When religion abdicates conscience, the sacred goes mute.
Two years of Gaza.
Two years of bombs falling on the same strip of earth while pulpits stay polished and prayers drift upward into vacancy.
If God is love, then love has gone missing.
If God is justice, then justice lies buried with the children.
This is divine silence—not the silence of mystery, but the silence of abdication.
It is the hollow echo of humanity projecting conscience into heaven and then standing mute while the world burns.
The sky has no mouth.
The silence is ours.
Religion is born from human need, to make meaning together.
Faith gives that need form—stories, rituals, words.
When they work honestly, meaning emerges between them; the sacred becomes tangible.
But when faith bows to power and wealth, religion forgets its purpose, the field of meaning collapses.
What remains is noise: slogans, flags, and hymns for wars that pretend to be holy.
We must confront the silence by naming it truthfully.
No god is withholding love.
No heaven has turned away.
There is only us—beings capable of coherence, paralyzed by the fictions of our own making.
The sacred does not descend; it emerges when truth and compassion meet in human hands.
The miracle we keep waiting for is our responsibility.
The voice we long to hear is our own, speaking with courage.
The prophets of this age will not offer magical solutions.
They will dig through rubble, comfort the terrified, and tell the truth without divine authority.
They will not say “God is love.”
They will say love is sacred, and they will prove it by making every life matter.
When humanity stops outsourcing conscience to the sky,
when love is no longer a prayer but a praxis,
then the silence will break—not with thunder, but with compassion and tenderness.
The sacred will be tangible
when we stop outsourcing love
and take it into our own hands.