Restrictions on movement have meant a diminution of sound. It's not silence, but the lack of planes, cars and crowds has heightened the sounds of children playing, bumble bees and birdsong, especially our robin which seems to have perfected exactly that frequency which pierces my hearing aids. I'm currently reading a book about the history of silence in religious traditions, which may sound rather nerdy; most of it goes right over my head and I've only reached the 9th Century.
The Good Friday story is pretty noisy with lots of shouting and thunder and veils ripping but all tending, in my observations anyway, to the silence of Easter Saturday. Silence often plays a major part in Good Friday devotions. Usually on Good Friday St.Mary's is thronged with children and families doing crafts, excitedly meeting each other and ravenously consuming hot cross buns from The Loaf. But even this is carefully orchestrated and ultimately subsides into quietness with a short service. Last year our new vicar, Ian, had a cockerel on his shoulder and we were reminded of Peter, after a blustering boast that he would never betray Jesus, denying him when challenged. In the Luke version of the story Jesus silently turns at this point and looks at Peter. Talk about a significant glance or if looks could kill! What would such a silent look have done to us? This was the very eloquence of silence which assuredly drove Peter for the rest of his life.
This morning I did my regular Popalong performance to 11 or so screens of toddlers and parents. With all the singing out of sync, out of tune, out of time it was a joyful cacophony of joy and celebration; the joy of seeing each other, letting off steam, climbing up dads, bouncing on laps and running round the garden. It was unfettered sound and later for us there was the comparative silence of sitting in the sunshine and reading about Silence. If you're sharing the lockdown with another there is that companiable silence as conversation runs out of momentum (or maybe there isn't!) Even on-line Scrabble with Sammie was conducted in a quiet and orderly way that ultimately led to the defeat of the computer. Since I've dutifully carried out all this exercise that has been imposed upon me, sitting in stillness and silence is easy. It's the getting up that fills the gaps in conversation with creaks, groans and a particularly extended sigh as the discs in the spine unfold and settle into their rightful places. It's not just Pontius Pilate for me today, but some Pilates. And of course it was he who exemplified hand-washing in a public and ceremonial way, but he was decontaminating himself of responsibility, we of the virus. Pilates hand-washing led to a death, our hand-washing is supposed to preserve life.
We managed to locate on Amazon Prime the 1977 'Jesus of Nazareth' starring every actor of repute at the time. We watched this for several Easters in the gigantic cinema in Gozo, but it's disconcerting how acting styles change, how forced it all seemed and how blonde and blue eyed young Jesus was.
A last stroll outside to close up the greenhouse and the silence is palpable, echoing off the moon, resounding in the darkness and the stillness of the stars.