Voices
from Silence
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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.
Although many people from GMH/ BIPOC communities have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities have tended to write more about their experiences of silencing than of their 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.
Although many people from GMH/ BIPOC communities have a spiritual practice of silence, authors from these communities have tended to write more about their experiences of silencing than of their 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.
February 2026: Mercy Nasenya Miroya
'Listening for Life in the Silence'
Image: Freepik.com
Mercy Nasenya Miroya,
Kitale, Kenya. |
Listen to Mercy reading her text, 'Listening for Life in the Silence'
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Listening for Life in the Silence
I did not come to silence because I was seeking stillness. I came to it because life around me was loud.
Quakerism has different flavours; the programmed, unprogrammed and the evangelical. I continue to worship in a programmed meeting here in Kenya, a tradition that has shaped my faith through spoken prayer, preaching, and communal song. These forms remain meaningful to me. At the same time, through my involvement with Friends beyond my local context, I have encountered Quaker silence many times across different spaces, gatherings, and practices. Each encounter has deepened my understanding of what silence can hold.
My first experiences of extended silence unsettled me. Sitting together without an agenda, without instruction, and without anyone directing the moment felt unfamiliar. I noticed the external sounds first: the shifting of bodies, distant traffic, birds outside. Soon after, I became aware of the noise within myself: restless thoughts, expectations, and anxieties. I learned that silence is not empty. It is attentive. It asks something of us. Silence has not replaced my programmed worship. Instead, it has become a complementary practice: one that has quietly shaped how I listen, discern, and respond, both within and beyond meeting.
This has been especially evident in my peace and leadership work. I am involved in contexts where urgency, conflict, and strong emotions are present. In such spaces, words can escalate tension or close down understanding. Silence has taught me to pause, to listen beneath what is being said, and to recognize when restraint is more faithful than immediate response. It has helped me understand listening itself as an act of peace.
One of the most significant encounters with silence for me came through the Soul of Leadership course. Through the practice of a clearness committee, I was given a rare and generous space to speak openly, knowing I would be listened to without judgement, advice, or interruption. Being held in that attentive silence allowed me to articulate questions I had been carrying for a long time. Periods of shared silence for discernment were central to the process. They gave me time to sit with what had emerged, to notice what felt grounded and life-giving, and to recognize where I was being invited to let go. I left those meetings feeling calmer and noticeably less burdened—not because my questions had been resolved, but because they had been heard and held with care.
Spiritually, silence has become a place where I encounter God beyond words. It has taught me that faith does not require constant certainty or performance. Silence makes room for doubt, complexity, and waiting. In that space, I have learned to trust the presence of the Inward Teacher, even when guidance comes slowly. What continues to surprise me is how active silence is. It holds grief without trying to explain it away. It sharpens joy without demanding expression. It reveals my impatience and my desire for quick outcomes, especially as a younger leader. Silence challenges me to remember that faithfulness is not measured by speed or visibility, but by attentiveness.
My experience has been that silence is formative precisely now while my leadership is still developing and my sense of calling is still unfolding. Silence has helped me resist the pressure to always have answers. It has shown me that my worth is not tied to constant activity or articulate contribution. Some of the most faithful moments of my journey have been quiet ones, marked by listening rather than speaking. In a world that values noise and certainty, silence offers a different way of being. I do not always find silence comfortable. At times it brings restlessness, challenge, or a sharper awareness of injustice. Yet even then, silence remains faithful. It does not detach me from the world; it roots my engagement more deeply.
Silence, for me, is not an alternative to worship or action. It is a grounding practice that continues to shape how I live, lead, and serve. Through my many encounters with it, I have come to trust silence as a space where God is already at work, waiting to be heard.
Quakerism has different flavours; the programmed, unprogrammed and the evangelical. I continue to worship in a programmed meeting here in Kenya, a tradition that has shaped my faith through spoken prayer, preaching, and communal song. These forms remain meaningful to me. At the same time, through my involvement with Friends beyond my local context, I have encountered Quaker silence many times across different spaces, gatherings, and practices. Each encounter has deepened my understanding of what silence can hold.
My first experiences of extended silence unsettled me. Sitting together without an agenda, without instruction, and without anyone directing the moment felt unfamiliar. I noticed the external sounds first: the shifting of bodies, distant traffic, birds outside. Soon after, I became aware of the noise within myself: restless thoughts, expectations, and anxieties. I learned that silence is not empty. It is attentive. It asks something of us. Silence has not replaced my programmed worship. Instead, it has become a complementary practice: one that has quietly shaped how I listen, discern, and respond, both within and beyond meeting.
This has been especially evident in my peace and leadership work. I am involved in contexts where urgency, conflict, and strong emotions are present. In such spaces, words can escalate tension or close down understanding. Silence has taught me to pause, to listen beneath what is being said, and to recognize when restraint is more faithful than immediate response. It has helped me understand listening itself as an act of peace.
One of the most significant encounters with silence for me came through the Soul of Leadership course. Through the practice of a clearness committee, I was given a rare and generous space to speak openly, knowing I would be listened to without judgement, advice, or interruption. Being held in that attentive silence allowed me to articulate questions I had been carrying for a long time. Periods of shared silence for discernment were central to the process. They gave me time to sit with what had emerged, to notice what felt grounded and life-giving, and to recognize where I was being invited to let go. I left those meetings feeling calmer and noticeably less burdened—not because my questions had been resolved, but because they had been heard and held with care.
Spiritually, silence has become a place where I encounter God beyond words. It has taught me that faith does not require constant certainty or performance. Silence makes room for doubt, complexity, and waiting. In that space, I have learned to trust the presence of the Inward Teacher, even when guidance comes slowly. What continues to surprise me is how active silence is. It holds grief without trying to explain it away. It sharpens joy without demanding expression. It reveals my impatience and my desire for quick outcomes, especially as a younger leader. Silence challenges me to remember that faithfulness is not measured by speed or visibility, but by attentiveness.
My experience has been that silence is formative precisely now while my leadership is still developing and my sense of calling is still unfolding. Silence has helped me resist the pressure to always have answers. It has shown me that my worth is not tied to constant activity or articulate contribution. Some of the most faithful moments of my journey have been quiet ones, marked by listening rather than speaking. In a world that values noise and certainty, silence offers a different way of being. I do not always find silence comfortable. At times it brings restlessness, challenge, or a sharper awareness of injustice. Yet even then, silence remains faithful. It does not detach me from the world; it roots my engagement more deeply.
Silence, for me, is not an alternative to worship or action. It is a grounding practice that continues to shape how I live, lead, and serve. Through my many encounters with it, I have come to trust silence as a space where God is already at work, waiting to be heard.
Mercy Nasenya Miroya, February, 2026.
Mercy is the founder of Friends Ecojustice Practical Action, an organization that focuses on peace and climate action in western Kenya and in the Kerio valley (an area that has not known peace for many decades). It is a maize-growing belt, with most economic activity revolving around farming. In late October 2025 a landslide struck the area and many people lost their lives. Click here to see a video on how the group responded, offering psychosocial support, trauma healing, practical help and solidarity.
The region needs additional support. If you know of charities or organisations who would be interested in partnering with Friends Ecojustice Practical Action then send a message via the Seeds of Silence contact form, here, and we will put you in touch with Mercy via email.
The region needs additional support. If you know of charities or organisations who would be interested in partnering with Friends Ecojustice Practical Action then send a message via the Seeds of Silence contact form, here, and we will put you in touch with Mercy via email.
* 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.
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