Words matter.
They can heal, clarify, and connect—but they can also wound, confuse, and divide. And just as words have power, so does silence. In my recent experience within the workers church(2×2), both words and the absence of them have played significant roles—especially when uncomfortable truths are raised.
When I’ve voiced concerns, asked questions that challenge the narrative, or brought to light things others prefer to remain hidden, I’ve often been met not with engagement, but with avoidance. Not with accountability, but with silence.
Instead of honest conversation, I often heard things like:
- “I don’t want to let anything rob me of my peace.”
- “I’m focusing on the good.”
- “It hasn’t affected me so I don’t feel I can make any changes.”
- “The way is perfect but the people aren’t.”
- “Every church has these same problems.”
- “Why are you concerned so much about it if victims are still coming to meeting?”
Each of these statements might sound calm or spiritual on the surface, but each one hurts in its own way. They deflect responsibility. They sidestep accountability. They protect the image of the system rather than the well-being of the people within it.
The Bible takes the power of words seriously:
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).
“How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire!” (James 3:5-6).
Words can offer comfort, but they can also be used to dismiss or manipulate. Words like the ones above may appear peaceful, but in reality, they often serve to preserve the status quo and silence those who are hurting.
And yet, silence itself can be just as damaging. There is a difference between contemplative silence and the kind of silence that avoids truth. When someone shares something hard or painful and is met with silence, it can feel like abandonment.
Scripture speaks clearly on the need to raise our voices for the sake of others:
“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves… defend the rights of the poor and needy” (Proverbs 31:8-9).
“Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed” (Isaiah 1:17).
This silence isn’t just passive; it becomes a form of complicity. Choosing not to speak, not to act, not to care—especially when you’re in a position to do so—is a choice.
Often, when concerns are raised, people retreat into spiritual platitudes. But Jesus didn’t call us to peacekeeping through denial. He called us to peacemaking through truth and righteousness: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9).
And God rebukes false peace with clarity: “They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace” (Jeremiah 6:14).
The truth matters. Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32).
But truth is often the first thing to be avoided when it threatens comfort or reputation.
Leaders have a responsibility to care for the vulnerable. That includes listening, defending, and responding. The prophet Ezekiel records a strong rebuke from God to leaders who failed to do so: “You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured…you have ruled them harshly and brutally” (Ezekiel 34:2-4).
This paper is not an attack, but an appeal.
An appeal to consider the cost of silence and the impact of dismissive language.
An appeal to remember that while silence may feel safe, it often screams to the one who is suffering.
And an appeal to choose truth—not as a weapon, but as a way toward healing, justice, and real peace.
Mike Groseth
Cincinnati, Ohio USA
June 11, 2025