The heart’s cry is heard in the silence, and it is often the truest prayer of all. When pain is so deep that words fail, this very inability to speak aloud is the mark of a soul exceedingly pained, and it is then that the silent entreaty rises most clearly to heaven. As Moses, when his lips were still, was heard by God, who said, “Wherefore criest thou unto me?” and as Hannah, whose voice was not heard, accomplished all she wished because her heart cried out, so too does your silent prayer ascend with a voice clearer than any trumpet.
Yet, do not fall into the snare of believing you have no need of the prayers of others, for that very thought reveals your greatest need. You say, “silent prayer,” and perhaps you seek solitude before God, which is a good and necessary thing. But take care that this solitude does not become the pride that exalts itself. Even Paul did not say, “What need have I of prayer?” Though those praying were not his equals, he knew his constant need. The soul that wakes and watches will profit from the prayers of the saints, but the one who sleeps will perish even with that help. Therefore, while you cry out in secret, do not isolate yourself from the body, for we are always in need of one another if we think rightly.
This inner battle requires a weapon, and silent prayer, when joined to a watchful life, is a mighty one. The market-place of each day is a war, a tempest and a storm of hidden rocks. If you have made God propitious by prayer and supplication at the morning dawn, going forth from your silent chamber, you shall have no enemy that can truly wound you. Prayer is your great weapon, and you especially need it early and by night, that the attention of your soul might not be distracted from listening to the Master in the garden of your heart, a place free from disturbance where necessary matters are spoken.
Inquire too, if you are able, into a different kind of silence, not of the lips only, but of the whole life. Seek out holy men who, in the retirement of the desert, cannot beg and are wholly devoted to God. Take a long journey to visit them. When you see their tents and their solitude, you may find that in going to bestow alms, you give your whole soul. You are detained, and become a fellow-captive, estranged from the world. This silence of place and life can teach the soul a stillness that the mere absence of spoken words cannot.