The Silent Spaces Where God Shapes Us

There is silence… and then there is silence.

Not all silence is the same.

Matthew 26:63 shows us a silence that is holy. Pride may want to speak, defend, justify—but Jesus was silent. His silence was not fear. It was obedience.

But most of us know many forms of silence—some holy, some harmful.

There is the silence forced by fear, intimidation, or persecution.

There is the silence of abuse—punishing someone through withdrawal, abandonment, lack of communication, lack of affection, or withholding affirmation.

The silent treatment is its own form of cruelty.

But then there is the silence of submission, humility, and holiness.

This is the silence of awe—

the silence when the presence of God or the appearance of an angelic messenger overwhelms us,

the silence where we feel our inadequacy before a holy God,

the silence where we don’t even want to breathe, let alone speak.

This kind of silence is full of peace.

It is nothing like the silence that controls, manipulates, or diminishes.

And yet, because of our human frailty and the wounds we carry, we often interpret God’s silence as betrayal.

Even Jesus felt this tension.

When He hung on the cross and cried, “My God, why have You forsaken Me?” it was the weight of our sin creating distance—not abandonment. God could not look upon the sin Jesus carried, yet the Father never left Him. Jesus knew the difference. He knew His Father’s will and surrendered without arguing with God or man.

Jesus was abused.

But He submitted to it only because He knew it fulfilled the Father’s purpose of redemption.

That is not God’s will for us.

It is not God’s will for us to be abused or to silently endure mistreatment.

The Silence That Looked Like Submission… but Wasn’t

I remember a season in my former marriage when I fought back—arguing, defending, trying to stand my ground when I was spoken to harshly, demeaned, or manipulated.

Eventually I grew weary.

I stopped fighting.

I became silent.

From the outside it looked like submission, maturity, even godliness.

But inside I still heard that small, persistent voice:

“This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be treated this way.”

As Christians we often interpret “turn the other cheek” as permission for abuse or silence.

But silence is only godly when God is the One who tells us to be silent.

The Silence God Asked of Me

There was another moment with my former husband when we had a significant disagreement about finances. This time I felt justified in speaking up, and I argued—until I heard the Lord clearly say:

“Be silent.”

But this was a different kind of silence.

Not resentment.

Not defeat.

Not fear.

It was the same quiet submission Jesus walked in—the silence that trusts the Father with the outcome.

That outcome did not go the way I hoped. In fact, it was painful. The consequences of those decisions stretched long beyond that moment. I remember being angry with the Lord because I had obeyed. I had been silent. Shouldn’t obedience have produced a blessing?

Then the Lord spoke gently to my heart:

“My Son silently carried your sins to the cross.

You, too, must bring the sins of this situation to My feet.”

In that moment I realized:

Jesus took our abuse so we would not have to.

He surrendered Himself to it so we could walk away from it.

God Shows Us When to Stand and When to Walk Away

Over time the Lord taught me the difference between godly silence and destructive silence.

He taught me when to speak.

When to stand.

When to leave the room.

When to walk away.

And ultimately, when to leave the relationship altogether.

This pattern repeated in other family dynamics as well.

To break cycles of abuse, dishonor, and being unheard, there are moments we must:

Let go.

Stop participating.

Stop trying to fix it.

Stop explaining ourselves.

Let God take over.

For me, the first tiny step was simply walking out of the room when I was berated. Each small act of obedience strengthened me for the next step—even when I didn’t see it at the time.

Eventually the Lord provided the escape I needed.

Jesus also had an escape.

When He could bear no more, His escape was surrender:

“Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.”

The Silence That Leads to Surrender

We are often conflicted. Human. Torn between fear and hope. Between defending ourselves and preserving peace.

But when we surrender—not to circumstances, not to people, but to God—we enter a new place of intimacy with Him.

A place where silence becomes holy again.

A place where the silence we choose becomes strength, not suppression.

A place where surrender becomes freedom.

And in that silence, God speaks.

Not through intimidation.

Not through fear.

But through His steady, holy presence—shaping us into who we truly are in Him.