The Role of Silence

Silence is something the modern world doesn’t really know how to handle. Everywhere you turn, there’s noise—people talking, notifications buzzing, music playing, cars honking, someone always trying to fill the quiet. It’s almost like silence makes people uncomfortable, as if they’re afraid of what they’ll hear when there’s nothing left to distract them. But the Bible paints a very different picture of silence. In Scripture, silence isn’t emptiness. It’s not an absence of something—it’s the presence of something deeper, something sacred.

In the Hebrew texts, one of the words often tied to silence is דּוּמִיָּה (dumiyyah), which means quietness, stillness, or even a kind of expectant silence before God. It’s used in places like Psalm 62:1, where David says, "Truly my soul waits in silence for God; from Him comes my salvation." That word "waits in silence" is the same root. It’s not just being quiet; it’s an active, deliberate stillness, a kind of inner posture of trust. That’s a very different way of thinking about silence than just the absence of noise. It’s a silence that listens, a silence that leans in.

Then there’s Elijah. Everyone knows the story—he’s on the run, discouraged, hiding in a cave from Queen Jezebel, and God tells him to stand on the mountain because He’s about to pass by. But what got him there in the first place? Elijah had just come off the biggest spiritual victory of his life. On Mount Carmel, he had challenged 450 prophets of Baal to a showdown, called down fire from heaven, and watched as God proved once and for all that He alone was God. You’d think that that would be the moment everything changed. But it didn’t. Instead of Israel repenting, Queen sent Elijah a death threat, saying, “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” (1 Kings 19:2)

And Elijah—this same man who just stood boldly in front of a nation and called down fire from heaven—ran.

That’s the part that gets me. One minute he’s fearless, standing in the power of God, and the next he’s running for his life, so exhausted and broken that he collapses under a broom tree in the wilderness and prays to die. "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers." (1 Kings 19:4). Sounds like something many of us go through… instead of trusting God for everything, we stumble when we get scared.

But instead of rebuking him, God meets him in the silence. First, He sends an angel to wake him up and give him food and water—twice. And then, strengthened for the journey, Elijah walks forty days (there’s that 40 days again) to Mount Horeb (Sinai), the very place where God met Moses. And there, in a cave, Elijah encounters God—not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire, but in the קוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה (qol d'mamah daqqah)—the “still small voice” or, more literally, “the sound of sheer silence.”

That phrase is tricky to translate. קוֹל (qol) means "voice" or "sound," but דְּמָמָה (d'mamah) means something like "whisper," "gentle silence," or even "calm stillness." And דַקָּה (daqqah) means "thin," "small," or even "crushed." So some scholars would argue that instead of a "still small voice," it could be read as "the voice you only hear in silence." That’s a mind-blowing thought—God wasn’t in the chaos, the destruction, or the dramatic signs. He was in the quiet. Elijah had to stop and actually listen to what wasn’t being said in order to encounter God.

That’s the same thing we see in Jesus' life. He didn’t just teach about silence—He lived it. Over and over, the Gospels tell us that He withdrew to quiet places to pray. The Greek word often used for this is ἔρημος (erēmos), which means "wilderness" or "desert," but it also carries the idea of solitude. Jesus deliberately chose to step away from the noise, from the crowds, from the demands of ministry, to be alone with His Father. Right before He began His public ministry, He spent forty days in the wilderness in silence and fasting. And if the Son of God Himself needed silence, what does that say about us?

Then there’s Mark 1:35, where it says, "And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, He departed and went out to a desolate place (ἔρημος), and there He prayed." This wasn’t a one-time event. Luke 5:16 says, "But He would withdraw to desolate places (ἐρήμοις) and pray." The verb there, "ἦν ὑποχωρῶν" (ēn hypochōrōn), suggests an ongoing habit—Jesus consistently withdrew. He made a practice of silence.

That’s the real challenge, isn’t it? Silence isn’t just a moment—it’s a discipline. And it’s hard. Our minds race, our thoughts fight for attention, and the moment things go quiet, we instinctively reach for something to fill the space. But silence is where God meets us, where He works on us, where we actually hear Him. Not in the earthquake. Not in the fire. But in the stillness.

So how do we apply this? It starts with being intentional. Maybe that means setting aside a few minutes every day where we turn everything off—no phone, no distractions, just quiet before God. Maybe it means taking a walk in nature without music, just listening. Maybe it means practicing what Psalm 46:10 says: "Be still (רָפָה, raphah) and know that I am God." That word רָפָה (raphah) means to loosen, to let go, to stop striving. It’s not just about silence—it’s about surrender.

Elijah didn’t just need food or rest—he needed stillness. He needed to be quiet long enough to realize that God hadn’t abandoned him, that all his running and worrying wasn’t necessary, that God was still in control.

The world is loud. It tells us that noise means life, that busyness means purpose, that distractions keep us safe. But God’s Word tells a different story. It tells us that silence is where God speaks. It tells us that solitude isn’t loneliness—it’s an invitation. It tells us that in the stillness, in the quiet, in the moments where everything else fades away, that’s where we finally hear what we’ve been missing all along. Peace. God.

I hope this message blessed you. If so, please leave a comment. I look forward to hearing from you.

Anna M. C. Hazen  2025

The image is AI generated on chatgpt.