“Lord, Put a Guard Over My Mouth (and Keyboard)”
A Reflection on Silence, Restraint, and Prayer
The biblical writer James, in his wonderfully straightforward style, writes, "You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger" (James 1:19). It’s such sensible advice that most of us feel instantly guilty upon reading it. Slow to speak? Slow to anger? Quick to listen? Clearly, James never sat through a family Thanksgiving where politics, college football, or an anthology of family secrets/trauma/drama were thrown out for debate.
I must confess, restraint of the tongue is something I continue to learn the hard way. If my words were counted as spiritual currency, I’d be chronically overdrawn. But in our modern age, it's not just our tongues we must guard though—it's our pens, and perhaps most perilously, our keyboards. Social media posts or text message replies typed at midnight in righteous indignation rarely age well by dawn’s early light. Indeed, sometimes the holiest spiritual practice we can engage in is silence—choosing not to hit "send" when every impulse urges us otherwise, and turning to prayer instead.
Last week, I reflected openly about my complicated family dynamics, particularly in the wake of my mother’s death, when deep, simmering resentments surfaced. If bitterness is grief's melodramatic cousin, then impulsive speech is bitterness’s loud-mouthed uncle—the one who forwards you chain emails laced with conspiracy theories and interrupts every peaceful meal with a “well actually…” personal opinion presented as unimpeachable fact, if only you stopped being a “sheep”** and “did your own research.” So often, our hurt, frustration, and anger tempt us into hasty reactions, driving us toward words we’ll later wish could be unsaid—or at least edited heavily. Silence is the better option, almost always, as James instructs. Slow to speak, slow to anger, quick to listen— that is an invitation to holy silence.
Silence is not passive resignation. Rather, silence is an active spiritual practice that carves out the space where prayer can breathe, and where wisdom can mature. It's in these pauses, these divinely orchestrated quiet moments, that we find the clarity to respond rather than simply react to others.
But what if we just can’t stay silent? What if the words erupt, and we have to let them out to someone?
Then it is best aim them higher, my friends—PRAY!
Prayer is our first line of defense against emotional and relational turmoil. It invites the Holy Spirit to guide our words, actions, and even our emojis. Let the words flow to God and not to our neighbors.
It is Jesus himself who urges this posture of divine consultation over impulsive, pithy, and sharp-witted replies when he instructs the disciples how to face persecution, saying, "Do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say" (Luke 12:11-12). Imagine: a spiritual practice that explicitly instructs us not to rehearse our defense or strike back with wit, intellect, or a devastating retort! As someone who regularly scripts imaginary courtroom monologues worthy of Matlock while shampooing my hair, I find this incredibly liberating—but also frustrating and difficult. (Lord, can’t I at least draft a few “zingers” in your name?)
For most of us, silence isn’t easy or comfortable. We live in a world of soundbites and constant noise so too often silence feels like surrendering control, especially when faced with pain, resentment, or anxious uncertainty. But perhaps this surrender is exactly the point. When we stop filling every gap with noise, commentary, or defensive posturing, we create room for God’s voice—a voice always clearer, kinder, and wiser than our own. And if silence makes us nervous, it might mean we're where God can finally get a word in edgewise!
Silence also disrupts our tendency toward emotional escalation. Just imagine the myriad arguments that could have been averted had someone simply decided to hold their tongue—or their smartphone. I’m sure we all have a catalog of those in our memory. Yes, the crazy uncle’s conspiracy theories may still drive you to distraction and emotional turmoil, but refraining from a rebuttal and offering it in prayer may just keep you sane until dessert. Pecan pie always pairs better with peace than it does with pointed barbs.
Ultimately, our prayer in the face of emotional turmoil or relational strain should echo James's wisdom: Lord, make us quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger. Teach us to value the sacred pause that comes before we speak, write, or post. Help us remember that sometimes silence isn't about what’s being held back, but what’s being given space to emerge—healing, understanding, forgiveness.It is okay to simply pray that verse over yourself every time the impulse jolts your soul: Lord, make me quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger. Amen.
I am here to tell you God answers that prayer—it has worked for me a whole lot recently!
AND if you MUST say something for fear your soul will erupt in lava if you hold back any longer, I can think of no more devastating retort than that prayer being said aloud in the heat of the moment. Inviting God into the conversation may prove to be the most eternally effective come back of them all.
May we find the courage to let silence speak, trusting the Holy Spirit to guide us gently in that holy pause (and to pray without ceasing until we can get comfortable with the silence).
Side note digression alert: I find it endlessly ironic that being called a “sheep” is considered a devastating insult among certain “Christian” folks of specific social and political leanings in our post-COVID world. Jesus specifically called his faithful followers to be sheep under his guidance as the Good Shephard. I am a very proud sheep, and I hope you are too!
Pax et Bonum!
Fr. Ben +
