The Silent Years

I was reading about the “Silent Years” of Jesus. It made me curious. What the world knows of Jesus is the short three years of his public ministry—three years packed with the most astounding events and acts ever recorded. We know practically nothing of his first thirty years.

During those years he hid in obscurity, unknown to anyone but his family and small town. He was not one who would be noticed—born into poverty, living a simple, ordinary, even mundane life as an apprenticed carpenter to his stepfather. What if the story had stopped there? Would that not look like the story of us?

Most of us live out our lives in a similar way—in relative silence and obscurity. Very few of us will accomplish anything publicly remarkable. And yet, I was brought up to expect I would “amount to something”. Parents, relatives, teachers, and coaches, all predicted I would be this or that—always a remarkable life. This became the lens through which I would go on to critically evaluate my life— How am I doing on becoming “something”?

My Dad always preached to me that I could be anything I want, just be the best at it I could be. “Bob, I don’t care if you are the street sweeper in our town, just be the best street sweeper in our town”. I don’t think he meant it literally. He had aspirations for me that I did not have.

That “something” I would hope to become morphed into numerous images as I grew; a cowboy, a fireman, a world series pitcher, a rock star. As I entered my teens, I aspired to be like my Dad, a respected and successful businessman who left early every morning in a three-piece suit to manage and direct other men and women. Later in life, as I started to write, that” something” I imagined was an acclaimed author who, bespeckled and wearing a tweed jacket, would address from the podium auditoriums full of adoring fans.

But alas, life has a way of rubbing out our illusions and delusions. As I aged, and none of these things seemed to be in any way possible, I became discouraged. I let go of any aspirations and settled down to my life as it really was. I joined the ranks of the industrial robots—getting up, going to the ‘plant’, coming home, having dinner and a few hours with my wife and children, then off to bed to wake up and do it again. It was only the weekend, and sometimes only Sunday, that I felt like a unique individual.

Our culture is complicit in our dissatisfaction with these silent years, years where it seems as if nothing much is happening. They feed us fantastical stories of what everyone but us is doing and getting, leaving us feeling dissatisfied with our mundane lives. Everyone else is healing the sick and walking on water.

Unlike Jesus and the handful of men and women whose name outlasts recent history, the silent years make up our entire lives. We live and work and play and grow and may once in a while do something special that those in our circle of life benefit from, but our names remain local and short-lived.

Brendan Gleeson in the movie “The Banshees of Inisherin” played an Irish fiddler who was obsessed with leaving his life with something permanent and lasting to show for it, instead of wasting it on a tiny Island off the Irish coast. He said, “In 50 years’ time, no one will remember any of us.”  I think that is true only if we consider our name. No one beyond my grandchildren’s life will remember my name. It will be as if I was never here.

This once was a despairing thought to me. I wanted my name to carry on. I did not understand how the impact of a life could carry on apart from a name. I wanted a legacy—a name that would be remembered for countless generations. Yet, what ripples throughout ages are vestiges of uncredited deeds that in some obscure and secret way get passed on from generation to generation.

My silent years will most likely be my only years. I probably will not have a public ministry that will last. Yet, it is in the hidden and obscure events of an ordinary life where I will leave my mark. If one plants a seed and moves on, they will never see it grow and blossom, nor know who if anyone will enjoy its fruit. But they believe they will, otherwise they would not plant. We do our planting in these silent years.

During the silent years of our ordinary living we meet our particular state of life with courage, fulfill our duties and obligations with faithfulness, and receive all who come in our path with generosity, kindness, and love. In our silent years we “become something”. While no one will remember who we were, some will unknowingly be touched by what we did. And that is enough legacy for me.

Kind Regards,

Bob