Most of us don’t know how to be quiet anymore.
We say we want to hear from God but we also treat silence like something to be solved. A podcast for the walk. A playlist for the shower. A sermon in the background while we answer emails. Even our “quiet times” are filled with someone else’s voice—someone more articulate, probably British, definitely talking about “pressing in.”
But maybe God doesn’t want to press in. Maybe he just wants us to stop talking.
Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” That’s not poetic filler. It’s the setup. You can’t know if you’re not still. And most of us are allergic to stillness. Not because we’re bad Christians but because silence is uncomfortable. It forces us to pay attention—to what we’re avoiding, to what we’re carrying, to what we’ve numbed with noise.
And also maybe to God.
In 1 Kings 19, the prophet Elijah is exhausted and angry and waiting for God to show up. There’s a mighty wind. An earthquake. Fire. But God’s not in any of those. He shows up in a whisper. Or, depending on your translation, “a sound of sheer silence.” Either way, Elijah has to get really quiet to even notice it.
That should tell us something. God doesn’t shout over the noise. He waits for it to die down.
Jesus got this. Luke 5:16 says he “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” Not once in a while. Not when the Wi-Fi was down. Often. He made space for quiet. If the literal Son of God needed solitude to stay grounded, what makes us think we can get spiritual direction in the five minutes between TikToks?
And sure, we’re all busy. But it’s not just about time. It’s about attention. We fill every second because silence makes us feel unproductive. And honestly? A little exposed. Dallas Willard once said, “Silence is frightening because it strips us as nothing else does.” It shows us what we’ve been avoiding. But it also makes room for peace, insight and maybe even God.
But sometimes the silence isn’t just about distraction. Sometimes it’s about disconnection. As John Bevere says, “If God seems silent to you, it could be that there are things hindering you from hearing His voice.” He doesn’t say that to shame people—he says it because repentance is the thing that reopens the conversation.
That’s the part most of us forget. We want a word from God, but not if it involves changing direction. Bevere puts it like this: “Repentance isn’t just a change of mind. It’s a change that affects your whole being. A person who refuses to repent is basically saying, ‘I choose what’s right for my life.’ But a repentant person says, ‘I choose what God says is good, best and right for my life.’”
That re-centering is what makes the whisper audible again.
Ruth Haley Barton says, “The soul, like the body, will speak if we listen. But we have to be quiet enough to hear.” And Isaiah 30:15 backs her up: “In quietness and trust is your strength … but you were unwilling.” Brutal. But also accurate.
So if you’re feeling stuck, unsure or like heaven’s gone quiet, maybe ask yourself this: When was the last time you were? Actually quiet. No worship music. No devotional app. No performance.
Just still. Just present. Just willing to sit in the silence and ask, “God, is there something in me that needs to change?”
Because maybe the silence isn’t God withholding. Maybe it’s Him waiting.
As Bevere says, “Repentance is not a harsh word. It’s one of the most beautiful words in the New Testament. It’s the doorway to God’s presence.” And it’s in that presence—not the noise, not the rush—where we hear Him most clearly.
God might not say something loud.
But He might say something true.
Or maybe He already did—and you just needed to turn everything off long enough to hear it.
