A Moment of Silence

Being a grandparent offers opportunities to revisit places that were long ago a natural habitat. Recently our five year old granddaughter, Meredith, called (yes, she did it all by herself. How could we resist?) and invited her grandfather and grandmother to grandparents’ day at her school. The morning came and we were there. The place was alive with children dutifully following their morning routines, teachers and administrators cheerfully welcoming everyone, and older people (a.k.a grandparents) waiting for instructions. We went to Meredith’s room and she came happily bounding toward us. Memories were not very far away. Well painted, cinderblock walls and shiny floors beckoned us through the building. Classrooms were colorfully decorated with pictures, student artwork, and other environmentally stimulating decorations. As I recall, our rooms were not quite so busy with stuff. There were the teachers, all women, patiently and kindly setting the schedule for the morning. I can only remember one male teacher in the four different grammar schools I attended. Announcements were being made from the principal’s office. Then came the singular moment and we were awakened to the fact that things are not the same. All the classes were asked to observe a “moment of silence.” For those whom the public school is an everyday experience this is probably taken in stride. But for these two sixty-somethings it was depressing.

There they were. Hundreds of children, age five to ten, who came from all kinds of homes with who-knows-what sorts of worries, fears, grief, and insecurity. Now what in the world is a five year going to do mentally with a moment of silence? For one thing, aren’t moments of silence reserved for memories of the deceased? But that presents another problem. Does one turn to a pleasant memory of that person? What if there are only bad memories? The moment of silence could be a hazardous thing if one is not properly prepared. But I imagine that a moment of silence could be quite welcome to a weary school teacher at about three o’clock in the afternoon. We had a version of this when we were asked to put our heads down on our desks after lunch for some moments of silence. This tended to invite trouble from the more mischievous boys in the class. I am sure the principal and teachers all meant well by their request that morning for a moment of silence. It was, after all, the agreed-upon substitution for prayer in school. The Supreme Court put an end to that some years back.

We are now being told that the separation of church and state prohibits the imposition of prayer to a deity by the state. Thomas Jefferson’s now famous wall of separation statement in a private letter in 1802 has become the shibboleth of liberals and others committed to our national well-being. But how one derives this from the “establishment of religion” clause in the First Amendment is beyond me. I have the sneaking suspicion that there is a not-so-subtle agenda at work here, namely, the gagging of God in public life. Ironically, however, at the swearing in of Chief Justice John Roberts, he said he needed God’s help in order to fulfill his duties (“so help me God”). If the chief justice of the United States Supreme Court needs God’s assistance, I am sure my five-year-old granddaughter needs it too. There is a lot of divine help needed for our children. Every year 500,000 to 1,500,000 children are sexually abused. There is a thirty-five percent divorce rate at work among professing evangelical Christians. There are forms of child abuse beyond the physical. Divorce, alcohol and drug abuse leave innocent little children struggling for survival in school houses across our nation. For many of them the only time they hear the name of God is in the profane language of television, movies, and parents. To add insult to injury the nation’s future adults are submitted to the myth of evolution as an explanation for our existence on planet earth. That moment of silence can be filled with the comforting thought that no matter what kind of emotional or physical abuse you may be enduring, you are only an accident. There is no ultimate meaning in life. Chance rules the day.

The moment of silence seems to be here to stay for awhile. But it doesn’t have to rule the day. Or should I say, ruin the day. Parents ought to make sure their children are loved, instructed, and prepared for a day at school and the rest of life. Let society proceed on its merry way to self-destruction, but my grandchildren don’t have to be eaten alive by it. We can teach them and fill their minds with what matters for time and eternity. God has given us what we need to know. It’s in the Bible. Does that rule out a well-rounded education? Of course not. But the school day can begin with a prayer within that little mind, asking for the Creator’s wisdom and strength for the day ahead. That’s a moment of silence that redeems the time.

Dr. Howard E. Dial
Berachah Bible Church