Spiritual Practices: Silence & Solitude

Christian life is full of beautiful practices that draw us nearer to God—and one of the most tender, yet easily overlooked, is the practice of silence and solitude.

These aren’t flashy or loud. They don’t come with applause or achievement. In fact, they can feel unproductive, maybe even uncomfortable. I’ll be honest—this is one I struggle with. It’s hard to find time to sit in silence and open myself to God. My thoughts wander. My to-do list grows louder. But when I do make space for stillness, I’m reminded of how deeply I need it. The quiet becomes a place of rest, of recognition, of renewal.

Silence and solitude aren’t just about retreating from the world. They’re about creating space to be present with God. They are about connection and relationship.

Let’s start by defining silence and solitude

Silence is more than the absence of noise—it’s the intentional quieting of the heart, the space where distractions fade and the Spirit has room to speak. Solitude is not loneliness, but sacred alone time with the Lord. It’s not about escaping people; it’s about encountering God in stillness.

Together, silence and solitude form a kind of spiritual listening. We’re not trying to earn anything or figure everything out—we’re simply making space to be with the One who already knows us fully.

These practices aren’t empty. They’re full of invitation. They say, “Here I am, Lord. Speak, if You will. Or just sit with me in this silence. I trust that You’re here.”

Jesus Modeled the Practice Consistently

Jesus often withdrew to quiet places—not once, but again and again. Luke 5:16 tells us, “But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” It wasn’t just a one-time event. It was a rhythm woven into His life and ministry.

He slipped away early in the morning, before the crowds could find Him. He retreated to the mountains, especially when major decisions or grief lay ahead. He found quiet not because He lacked direction but because He desired connection—with the Father, in stillness.

And He isn’t the only one. I think of Elijah, hiding in a cave, desperate to hear from God. The Lord wasn’t in the wind or fire or earthquake. He was in the gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12). That still, small voice often waits for us in silence.

Why Silence and Solitude Matter in Our Faith

In the quiet, we begin to notice what’s really going on inside of us. The anger, the anxiety, the questions—things we don’t always have time or energy to examine. But God isn’t afraid of our interior life. He meets us there with grace.

Solitude gives God space to comfort, guide, or simply be with us. Sometimes I think we expect the heavens to open—but what I usually find in silence is something quieter: peace. A gentle reminder. A calming of my frantic thoughts. And sometimes, no words at all—just the sense that I am not alone.

These practices are not just for monastics or mystics. They’re for every follower of Jesus. If He needed silence to reconnect with the Father, how much more do we?

Learning to Practice Stillness with God

I’m learning that stillness doesn’t need to be long or perfect. Sometimes, I set a timer for five (2 even) minutes and sit with a verse, asking God to help me quiet my mind. Some days I turn off my music during a drive and let the silence settle. Other times, I close the door for a few moments of quiet between tasks—not to plan, but to breathe.

And I still get distracted. That’s okay. The practice is in the returning. Each time I choose to pause, I’m practicing trust. Honestly, the hardest part is the feeling that those moments aren’t productive. But, I need to, have to, remind myself that it isn’t “productive” to form a relationship – it is relational. He has made us for relationship and this is part of it – sitting with another person in comfortable silence. Knowing a person well enough that silence isn’t a waste, it is a joy to simply be. Be together.

Something shifts when stillness becomes part of our rhythm. We don’t just hear differently—we live differently. There’s less rushing. Less reacting. More room for grace. We also begin to realize we don’t need to fill every space. Sometimes, the holiest thing we can do is simply stop. Be still. And know. I’m working toward this, admittedly not there yet.

When might you sit with God this week in silence, even for a few minutes? What tends to get in the way? Drop your thoughts in the comments.