In the summer of 2017, I attended a 10-day silent retreat—the first of many, with the longest spanning 33 days. This first retreat introduced me to the unmitigated power of God that comes to us in silence. Vivid dreams filled those ten nights, and long-forgotten memories surfaced in daytime prayer—a common experience among the men at the retreat. There was real spiritual warfare, along with ample material for a comedy sketch. During breaks, we silently wandered the retreat grounds in slow circles, resembling a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

An experience on the seventh day changed my life. It was early evening when the retreat leader gave a short talk about Christ on the Cross—how, from the very instrument of His torture, He prayed for the forgiveness of His executioners: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Lk. 23:34). During the prayer time that followed, I mentally repeated those words again and again. The verse somehow held the secret to all life. A warm twilight settled over the grounds as I walked my usual nightly loop, and a profound grace enveloped me. Though unseen, it felt as if someone of Flesh and Blood walked beside me, as real as any companion. The God of Love was so present, so palpable in those moments that I knew Jesus had drawn near.

On the ninth day, once the sun had set, we were allowed to speak again. But we left the chapel in silence, not yet ready to break it. Then something caught our attention: a rabbit, right by the chapel door, had given birth. There we stood, nine awestruck men gazing at a bundle of newborn bunnies huddled under a bush. The night deepened and we walked away, still silent, until one of us finally broke the spell. “All right,” he declared, “someone has to be the first one to say something.” We smiled, and from that moment onward, we could not stop talking. Conversation was like food. Under the full moon, we stayed up the whole night sharing stories, insights and mysteries. In the morning, we exchanged numbers before leaving so we could stay in touch. We never talked again, and that’s exactly how it was supposed to be.

That retreat revealed something to me: silence changes us on a spiritual level. After days without speaking, we didn’t just return to noise; we returned to words that mattered. And that is why, among the fasts you take up as Easter approaches, I encourage you to fast from noise. Noise is the constant hum of our lives—music, podcasts, TV, chatter. We crave it. Silence, however, can intimidate us. It forces us to face the thoughts and emotions we’ve been drowning out.
By framing silence as “noise-fasting,” we begin to see it as a discipline to practice. Consider stepping away from all the noise, even for just 15 minutes a day. Over time, this discipline will take root as a virtue—one that bears fruit in humility, patience and trust.

And if you have the chance, go on a silent retreat. In my experience, something profound always happens. Without fail, I come home a changed man, closer to God.

Colin Rahil [email protected] is the Director of Digital Engagement for the Archdiocese of Cincinnati, as well as a writer and speaker.

This article appeared in the April 2025 edition of The Catholic Telegraph Magazine. For your complimentary subscription, click here.