A "Silence" Story

I'm reading the book Holy Silence by J. Brent Bill, which is an excellent contemplation on the Quaker practice of quietness. In the portion I was reading this evening, St. Arsenius is quoted:
"I have often repented of speech, but never of silence."

It reminded me of an experience I once had:

Twenty years or so ago, when Carla and I were part of the Vineyard (a charismatic Christian movement), we signed up to be members of the "ministry team" at a multi-day conference. These conferences were a combination of extended musical worship, lectures and "ministry times" during which the Holy Spirit was invited to come and touch people. Our job as "ministry team" members was to watch during these "ministry times" for signs of the Holy Spirit resting upon people. If we saw this, or simply saw someone who looked like they needed prayer, we were to go to them, lay hands upon them and pray. The Vineyard prayer methodology that we had learned was very practical: It involved not only asking God for guidance but also dialoguing with the "prayee" to determine what to pray for and how the prayer was working for them.

Being an introvert, I was never very comfortable with this process, but here I was as a "ministry team" member in a room of several hundred people who were standing with their hands raised, asking the Holy Spirit to come and touch them.

I saw a middle-aged man standing alone near an aisle with his head bowed and his hands held out before him. His eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed in deep concentration. Feeling a "nudge" from God, I reluctantly walked up, stood beside him and put my hand on his shoulder. At this point I was supposed to begin to pray, hopefully "nailing it" by getting a "word of knowledge" from God about the man's situation. The problem was, I wasn't getting a thing. I had no idea what to pray and the man looked so intent that I didn't want to distract him from his revery by asking questions.

So I just stood there next to him, feeling like an idiot, with my hand on his shoulder. After a while I slunk away.

At the close of the meeting the man found me. He asked if I was the one who had been standing next to him. I admitted I was and was about to apologize for being such a lousy "ministry team" member, when he reached out to shake my hand and earnestly thanked me. He explained that he had a son about my age, who even looked a bit like me, and that they had been estranged from one another for years. This is what he had been praying about. He told me that my standing next to him with my hand on his shoulder meant so much to him because it almost felt like his own son was standing there. It gave him hope that someday soon he and his son might be reconciled. He told me he really appreciated that I was discerning enough to know to just stand in silence and not say anything.

I accepted his thanks and kept my mouth shut.