The indictment is over. The gods lie where they fell: one half kindling, the other half a name no one calls on anymore. The courtroom is empty, the voices are gone, and what remains is that wondrous hush a great space makes when all the noise has drained out of it.
Stay here a moment.
For there is something you can only hear in the silence. As long as the hall was full of noise, you could hardly make out the one question. Now, with the hall empty and the dust still drifting in the late light, it comes back without thunder, as a whisper, almost shy. Who is like You?
It is the same question that was born at the sea and cried out on the mountain. But here, after everything, it sounds different. Softer. Like someone who has shouted too long into the storm and finds that, to be heard, he need only breathe.
In a silence like that, God does not raise His voice. He speaks more softly, the way you do with someone you want to win back.
The indictment is over. The gods lie where they fell: one half kindling, the other half a name no one calls on anymore. The courtroom is empty, the voices are gone, and what remains is that wondrous hush a great space makes when all the noise has drained out of it.
Stay here a moment.
For there is something you can only hear in the silence. As long as the hall was full of noise, you could hardly make out the one question. Now, with the hall empty and the dust still drifting in the late light, it comes back without thunder, as a whisper, almost shy. Who is like You?
It is the same question that was born at the sea and cried out on the mountain. But here, after everything, it sounds different. Softer. Like someone who has shouted too long into the storm and finds that, to be heard, he need only breathe.
In a silence like that, God does not raise His voice. He speaks more softly, the way you do with someone you want to win back.