Speechless
Stories
Lightly Goes the Good News
Scripture Stories For Reflection
Zech was beaming as he swung the censer in great arcs around the Temple. He hadn't felt this alive in years. And considering how old he was, that meant a lot of years. Why so alive now? Was it because he had been chosen to offer incense that evening in the Holy Place? After all, this had never happened to him before. Certainly he was filled with gratitude but this privilege didn't account for his renewed vigor or sprightly gait. Was it because he had undergone some profound religious experience? Not really. Had pleasant memories of earlier times spent in the Temple flooded his mind? Actually, no. Then what had happened which caused him to smile so broadly, swing the censer with such determination, and glide so lightly across the temple floor?
Zech sighed deeply. After twenty years of playing cribbage before they went off to sleep each night, last night he and Liz did something different; and they had fun, real fun. Zech's eyes twinkled recalling how they had gazed at one another after their second game of cribbage. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he whispered to Liz as he touched her hand playfully.
"I think I am," she whispered back, lowering her eyes.
Together they giggled, "Shall we?" and together they answered, "Yehhh." And they had so much fun that night it left them speechless.
Zech decided that after last night he would give away their cribbage board. "Who needs cribbage?" he mused as he heaped more incense on the burning embers in the censer. They had taken up playing cribbage during the evening hours twenty years earlier because "it" only seemed to remind them of their continued disappointment in not being able to have children. They had earnestly performed their duty over and over but to no avail and they wondered what they had done to remain childless. And, once they became too old ever to have children, they gave up doing "it" altogether.
"But now!" Zech sighed breaking the temple silence, "Ah, sweet mystery of life!"
"Isn't that the truth?" a voice nearby chimed in.
"What?" Zech was startled as he strained to see who it was that spoke from somewhere in the cloud of incense.
"I said, 'Isn't that the truth?' -- I mean the bit about life's sweet mystery. I'm just surprised it took twenty years of cribbage before you discovered it! And believe me, you'd still be shuffling and pegging if my boss, Mr. G., hadn't said,'We've really got to do something about those two. Put a gleam in their eyes, give them a little passion for one another.' "
Zech's eyes widened as he made out the figure of a man standing close by in the haze of incense. He was dressed in a white panama suit, white shoes, and gloves. A red hankie was neatly tucked in his breast pocket.
"Who, who are yyyou?" Zech was almost speechless.
"Just call me Gabe. I hope you don't mind my being here at this time. Mr. G. asked me to drop in and give you a message. It's nice and quiet here and Mr. G. thought that since you and I are both working for him, you wouldn't feel guilty about giving me a minute or two of your time." Gabe fanned the air with his hand. "By the way, could you cool it with the censer for a minute? I'm allergic to incense and, believe me, that's bad news in my profession."
Zech immediately stayed the swinging censer with his hand. He looked warily at Gabe. His initial impulse was to make a beeline for the temple door, clear his head with a few deep breaths of fresh air, and then reenter the sanctuary -- minus the hallucination. But he didn't move. Partly out of fear. Partly out of curiosity. "You said you had a message for me?" Hallucination or not, Zech had decided to engage the stranger.
"Oh, yes, the message. Well, Mr. G. has some wonderful news for you. You and Liz are going to have a baby."
"A baby?" Zech reached for the nearest pillar to steady himself.
"Yes, a baby. See what happens when you give up cribbage for a night?" Gabe chuckled at his private joke and then continued apologetically, "I'm sorry. Those aren't Mr. G.'s words. They're my own and I take them back. But Mr. G. does want you to know that the fun you and Liz had last night was not entirely of your own making. He had a hand in it from start to finish. Because he wants you to have a baby."
"At our age?" Zech protested.
"Hey, better late than never and these are Mr. G.'s words, not mine. And what a baby this boy is going to be! He's got quite a future. Let's say he's going to be Mr.G.'s personal PR man, spreading the news about Mr. G.'s plans for his people."
By this time Zech was hugging that pillar for dear life. "But a baby at our age? He won't know whether to call us Mom and Dad or Grandma and Grandpa! He'll be pushing us in wheelchairs right after we've finished pushing him in a baby buggy. No, I think you must be mistaken. You...."
"Mistaken? Mr. G. mistaken?" Gabe sounded hurt and not a little resentful. Hands on hips, he drew a step closer to Zech. "Okay. Okay. Just so you know Mr. G. means business." Gabe shook his finger at Zech sternly. Then, less severely he continued, "Besides, the quiet will give you time to consider Mr. G.'s plans."
Zech opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. There was a moment of astonished silence.
Then Gabe spoke slowly, deliberately. "See! Mr. G. doesn't fool around." On a lighter note he continued. "Well, I must go. We're recruiting new messengers at the office and I'm one of the interviewers. So, hang in there, Zech. You'll be hearing from me."
As Zech stood there, open mouthed, Gabe disappeared in the smoke. Loosening his grip on the pillar, Zech wondered if he had been hallucinating after all. He intended to say, "Of course," but the words would not come. Panicking, he flailed his arms, desperately trying to talk or grunt or squeak or anything. But nothing happened. He was speechless. But his mind raced from one disheartening prospect to another. How his friends would howl or wink at one another as one by one they got the news that he and Liz were going to have a baby! Liz? He had forgotten about Liz. Had Gabe told her? Zech hoped someone in Mr. G.'s messenger service had gotten to her. Because he was in no mood to explain by drawing diagrams and being called a loony by his own wife. All he needed was to have their new-found love affair end in twenty more years of cribbage! Slumping down on a temple bench, Zech propped his arms on his knees, rested his head in his hands and sat motionless for several minutes. His mind was a blank.
Then from nowhere the words "Mr. G.'s personal PR man --Spreading Plans For His People" started flashing through his mind -- over and over like some electronic billboard. These words had a salutary effect on Zech. Slowly he rose to his feet, straightened himself out, and returned to the business of swinging the censer in ever greater arcs. "Hmmmm," he thought, "not just any baby. Our son is going to be Mr. G.'s personal PR man. Someone to be proud of. And ..." the censer was swinging wildly by now, "this child was the result of last night's passion when Liz and I said out of the blue, 'Shall we?' and 'Why not?' "
At that moment Zech realized no words could ever adequately express what all had happened. Even if Gabe hadn't made him speechless, he would have become so anyway. And for the time being he was satisfied to praise the Lord wordlessly in the wild eloquence of a dancing censer.
Reflection
Recall expressions like: "What can I say?" "I can't find the words." "My heart is too full to speak." Consider Zech's speechlessness following the fun he and Liz had.
We seek to convey even our inability to find the words expressing how we feel about something. A close friend dies and we want to console the widow. But all we can do is place our arm around her and shake our head. Or someone listens quietly to us as we pour out our life story. We are overwhelmed with gratitude and choke up. We cry, we laugh, embrace, pat one another on the back, or wave our hands when we all too often find we can't express ourselves in words.
"Say what you mean!" someone tells us; but we can't. Often what we mean to say cannot be said, and what we finally say is never all we really meant to say, so meaningful is that which rendered us speechless. "Ah, sweet mystery of life" is Zech's way of verbalizing an experience too profound to capture in words.
Is our speechlessness a silent safeguard which protects the truth from becoming a lie in the inadequacy of words? Is it a sign of our ultimate failure to press out the inexpressible in any and all words? Maybe if it is such a sign, it is a saving sign insofar as it reminds us of the futility of reducing realities and Reality to dogmas, creeds and formulae. For the words of a creed are no better substitutes for reality than a recipe is for a chocolate cake.
Being speechless, then, can be a brief testimony to the presence of the Silence in our lives which most often goes unnoticed but which occasionally overwhelms us.
Zech sighed deeply. After twenty years of playing cribbage before they went off to sleep each night, last night he and Liz did something different; and they had fun, real fun. Zech's eyes twinkled recalling how they had gazed at one another after their second game of cribbage. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he whispered to Liz as he touched her hand playfully.
"I think I am," she whispered back, lowering her eyes.
Together they giggled, "Shall we?" and together they answered, "Yehhh." And they had so much fun that night it left them speechless.
Zech decided that after last night he would give away their cribbage board. "Who needs cribbage?" he mused as he heaped more incense on the burning embers in the censer. They had taken up playing cribbage during the evening hours twenty years earlier because "it" only seemed to remind them of their continued disappointment in not being able to have children. They had earnestly performed their duty over and over but to no avail and they wondered what they had done to remain childless. And, once they became too old ever to have children, they gave up doing "it" altogether.
"But now!" Zech sighed breaking the temple silence, "Ah, sweet mystery of life!"
"Isn't that the truth?" a voice nearby chimed in.
"What?" Zech was startled as he strained to see who it was that spoke from somewhere in the cloud of incense.
"I said, 'Isn't that the truth?' -- I mean the bit about life's sweet mystery. I'm just surprised it took twenty years of cribbage before you discovered it! And believe me, you'd still be shuffling and pegging if my boss, Mr. G., hadn't said,'We've really got to do something about those two. Put a gleam in their eyes, give them a little passion for one another.' "
Zech's eyes widened as he made out the figure of a man standing close by in the haze of incense. He was dressed in a white panama suit, white shoes, and gloves. A red hankie was neatly tucked in his breast pocket.
"Who, who are yyyou?" Zech was almost speechless.
"Just call me Gabe. I hope you don't mind my being here at this time. Mr. G. asked me to drop in and give you a message. It's nice and quiet here and Mr. G. thought that since you and I are both working for him, you wouldn't feel guilty about giving me a minute or two of your time." Gabe fanned the air with his hand. "By the way, could you cool it with the censer for a minute? I'm allergic to incense and, believe me, that's bad news in my profession."
Zech immediately stayed the swinging censer with his hand. He looked warily at Gabe. His initial impulse was to make a beeline for the temple door, clear his head with a few deep breaths of fresh air, and then reenter the sanctuary -- minus the hallucination. But he didn't move. Partly out of fear. Partly out of curiosity. "You said you had a message for me?" Hallucination or not, Zech had decided to engage the stranger.
"Oh, yes, the message. Well, Mr. G. has some wonderful news for you. You and Liz are going to have a baby."
"A baby?" Zech reached for the nearest pillar to steady himself.
"Yes, a baby. See what happens when you give up cribbage for a night?" Gabe chuckled at his private joke and then continued apologetically, "I'm sorry. Those aren't Mr. G.'s words. They're my own and I take them back. But Mr. G. does want you to know that the fun you and Liz had last night was not entirely of your own making. He had a hand in it from start to finish. Because he wants you to have a baby."
"At our age?" Zech protested.
"Hey, better late than never and these are Mr. G.'s words, not mine. And what a baby this boy is going to be! He's got quite a future. Let's say he's going to be Mr.G.'s personal PR man, spreading the news about Mr. G.'s plans for his people."
By this time Zech was hugging that pillar for dear life. "But a baby at our age? He won't know whether to call us Mom and Dad or Grandma and Grandpa! He'll be pushing us in wheelchairs right after we've finished pushing him in a baby buggy. No, I think you must be mistaken. You...."
"Mistaken? Mr. G. mistaken?" Gabe sounded hurt and not a little resentful. Hands on hips, he drew a step closer to Zech. "Okay. Okay. Just so you know Mr. G. means business." Gabe shook his finger at Zech sternly. Then, less severely he continued, "Besides, the quiet will give you time to consider Mr. G.'s plans."
Zech opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. There was a moment of astonished silence.
Then Gabe spoke slowly, deliberately. "See! Mr. G. doesn't fool around." On a lighter note he continued. "Well, I must go. We're recruiting new messengers at the office and I'm one of the interviewers. So, hang in there, Zech. You'll be hearing from me."
As Zech stood there, open mouthed, Gabe disappeared in the smoke. Loosening his grip on the pillar, Zech wondered if he had been hallucinating after all. He intended to say, "Of course," but the words would not come. Panicking, he flailed his arms, desperately trying to talk or grunt or squeak or anything. But nothing happened. He was speechless. But his mind raced from one disheartening prospect to another. How his friends would howl or wink at one another as one by one they got the news that he and Liz were going to have a baby! Liz? He had forgotten about Liz. Had Gabe told her? Zech hoped someone in Mr. G.'s messenger service had gotten to her. Because he was in no mood to explain by drawing diagrams and being called a loony by his own wife. All he needed was to have their new-found love affair end in twenty more years of cribbage! Slumping down on a temple bench, Zech propped his arms on his knees, rested his head in his hands and sat motionless for several minutes. His mind was a blank.
Then from nowhere the words "Mr. G.'s personal PR man --Spreading Plans For His People" started flashing through his mind -- over and over like some electronic billboard. These words had a salutary effect on Zech. Slowly he rose to his feet, straightened himself out, and returned to the business of swinging the censer in ever greater arcs. "Hmmmm," he thought, "not just any baby. Our son is going to be Mr. G.'s personal PR man. Someone to be proud of. And ..." the censer was swinging wildly by now, "this child was the result of last night's passion when Liz and I said out of the blue, 'Shall we?' and 'Why not?' "
At that moment Zech realized no words could ever adequately express what all had happened. Even if Gabe hadn't made him speechless, he would have become so anyway. And for the time being he was satisfied to praise the Lord wordlessly in the wild eloquence of a dancing censer.
Reflection
Recall expressions like: "What can I say?" "I can't find the words." "My heart is too full to speak." Consider Zech's speechlessness following the fun he and Liz had.
We seek to convey even our inability to find the words expressing how we feel about something. A close friend dies and we want to console the widow. But all we can do is place our arm around her and shake our head. Or someone listens quietly to us as we pour out our life story. We are overwhelmed with gratitude and choke up. We cry, we laugh, embrace, pat one another on the back, or wave our hands when we all too often find we can't express ourselves in words.
"Say what you mean!" someone tells us; but we can't. Often what we mean to say cannot be said, and what we finally say is never all we really meant to say, so meaningful is that which rendered us speechless. "Ah, sweet mystery of life" is Zech's way of verbalizing an experience too profound to capture in words.
Is our speechlessness a silent safeguard which protects the truth from becoming a lie in the inadequacy of words? Is it a sign of our ultimate failure to press out the inexpressible in any and all words? Maybe if it is such a sign, it is a saving sign insofar as it reminds us of the futility of reducing realities and Reality to dogmas, creeds and formulae. For the words of a creed are no better substitutes for reality than a recipe is for a chocolate cake.
Being speechless, then, can be a brief testimony to the presence of the Silence in our lives which most often goes unnoticed but which occasionally overwhelms us.
