September has been a heavy month. Across our nation, we’ve been confronted with headlines filled with violence, unrest, and fear. Communities have felt the weight of tension and conversations seem increasingly shaped by division rather than unity.
It feels like the volume of the world has been turned up — and not in joy, but in anger, fear, and grief.
As the Quiet Chaplain, I don’t come with political solutions or easy answers. My calling is to listen, to reflect, and to invite us to notice the presence of God even when the noise of the world is overwhelming. This is a moment that calls not for louder voices, but for deeper stillness. Not for reaction, but for reflection. Not for despair, but for hope rooted in Christ.
In this post, I want to explore four practices that can guide us in these noisy times:
Grieving honestly.
Praying with hope.
Practicing presence.
Becoming peacemakers.
Along the way, we’ll draw from Scripture, history, and spiritual practices that can anchor us in the quiet strength of God.
1. Grieving Honestly
The first step is to acknowledge the weight of what is happening. Too often, we rush past grief in search of quick fixes or comforting distractions. Yet Scripture reminds us that lament is a sacred practice.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4 (NLT)
To mourn is to admit that the world is not as it should be. It is to name violence as evil, division as painful, and fear as suffocating. Lament gives us permission to cry out to God, not in polished prayers but in raw honesty.
Throughout the Psalms, we find prayers of lament that hold nothing back:
“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1)
“My tears have been my food day and night.” (Psalm 42:3)
“Why do you hide when I am in trouble?” (Psalm 10:1)
These aren’t neat, quiet prayers — they’re messy cries from the soul. And yet they are preserved in Scripture as models for us. God doesn’t despise our tears or rebukes our questions. Instead, He invites us to bring them into His presence.
In a time when our nation groans under the weight of division and violence, perhaps the most countercultural act we can take is to grieve. Not to pretend everything is fine. Not to numb ourselves with busyness. But to say with honesty: This hurts. This is not how it should be. Lord, have mercy.
Grief is not weakness. Grief is worship. It is the first step toward healing.
2. Praying with Hope
If grief names what is wrong, prayer holds onto what is still possible.
Paul urges Timothy:
“Pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them.” — 1 Timothy 2:1 (NLT)
Notice the wideness of this command: all people. Not just those who think like us. Not just those we find easy to love. But all. Even those we disagree with. Even those we fear. Even those who contribute to the very noise that burdens us.
Prayer is not a retreat from reality. It is an act of resistance against despair. When we pray, we declare that the noise of the world does not have the final word. God does.
In noisy times, prayer becomes both anchor and compass. It steadies our hearts and points us toward God’s kingdom.
Some ways we might pray in this season:
For the grieving — that God’s comfort would be near.
For leaders — that wisdom and humility would guide decisions.
For communities in fear — that courage and safety would be found.
For ourselves — that our hearts would remain tender and not grow hardened by anger or apathy.
And sometimes, when words fail, the simplest prayer can be the most powerful: “Lord, have mercy.”
3. Practicing Presence
In times of division and unrest, fear isolates us. It tempts us to retreat, to avoid others, to build walls of suspicion. Yet Jesus models a different way — the way of presence.
John’s Gospel begins with the profound words:
“So the Word became human and made his home among us. He was full of unfailing love and faithfulness.”— John 1:14 (NLT)
God didn’t remain distant from our broken world. He stepped into it. He shared meals, walked roads, touched the sick, and wept with the grieving. His ministry was not only about proclaiming truth, but about embodying presence.
For us, practicing presence means showing up in the lives of others with compassion and attentiveness. It might look like:
Listening without rushing to fix.
Sitting with someone in silence, simply being there.
Supporting cultural celebrations that affirm the dignity of communities.
Choosing conversations that heal instead of arguments that divide.
Presence does not require grand gestures. Often, the quietest acts — a kind word, a steady hand, a willingness to listen — carry the deepest healing power.
4. Becoming Peacemakers
Jesus declares in the Sermon on the Mount:
“God blesses those who work for peace, for they will be called the children of God.” — Matthew 5:9 (NLT)
Notice that peace is not passive. It is something we work for. It requires courage, humility, and persistence.
In a culture where rhetoric grows sharper and violence more common, peacemaking becomes a radical act of discipleship. It does not mean avoiding hard truths or pretending conflict doesn’t exist. Instead, it means refusing to respond to hatred with hatred. It means choosing the hard path of reconciliation over the easy path of retaliation.
To be a peacemaker is to carry the cross-shaped love of Christ into the public square. It is to live in such a way that our neighbors catch a glimpse of a different kingdom — one not built on fear or division, but on justice, mercy, and love.
Why This Matters
Why practice grief, prayer, presence, and peacemaking in such a noisy time?
Because these are not just spiritual disciplines; they are acts of witness. In a world that equates power with volume, we bear witness to a different kind of power — the quiet strength of Christ.
When we grieve, we witness that our hope is not in denial but in God’s comfort.
When we pray, we witness that the future is in God’s hands, not in political powers.
When we practice presence, we witness that love is stronger than fear.
When we work for peace, we witness that Christ has broken down dividing walls.
The noise of the world will not last forever. But the kingdom of God endures.
Spiritual Practices for the Quiet Path
Here are some ways you might embody this quiet response in your daily rhythm:
Set aside five minutes each day for lament. Write down or speak aloud the things that grieve you. End with the prayer, “Lord, have mercy.”
Pray through the news. As you scroll through headlines, pause and lift each story before God. Replace doomscrolling with intercession.
Practice presence with one person each week. Send a message, make a call, share a meal. Choose to show up intentionally.
Speak one word of peace daily. It could be encouragement to a coworker, kindness to a neighbor, or a gentle response in a tense conversation.
Closing Reflection
Friends, this September has reminded us that the world can grow very loud. But as followers of Christ, we are not called to outshout the noise. We are called to embody a different way — the way of quiet strength, deep love, and lasting peace.
The big idea is simple:
When the world grows louder in fear and division, God calls us to grow quieter in prayer, deeper in presence, and stronger in peace.
May we be people who grieve honestly, pray with hope, practice presence, and work for peace. And in doing so, may the world catch a glimpse of a kingdom that cannot be shaken.
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