Time after I came to your gate with raised hands asking for more yet more. You gave and gave, now in slow measure, now in sudden excess. I took some, and some things I let drop; some lay heavy on my hands; some I made into playthings and broke them when tired; till the wrecks and hoard of gifts grew immense, hiding You, and the ceaseless expectations wore my heart out.
Take, O take, has now become my cry. Shatter all from the beggar's bowl. Put out this lamp of the importunate watcher; hold my hands, raise me from the still-gathering heap of your gifts into the bare infinity of your uncrowded presence.
"We must do the works of Martha, but in the spirit of Mary. Both of us would agree to that. "
"What is the spirit of Mary?" I asked.
"Silence. Interior silence – and exterior silence, too. Your culture cannot hear the voice of God because its ears are too full of noise. For lack of silence you are going mad. God made you with two ears and only one tongue, so that you could listen twice as much as you speak. Then, when words come out of the silence, they will have power. "
~ from "Ecumenism and the Culture War" by Peter Kreeft
