When the Whisper Is Louder Than the Storm
There was a time when silence meant something sacred.
In the ancient world, people didn’t fill every quiet space. When the sun went down, it was dark. When it was dark, it was quiet. And when it was quiet, they listened. Not just with their ears, but with their levav (לֵבָב), their inner heart, will, and thought. They were listening for qol Adonai (קוֹל יְהוָה), the voice of the LORD, like Adam did in the garden when he “heard the voice of the LORD God walking” (vayishma et qol YHWH Elohim mithalekh, (וַיִּשְׁמַע אֶת־קוֹל יְהוָה אֱלֹהִים מִתְהַלֵּךְ) through the wind of the day (Genesis 3:8).
Not thunder. Not lightning. Just the voice, qoi, walking.
But we? We don’t hear that anymore. Not because He’s not walking, but because we’re not listening.
We’ve traded sacred silence for static.
It used to be that when someone needed a word from God, they didn’t reach for a device. They didn’t ask the internet. They didn’t scroll to see what ten other people were prophesying this week. They got low. They tore their garments. They fasted. They waited. They sat in ash if they had to. Because to hear from YHWH was not casual, it was terrible. Holy. Heavy.
But now? Now it’s hard to even find ten minutes without a screen glowing in our face.
Let’s be honest: we are spiritually overstimulated and undernourished. And we wonder why we can’t hear the whisper.
But YHWH hasn’t stopped speaking.
He speaks now like He did then: in the fire, and in the stillness. Through Scripture. Through His Spirit. Through the same qol (קוֹל), the voice, that shattered mountains at Sinai, that shook Elijah on Horeb, that pierced Paul on the Damascus road, that whispered to Samuel in the dark while the lamp of God was fading.
Let’s go there.
When Elijah fled to Mount Horeb, he was shattered. Burned out. Isolated. Suicidal even, if we’re being honest (1 Kings 19:4). But God met him. Not in the earthquake. Not in the wind. Not in the fire. But in what the Hebrew calls:
קֹול דְּמָמָה דַקָּה
qol demamah daqqah
a voice, a thin silence. a still small voice
It wasn’t absence. It wasn’t volume. It was depth.
God wasn’t hiding. He was purifying. Distilling His voice so that only those who truly desired Him would hear. It was not convenient. Elijah had to come out of the cave to hear it.
Are we willing to come out of our cave?
Or are we still hiding in the glare of our screens and calling it connection?
Yeshua said, “My sheep hear My voice” (John 10:27). He didn’t say they might. He said they do. The Greek there is akouousin (ἀκούουσιν), present active. They are hearing. Right now. Constantly. And it’s not just background noise. The root of that word, akouō, means to understand, to perceive, to give audience.
So what does that mean?
It means if we’re His, we are meant to hear Him. Not just through sermons, not just through songs, but directly. Not as a replacement for Scripture, but in full agreement with it.
The problem is not that He’s gone quiet.
The problem is we’ve turned up the volume on everything else.
Let me put it plainly.
You will not hear the voice of God clearly while binge-watching sin, scrolling past lust, numbing yourself with noise, and ignoring His Word. You won’t. Because qol YHWH is holy. You cannot tune into His frequency while living in rebellion against the very Spirit you’re trying to hear.
When He speaks, He cuts. Hebrews 4:12 says the Word of God is “living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit…” The Greek says zon kai energēs, alive and energized, not passive, not soft, not background music. His voice does precise surgery.
And if we’re honest, that’s why we avoid it.
Because we know what He’ll say. We just don’t want to obey it.
But here’s the mercy: He’s still speaking.
Through the Word. Through the Spirit. Through His whisper. Through your own conscience that won’t let go of what He told you last.
Psalm 29 says the voice of the LORD (קוֹל יְהוָה) breaks the cedars, flashes forth flames of fire, shakes the wilderness, strips the forest bare, and in His temple everything cries, “Glory!” That’s not poetic exaggeration. That’s David trying to describe something uncontainable.
And yet, that same voice called out to Samuel in the middle of the night. Gently. By name. “Samuel”.
You want to hear Him?
Don’t wait for the world to go quiet. It won’t.
You’re going to have to make the silence. You’re going to have to get up earlier, shut the noise off, open the Word, and ask. And when you ask, don’t rush. Wait for Him. Stay long enough to become uncomfortable. Stay long enough to want His voice more than your internet feed.
And when He speaks, move. Do.
Don’t wait to feel ready. Don’t wait for confirmation if He already gave you the command. Delayed obedience is disobedience. Partial obedience is rebellion.
He said, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” That’s not poetic, it’s prophetic. It’s judgment and mercy in one phrase.
Because the qol will not always be available.
There will come a time when the famine won’t be of bread or water, but of hearing the words of the LORD (Amos 8:11). And beloved of God, we are drifting dangerously close.
So tune in now.
Let the Spirit tune your ears. Let the Word rewire your hearing. Let repentance clear the static. Let holiness sharpen your reception. Let obedience increase the volume.
Because God is not silent.
He’s speaking.
Right now.
But the question isn’t, “Is He speaking?”
It’s this:
Do you still have ears to hear?
image by chatgpt at my direction