Reflection for the Week – 4 August 2026

By Clive Conway
The sound of (sheer) silence

Posted Aug  4, 2026 in Faith

The sound of (sheer) silence

 

It won’t be news to those who know me, but I have always been a bit of a control freak. From a young age, I really didn’t like the feeling of being out of control. Of course, as the years passed, the trials and tribulations of life taught me, sometimes in difficult ways, that I couldn’t control everything, so I tended to compensate by trying to control even more vigorously those things that I could influence. Becoming a professional editor and language nerd was probably a natural career path, then!

I think I am probably not alone in this; that for many of us, when we are overwhelmed, fearful or uncertain, one of our natural instincts is to search for certainty. We want reassurance that things will work out, that suffering has a purpose, or that someone will step in and make everything right. Yet this week’s readings invite us into a different understanding of faith. Rather than offering quick solutions and certainty, they suggest that faith is about learning to live meaningfully amid uncertainty.

In Genesis 31, Joseph, at just 17 years old, is rejected by his brothers and sold into slavery. There is no dramatic intervention that prevents this injustice. Instead, the story shows us that life is often lived without knowing how the pieces are going fit together. We face setbacks, disappointments and unexpected turns, and only later discover how those experiences might have shaped us. Joseph’s story reminds us that meaning is often found later, if at all, not in the moment of suffering itself.

Paul’s words in Romans 10:5–15 offer a complementary insight. He suggests that the sacred is not distant or inaccessible: “The word is near you”. We don’t need to escape our humanity or possess unshakable certainty in order to encounter God. When we are anxious or uncertain, perhaps that can be a liberating thought. The presence of God doesn’t have to be found beyond our struggles but may actually be woven through them all the time.

The Gospel reading presents one of the most memorable scenes in Matthew. The disciples are in a boat, battered by the waves and terrified by the storm. When Jesus approaches, his first words are simple: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid” (Matthew 14:27). Whether we hear these words historically, symbolically or spiritually, they speak to a deep human need. Fear tends to narrow our vision and convinces us that the danger is all there is. Yet faith invites us to remember that there is always a larger reality.

Peter’s experience is especially revealing. He is willing to step out of the boat, but once he notices the strength of the wind, fear overwhelms him. The waves and wind haven’t changed. What changes in that moment is Peter’s ability to trust.

But that is life, isn’t it? All too often, the storms we face are persistent. Our griefs continue; our uncertainties remain. The notion of faith does not deny these realities but encourages us to take the next step anyway.

In 1 Kings, Elijah encounters God not in the wind, earthquake or fire, but in “a sound of sheer silence” (1 Kings 19:12). The divine presence, we are told, is not found in spectacle or control but in stillness and attentiveness.

Taken together, these readings suggest that uncertainty is not the opposite of faith. It is often the place where faith begins. We may not receive clear answers or a miraculous rescue, but in the midst of life’s storms, we are invited to let go of control and trust that meaning, grace and possibility are always present, calling us forward into the next faithful step.

– Clive Conway

 

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

– From Burnt Norton by T.S. Eliot

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