The Toledo Tribune is happy to have received a series of sermons from “The Reverend” an introduction followed by 5 parts, we present you our dear reader with this the intro. The different parts will be posted in the comments each Sunday. With part 1 posted later today.
The Virtue of Silence: A Series for Reflection
(Inspired by the Teachings of Charles Spurgeon and Proverbs 15:1)
Submitted by the Reverand
Now, folks, there’s a curious thing about the human tongue—it’s small, but it can cause a heap of trouble. Wars have started over careless words, friendships have withered under a hail of gossip, and a poorly timed remark has ruined many a Sunday dinner. The good Lord gave us two ears and one mouth, perhaps as a not-so-subtle suggestion to listen twice as much as we speak. But oh, how we love the sound of our own voices, especially when we’re feeling righteous or wronged.
This series isn’t about holding your tongue just to keep the peace, though peace is certainly a fine thing. It’s about recognizing the power of silence—a pause, a breath, a moment to let wisdom catch up with our impulses. As Charles Spurgeon, a man who knew the weight of both words and silence, once said, “Silence is sometimes the best answer.” He understood that words are like arrows; once loosed, they cannot be recalled, and their aim is not always true.
We’ll take a walk through scripture and history, pausing to learn from those who mastered the art of saying little and meaning much. You’ll hear about Abraham Lincoln, who let silence defend him against his critics; Job, who discovered the wisdom of silence in suffering; and even the Savior Himself, who stood silent before His accusers when words would have served no purpose.
Each week, we’ll explore a different facet of silence: when it defuses anger, upholds integrity, preserves dignity, or simply allows the heart to listen to God’s whisper. This isn’t a call to quiet resignation or avoidance—it’s an invitation to a richer, deeper way of communicating, where words are chosen with care and silence speaks volumes.
So, dear reader, pour yourself a cup of coffee, settle into your favorite chair, and let’s ponder together the wisdom of knowing when to speak—and when to keep still. For in a noisy world, the power of silence is a rare and precious gift, one we’d all do well to embrace.
Part one
When Anger Burns, Silence Quells the Flame
(Based on Proverbs 15:1: “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.”)
Well now, if there’s one thing we humans are good at, it’s getting our feathers ruffled. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as a full-blown temper tantrum, except perhaps the aftermath, when you sit alone with your regrets and wonder how it all got so out of hand. I reckon it’s the nature of man to meet fire with fire, though history and scripture both suggest that this method only burns the house down faster.
Take Abraham Lincoln, for instance, a man with more patience than a cat watching a mouse hole. During the Civil War, when the country was busy pulling itself apart, Lincoln had the great misfortune of dealing with General George B. McClellan. Now, McClellan was the sort of fellow who thought very highly of himself and very poorly of everyone else, particularly his boss. He insulted Lincoln openly and disobeyed orders with the kind of gusto most men reserve for marching into battle.
One evening, Lincoln went to McClellan’s house to discuss the war effort, only to have the General send word that he was “too tired” to come downstairs. Can you imagine? The President of the United States waiting in your parlor while you take to your bed like a fainting Victorian lady. Most folks would have stormed out and called for a firing squad. Lincoln, though, did nothing of the sort. He simply shrugged, went home, and said, “I will hold McClellan’s horse if he will win us victories.”
Now, that’s what I call restraint. Lincoln understood that responding to insults only adds fuel to the fire. Instead, he kept quiet, let McClellan’s bluster blow itself out, and focused on the bigger picture. Eventually, McClellan’s failures became plain for all to see, and Lincoln replaced him with generals more inclined to do their jobs. His silence didn’t just save him from a shouting match; it kept the Union on track toward victory.
Proverbs 15:1 tells us, “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.” I dare say Lincoln took this to heart. And if it worked for him, it might just work for us here in Toledo, too. This kind of silence isn’t easy. It requires discipline, humility, and trust that not every slight needs to be answered, nor every fire fueled. But it works, as Lincoln showed us.
After all, a quarrel needs two voices to keep it alive. Take one away, and all you’ve got is a fellow talking to himself, which is generally harmless and sometimes amusing. So let us follow Lincoln’s example and let the hot air blow past without fanning it. It’s a small price to pay for peace of mind—and an intact house.
Toledo, like Lincoln’s America, thrives on patience, kindness, and the occasional bite of one’s own tongue. The next time anger rises—when the driver cuts you off on the road to Newport, or the neighbor’s dog leaves an unwelcome gift on your lawn—remember Lincoln and his quiet way of defusing conflict. Remember the soft answer, or no answer at all. And most importantly, remember that silence, when chosen wisely, is a way of trusting that God Himself can calm the storms we cannot.
So let’s aim for a little more silence this week—not the kind that avoids conversation, but the kind that turns away wrath and makes room for peace.
Submitted by The Reverend
Part two
The Quiet Defender of Integrity
(Based on Proverbs 11:3: “The integrity of the upright shall guide them: but the perverseness of transgressors shall destroy them.”)
There’s nothing quite so noble as being unjustly accused—at least, that’s what we like to tell ourselves after the fact. In the moment, though, it feels about as noble as stepping on a rake. Your first instinct is to holler, point fingers, and maybe throw a punch or two if you’re spry enough. But here’s the trouble with that approach: once you start wrestling a pig, as the old saying goes, you both get muddy—and the pig likes it.
Take Joseph, for instance—the fellow with the fancy coat and the knack for getting on people’s nerves. His brothers sold him into slavery for being a little too good at sharing his dreams, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he later landed in prison on account of a lie from his boss’s wife. You’d think he’d have plenty to say about his circumstances. But did he shout his innocence from the rooftops? Did he write a strongly worded letter to the Egyptian Times? Not Joseph. He kept his mouth shut, trusted in God, and somehow managed to come out smelling like a rose—or at least less like the dungeon.
And what happened? Well, as these things tend to go, the truth eventually stretched its legs and caught up. Joseph went from prisoner to Pharaoh’s right-hand man, saving the whole region from famine. All without a single tirade or public statement. Imagine that.
Now, here in Toledo, most of us aren’t likely to be sold into slavery or end up in Pharaoh’s jail, though I wouldn’t put it past a few town meetings to feel like the latter. But we’ve all had our moments, haven’t we? Maybe your neighbor has decided that your lawn is an affront to civilization, or someone at the diner is spreading word that you put ketchup on your steak. (And if that’s true, maybe you deserve the slander.) The point is, life will serve up plenty of opportunities to defend yourself, and the temptation to fight back can be mighty strong. But here’s the kicker: nine times out of ten, silence makes you look smarter—and kinder—than you really are.
As Spurgeon once said, “The man who is content to leave his reputation in the hands of God is one who trusts Him fully.” Of course, Spurgeon wasn’t dealing with nosy neighbors or gossipy church committees, but the principle holds. Trying to explain yourself only gives folks more ammunition. Stay quiet, and your integrity will do all the heavy lifting.
Proverbs tells us, “The integrity of the upright shall guide them.” It’s a nice way of saying that honesty has its own gravity, pulling everything into its rightful place—if you can just resist the urge to meddle. Sure, it’s slow work, letting the truth catch up with the lies, but it always does. And when it does, you’ll be glad you didn’t waste your breath chasing after every rumor.
So the next time someone takes a swipe at your character, don’t fret. Bite your tongue, stand tall, and let the gossipers do what they do best—dig their own holes. Silence isn’t cowardice; it’s a quiet confidence, a way of saying, “I’m too busy living a decent life to argue with you about it.”
And who knows? Maybe one day, when all is said and done, you’ll look back and thank those wagging tongues. After all, nothing makes a person appreciate peace and quiet like surviving a storm of words.
The Reverend
Part three
When They Sling Mud, Stand Still
(Based on Isaiah 53:7: “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth.”)
Now, if there’s one thing people love more than the truth, it’s a good story—preferably one with enough scandal to spice up an otherwise dull day. And if that story happens to involve you, well, congratulations. You’re the entertainment of the week. You can holler, stomp your feet, and wave your good name around like a flag at a Fourth of July parade, but it won’t do much good. Folks will believe what they want, and the more you protest, the guiltier you look.
Take Jesus, for example—a man who had every right to defend Himself, yet didn’t. When dragged before His accusers, He said nothing. Not a word. If anyone could have mounted a defense that would stop the world in its tracks, it was Him. Instead, He stood silent, letting the lies crash around Him like a river against a rock. And history tells us this: the lies passed away, but His truth endured.
Now, I’m not saying you should aim for crucifixion as a PR strategy, but there’s a lesson here. Silence in the face of falsehood isn’t weakness; it’s wisdom. Words are like throwing matches in a hayfield—easy to ignite and impossible to control once they catch. When someone accuses you of something you didn’t do, your instinct might be to fire back with both barrels. But here’s a tip: don’t. Let them sling their mud. So long as you’re standing on solid ground, it’ll slide right off.
Of course, this is easier said than done. The urge to defend yourself, to set the record straight, is as old as humanity itself. But here’s the thing: the truth doesn’t need your help. It’s like a cat—independent, stubborn, and perfectly capable of finding its way home when it’s good and ready.
If you’ve ever spent time in a small town like Toledo, you know that rumors are as common as rain in November. Maybe someone says you cheated at cards or parked your wagon on the wrong side of the street. By the time you hear about it, the story’s grown a tail, wings, and an extra head. Trying to chase it down is about as useful as trying to teach algebra to a chicken. The more you chase, the sillier you look.
Spurgeon, a man of great sense and even greater sermons, once said, “Silence is the best reply to a fool.” And let’s face it, most accusations worth ignoring come from fools who don’t deserve the satisfaction of your rebuttal. So, when your integrity is questioned, let your life be your defense. Character speaks louder than words ever could, and actions have a way of settling disputes that speeches never will.
So the next time someone levels a false accusation at you, resist the urge to explain, argue, or set the record straight. Hold your peace, keep your head high, and let the truth do its slow but steady work. After all, silence is the refuge of the strong, the wise, and the utterly unbothered.
And when the dust settles, and it always does, you’ll find that your reputation—like a good cast-iron skillet—can handle a bit of heat and still come out shining.
The Reverend
Part 4
Don’t Wrestle Pigs: Silence with the Scoffers
(Based on Proverbs 26:4: “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you yourself will be just like him.”)
There’s no shortage of scoffers in this world, and they come in all shapes and sizes. Some sneer from the corners of town halls, others heckle from the back pew on Sunday morning, and a few have taken up permanent residence at the local diner, perched on their stools like prophets of pessimism. These folks have one goal: to drag you into the mud and then laugh while you try to wipe it off.
Now, it’s tempting to wonder, Why are they like this? Ask a scoffer, and they’ll tell you they’re “realists”—guardians of reason in a world full of dreamers. But scratch the surface, and you’ll often find something else entirely. Some scoffers are wounded souls, lashing out because hope feels dangerous and tearing down is easier than risking disappointment. Others scoff out of fear—afraid of trying, failing, or being wrong. And then there are the ones who simply enjoy it. A sharp word or a well-timed sneer makes them feel smarter, stronger, or more important.
Whatever the cause, scoffers thrive on conflict. They bait you with criticism, daring you to bite back. But here’s where silence works its quiet magic: by refusing to engage, you starve the scoffer of their satisfaction. Arguing with them won’t prove your point; it will only sink you to their level. As Proverbs warns, “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you yourself will be just like him.”
Take Nehemiah, for example, when he was rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem. His enemies, Sanballat and Tobiah, taunted him relentlessly. “Even a fox climbing on that wall would knock it down,” they jeered. Nehemiah could have fired back, but he didn’t. Instead, he prayed, tightened his resolve, and kept building. And what happened? The walls stood tall, while the scoffers faded into history like last season’s gossip.
Here in Toledo, we’ve all run into a modern-day Sanballat or two. Maybe it’s the fellow who scoffs at every Main Street project, muttering, “Why bother? Nothing ever changes.” Or the diner regular who has a critique for every idea but no ideas of their own. These folks would rather tear down than build up, but that doesn’t mean we have to join their demolition crew.
And if we’re being honest, let’s admit we’ve all sat on that diner stool from time to time. It’s far easier to criticize than to create, to point out flaws than to risk failure ourselves. Sometimes, the scoffer we need to silence isn’t the one across the table—it’s the one staring back in the mirror. Silence isn’t just a gift to the scoffer; it’s a discipline for the scoffer in all of us.
Silence in the face of scoffing isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom. When you stay quiet, you let your actions do the talking. Every garden planted, every wall raised, every dream pursued becomes a louder answer than any comeback ever could. Silence is dignity preserved, composure maintained, and, frankly, a lot less exhausting than a war of words.
So the next time someone mocks your efforts or scoffs at your dreams, don’t give them the satisfaction of a response. Let them stew in their cynicism. Remember, they’re often trapped by it, more than you ever will be. Let them snicker at your gardens, your walls, or your ambitions while you keep planting, building, and dreaming.
Because the loudest voice in the room is rarely the wisest, and silence says, without saying a word, “I have better things to do than wrestle pigs.”
The last in our series of silence. Part 5
The Power of Reflection: When Silence Opens the Door to Redemption
(Based on Ecclesiastes 3:7b: “A time to be silent and a time to speak.”)
Silence is not weakness. Silence is not surrender. Silence is often the greatest act of trust we can give to the God who knows all, sees all, and defends those who walk uprightly.
When Jesus stood before Pilate, the man who held the power to condemn or free him, he was silent. He did not defend himself against the false accusations. He did not beg for mercy. He did not argue for his innocence. Why? Because Jesus knew his purpose. He knew that his silence spoke volumes, and when he did speak, his words were deliberate and piercing. “You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above,” he said. In that moment, Pilate was shaken, so much so that he declared, “I find no fault in this man,” and yet he washed his hands of the matter, leaving Jesus to die.
But that wasn’t the end of the story. Jesus’ silence and submission were not acts of defeat—they were steps on the road to victory. Through the injustice of the cross, redemption was born. Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God, bore the penalty for our sins so that we might be reconciled to the Father. What appeared to be the greatest wrong in history became the greatest act of love the world has ever known.
And what about us? How often are we tempted to defend ourselves, to fight back, to prove our innocence? Yet the Lord says, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). When we trust in Him, we don’t have to justify ourselves or repay evil for evil. He is our defender. He is our redeemer. And sometimes, the silence we keep in the face of wrong is the very soil where God works His greatest good.
You may be carrying a heavy burden today—maybe someone has wronged you, accused you falsely, or left you feeling broken and alone. But I want you to know this: you are not alone. God sees you. He knows your pain. And He has already provided the way for you to find healing and redemption.
Through the cross, Jesus bore every sin, every failure, every hurt, and every injustice. He paid the price so that you don’t have to carry that weight any longer. All you have to do is come to Him. Lay your burdens at His feet. Trust in Him to make all things right.
And if you don’t know Him yet—if you’ve never experienced the peace that comes from surrendering your life to Christ—today can be the day. The Bible says, “If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Romans 10:9).
Will you trust Him today? Will you let go of the noise, the striving, the need to prove yourself, and rest in the silence of His grace? He is calling you. He has always been calling you.
Come to Him, just as you are, and let Him be your defender, your savior, and your guide. In the stillness of your heart, say yes to the One who gave everything so that you might live.
For in the silence, we meet God. And in His presence, we find peace, redemption, and life everlasting.
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