Every time I walk through a shopping centre, I wonder why they’re such loud places. It feels like they’re designed to deafen you. I remember years ago when I visited a hospital, another place which is always noisy. There, I chanced upon a prayer room. It was quiet and simply decorated. It felt like a refuge. If only such spaces existed in shopping malls and schools, or really in every building—an oasis, a perfect space to retreat into silence.
Silence has always mattered to me. It makes me more relaxed, more able to notice what’s really going on inside. Over the years, I’ve found that silence helps me pay attention to the little things in life, the things that make me content and happy.
The musician and artist Brian Eno recently said, “Silence is where you hear what is inside of you.” That resonates with me. It also reminds me of what I’ve learned at LifeLine: sometimes the best thing you can do as a mentor is to sit quietly with someone. To share the silence. When you resist the urge to fill every gap with words, the other person has space to reflect, to listen inwardly, and to discover what really matters to them. That’s when mentoring shifts from advice-giving to something deeper: companionship, presence, and trust.
Others have noticed the same truth. The American children’s television presenter Mr Rogers often spoke about the importance of silence, believing there was much to be learned from it. He worried our society was more interested in noise than wonder. His question was simple: how do we encourage reflection?
Perhaps that’s why we’re seeing silence valued again. A recent Bible Society report, The Quiet Revival, found that more young people are turning to church, seeking moments of calm away from the constant noise of life. Others are leaving social media behind for stretches, switching to “dumbphones,” or preferring time spent outdoors instead of crowded nights out. After the strange quiet of the COVID years, it seems many young people are searching for something real and unmanufactured—perhaps even rebelling against technology by reclaiming silence.
I feel encouraged by this rediscovery of quiet. Silence doesn’t mean isolation. It can be shared, especially in mentoring. When I think back to when my nephews and nieces were young, I remember how they could spend hours simply noticing: crouching down to study a snail or gazing in wonder at a butterfly. They didn’t need noise or distraction to be captivated, they needed space.
That’s what silence gives us: the space to breathe, to listen, and to remember what matters most. In a world that is often deafening, mentoring with silence is a way of helping others tune in to the voice within. And I believe what’s inside of you matters more than the noise that surrounds you.
Silence is what you hear inside you.