that the message is urgent, ask permission to check it, and thank them afterwards for obliging you.

• If you’ve never observed Lent, practice it this coming year. If you’ve observed it in the past, but have usually given up something relatively trivial, choose to give up something that will be an act of respect to others.[1]

Visit a place that reminds you of the respect you owe: it could be a church, a monument, someone’s home. Practice silence and respect. Remember.

[1] An introduction to Lent can be found here: https://40acts.org.uk/about/what-is-lent/ and in the book Lent for Everyone by N. T. Wright (project overview here: https://lentproject.wordpress.com/resources/devotional-materials/tom-wright-lent-for-everyone/).