Silent Running with John Milton

As a fan of WW2 films, I enjoy the films about submarines especially. One aspect that is interesting is the need, at some point in the film, for "silent running". This is when an enemy sub or surface vessel is nearby, trying to listen for sound to locate (and destroy) the submarine. The drama for the submariners in those moments is intense -- be quiet, or die! (Fans of the genre will find Das Boot the most compelling film).

In a much, much lesser fashion, my family has been "silent running" for the past couple of months. As we've told anyone who will listen, the very wonderful apartment we moved into (closer to Central Park, more spacious, more convenient to church, etc.) is owned by a management company that is, shall we say, somewhat lacking. This includes the contractor who renovated the apartment finding it easier to simply remove doors rather than repainting them. As a result, we have not been able to host anyone in our apartment in the evening. Indeed, the great challenge has been keeping the other three children quiet while the baby sleeps. And then when all the children are asleep, we are in "silent running" mode, and in near darkness, too. Because in the analogy, waking a child (particularly an infant) is akin to inviting a depth charge in a submarine!

This has been irritating, but also somewhat peaceful, on the positive side. I generally don't seek out such a tranquil setting (low lights, no talking!) from 8pm onwards, night after night for two months. No doubt I will find it a jarring change to "surface" and experience light and noise once again.

What about you -- when the power goes out, and the noise and light of our electrified world cease, do you scramble to get things going, or sit and wait in the peace and darkness? They also serve who only stand and wait, wrote the blind John Milton, in one of my wife's favourite sonnets:

On His Blindness, John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide

Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He returning chide,

"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"

I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait."