I weave a silence on to my lips

I weave a silence into my mind

I weave a silence within my heart

I close my ears to distractions

I close my eyes to attractions

I close my heart to temptations

Calm me Lord as you stilled the storm

Still me Lord, keep me from harm

Let all the tumult within me cease

Enfold me Lord, in your peace.  

David Adam

This is a prayer for use before prayer. In its first section, David Adam draws on the repeating patterns and images of the Celtic tradition, the weaving in his words echoing ancient designs in stone or silver, for example. He encourages us to gather ourselves, and to become aware of the clamour besieging us from all directions before gently laying each separate noise aside. Imagine this first section being read slowly with space between each line for the weaving, for the closing.

The prayer’s concluding four lines take us to Lake Galilee. A violent storm has whipped up (Luke 8.22-25). The disciples are tempest-tossed. For a moment, we’re in their little fishing boat with them, sharing their fear of drowning and their indignation as Jesus sleeps. “Wake up and do something!” we see them pleading in the foreground of Rembrandt’s painting above (1633). Our own storms may not involve lashing rains and howling winds but are no less overwhelming for that.  So these lines ask Jesus to still us when – in whatever way - we are in danger of being swamped.

Margaret Rizza has set these last four lines to music.  She marks her chant ‘tranquil’ for, with Jesus in our boat, tumult never has the last word. A great calm descends. In Mother Julian’s words, “God did not say we would not be tempest-tossed: he did say we would not be overcome”.