Voices
from Silence
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A 'first Friday of the month' series, from October 2024.
Personal stories of engaging in silence by practitioners from the Global Majority Heritage (GMH) or Black and Indigenous Peoples of Colour (BIPOC) communities.* |
A quarter of the way into the new millennium the reality for many people from this community is that their lives and stories are sidelined. Their voices are silenced.
So, although people from GMH/ BIPOC communities may have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities tend to write more about their experiences of silencing than of engagement with silence-based prayer.
This new series is a way to bring some voices from the GMH/ BIPOC communities into the conversations and resources about silence on the Seeds of Silence website.
So, although people from GMH/ BIPOC communities may have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities tend to write more about their experiences of silencing than of engagement with silence-based prayer.
This new series is a way to bring some voices from the GMH/ BIPOC communities into the conversations and resources about silence on the Seeds of Silence website.
August 2025: Katrina Murphy
'Somebody's callin' my name'
Image: S. Murphy, Maryland, USA
It's a little hard to see in the image above, but Katrina is kneeling in front of the branch of cotton - shown left - with outstretched hands in silent reverence and remembrance of her enslaved ancestors.
Katrina Murphy,
Maryland, USA |
Listen to Katrina reading 'Somebody's callin' my name'
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'Somebody's callin' my name'
During my formative years, there was a four-letter word that, when spoken by adults in my church or community, could fill you with shame, compel you to sit up straighter in the pew, and silence petty squabbles in an instant. It was a word our elders spoke with authority that we children quickly learned to heed: “HUSH.”
Whether whispered or spoken loudly, it always landed with force—often carrying more weight than the sermon we were supposed to be paying attention to. It was always followed by “The Look,” the kind that said, without words, “Stop what you are doing and get yourself together. Right Now!”
But as I grew older, I began to see this word in a different light. I came to understand that it had the power to both harm and heal. I witnessed that when wielded like a dagger, it could cut to the bone. “Hush, I don’t want to hear another word.” Yet when spoken with tenderness, it soothed like balm on a deep wound. “Hush, everything is going to be alright.” And how, at times, it was used as a protective measure to keep Black children safe in hostile spaces, gently urging them to “shh, hush, be still.” To determine the intended meaning behind the hushing—whether it was a rebuke, encouragement, or a form of protection—the listener had to pay close attention to the speaker’s tone, vocal inflection, and context.
As an adult, the African American spiritual “Hush, Somebody’s Calling My Name” reshaped my connection to the word. I was profoundly moved by its history and lyrics—infused with coded language—which, according to historians, were sung by enslaved people to signal that someone had chosen to flee the plantation. When escape wasn’t possible, some found refuge in "hush arbors."
Within this context, "hush" served as a sacred boundary that distinctly marked the space between the horror of enslaved peoples’ lived experiences and the hope they carried for future generations. This realization enabled me to recognize the difference between being silenced, as I have often felt as a Black woman, and choosing silence and solitude as a space to encounter the Divine.
Through this process of retrieving cultural and spiritual memory, I have undergone a profound transformation in both perspective and appreciation. While also reclaiming the word “hush” and embracing its significance for today.
As I reflect on the legacy passed down by my ancestors and ponder the need for modern-day hush arbors in today’s polarized political and anti-Black climate, this four-letter word has brought about inner healing through hallowed silence. And in this sacred shelter, I hear my ancestors singing:
'Somebody's callin' my name'
During my formative years, there was a four-letter word that, when spoken by adults in my church or community, could fill you with shame, compel you to sit up straighter in the pew, and silence petty squabbles in an instant. It was a word our elders spoke with authority that we children quickly learned to heed: “HUSH.”
Whether whispered or spoken loudly, it always landed with force—often carrying more weight than the sermon we were supposed to be paying attention to. It was always followed by “The Look,” the kind that said, without words, “Stop what you are doing and get yourself together. Right Now!”
But as I grew older, I began to see this word in a different light. I came to understand that it had the power to both harm and heal. I witnessed that when wielded like a dagger, it could cut to the bone. “Hush, I don’t want to hear another word.” Yet when spoken with tenderness, it soothed like balm on a deep wound. “Hush, everything is going to be alright.” And how, at times, it was used as a protective measure to keep Black children safe in hostile spaces, gently urging them to “shh, hush, be still.” To determine the intended meaning behind the hushing—whether it was a rebuke, encouragement, or a form of protection—the listener had to pay close attention to the speaker’s tone, vocal inflection, and context.
As an adult, the African American spiritual “Hush, Somebody’s Calling My Name” reshaped my connection to the word. I was profoundly moved by its history and lyrics—infused with coded language—which, according to historians, were sung by enslaved people to signal that someone had chosen to flee the plantation. When escape wasn’t possible, some found refuge in "hush arbors."
Within this context, "hush" served as a sacred boundary that distinctly marked the space between the horror of enslaved peoples’ lived experiences and the hope they carried for future generations. This realization enabled me to recognize the difference between being silenced, as I have often felt as a Black woman, and choosing silence and solitude as a space to encounter the Divine.
Through this process of retrieving cultural and spiritual memory, I have undergone a profound transformation in both perspective and appreciation. While also reclaiming the word “hush” and embracing its significance for today.
As I reflect on the legacy passed down by my ancestors and ponder the need for modern-day hush arbors in today’s polarized political and anti-Black climate, this four-letter word has brought about inner healing through hallowed silence. And in this sacred shelter, I hear my ancestors singing:
Hush, hush,
Somebody’s callin’ my name.
Hush, hush,
Somebody’s callin’ my name.
O my Lord, O my Lord, what shall I do?
Katrina Murphy, August, 2025.
The links below are embedded in Katrina's text, but so that you don't miss them, they're also highlighted below. To access any of these items, click where indicated.
- To listen to a beautiful version of Hush, hush, somebody's callin' my name, click here.
- To read more about the history of African American Spirituals, like Hush, Hush, somebody's callin' my name, click here.
- For the beautiful lyrics of the whole spiritual, click here.
- And you can learn more about 'hush arbours' in a 40 minute YouTube discussion, 'Filled with the Spirit', here.
* The terms 'Global Majority Heritage' (GMH) and 'Black and Indigenous Peoples of Colour' (BIPOC) refers to people whose backgrounds are from non-Western, non-White ethnic and cultural groups, reflecting the fact that the majority of the world’s population comes from Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East. These terms acknowledge the rich heritage of ancient Indigenous communities and challenge the traditional framing of racial and ethnic minorities by emphasizing that these populations are, in fact, the global majority.
(If you receive the weekly 'Quoting Silence' email you will automatically receive the Voices from Silence email.)
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