Inspired by Matthew 27:11–14
There’s something strange—but sacred—about choosing not to speak.
In Matthew 27, Jesus is standing in front of Pilate, facing accusations, betrayal, and a violent death. People who once cheered for Him are nowhere to be found. The crowd is shifting. And when Pilate asks Him a direct question, Jesus… doesn’t answer.
“And He answered him never a word.”
— Matthew 27:14
That verse gets me every time. I imagine how tense the room must have been. How loud the silence must’ve felt. And I wonder if I would’ve been able to hold my peace like that—or if I would’ve tried to explain myself, just to feel understood.
It’s Not Weakness, It’s Wisdom
Silence doesn’t always mean surrender. Sometimes, it’s strength. And not the kind that shouts or proves a point—but the kind that’s anchored enough to let God do the talking.
Jesus had every right to speak. He had truth on His side. He had power in His mouth. But He also had clarity about who He was—and He didn’t need to argue with someone who had no authority over His purpose.
That challenges me. Because I don’t always know when to speak up and when to hold back. I second-guess it a lot.
When I Didn’t Speak—and I Should Have
During Squadron Officer School, my flight was doing really well. We had performed at a high level, and it looked like we might come out on top. But when the results were announced, something important was left out—one of the categories we’d clearly won just wasn’t included. And no one said anything. Not even me.
I wanted to speak up. I wanted to say, “Hey, something’s missing.” But I didn’t. I froze. And the moment passed.
To this day, I still think about that. Not because of the lost recognition, but because I didn’t use my voice when it might’ve mattered. I’ve had to wrestle with that—wondering if it was wisdom or fear that kept me quiet.
I’m still figuring that out.
Not Every Battle Is Yours
On the flip side, I’ve also had moments where I did speak up—and still felt misunderstood.
A few months ago, I was at the DMV to get the star added to my Alabama license (because now it’s required for flying), and I’d been waiting forever. Someone ahead of me announced that they no longer needed their number—she had number 9, and I was holding number 15.
Everyone else in front of me just… sat there. So I asked if I could have it.
She said yes. I even turned to the mother and son behind me—who were number 16—and offered them my spot. They didn’t take it.
About 15 minutes later, someone new walked in, saw the extra number sitting on a chair, and picked it up. That same woman looked irritated—like I’d done something wrong. And for a second, I felt the urge to explain myself. To say, “I tried to help you.”
But I didn’t. I stayed quiet. Because I’ve learned that sometimes, even when you speak up with good intentions, silence afterward is still the better choice. Not everything needs a defense.
Quiet Doesn’t Mean Powerless
There’s this verse in Isaiah that says,
“In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.”
It’s easy to believe that strength always looks like speaking up, leading loud, or jumping into every conversation. But I’m learning that knowing when to stay quiet can be just as strong—maybe even stronger.
Especially when you’re tempted to prove yourself. Especially when you’re misunderstood. Especially when your silence is more about trust than fear.
A Few Questions I’m Sitting With
- Where am I being invited to stay quiet—not because I’m afraid, but because I’m finally trusting God more than my own voice?
- What conversations or confrontations are just not mine to carry?
- Can I be okay with being misunderstood if it means I’m protecting my peace?
A Quiet Prayer
God,
Help me discern when to speak and when to be still.
Teach me that silence doesn’t mean weakness.
Remind me that I don’t have to prove anything—not if I know who I am in You.
Let me be okay with not being understood.
Let me choose peace over performance.
And give me the kind of quiet that carries power.
Amen.
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