Tag: silence

When to Shut Up

I used to think silence was weakness. It’s knowing when our voice will only add to the noise.

Funny how we talk a lot, yet hear so little. We try to fill silence with words, thinking it makes us understood, when sometimes it only makes the noise louder. And while the world keeps shouting to be heard, we forget how powerful quiet can be.

Because silence isn’t weakness. It’s the strength to stay gentle when words could hurt.

We need to shut up…

• When secrets are meant to stay sacred.
Not everything trusted to us belongs to the world—silence is respect.

• When someone’s grieving.
We don’t fix pain with words—we comfort with presence.

• When someone’s still talking.
We don’t always need to jump in just to be heard. Listening all the way through is sometimes the kindest thing we can do.

• When we don’t know what we’re talking about.
Silence saves us from pretending to be wise when we’re really not.

• When the talk turns cruel.
Some jokes aren’t funny when kindness is missing.

• When anger starts speaking for us.
Words born in heat never age well.

• When truth will come out in time.
Let silence carry it until honesty can stand by itself.

• When gossip starts to sound fun.
Spreading it doesn’t make us wise—it makes us part of someone’s fall.

• When our pride starts speaking louder than truth.
It’s better to pause than to prove.

• When our words start to wound.
Sometimes we hurt people not because we mean to, but because we don’t stop soon enough.

• When our conscience tells us to.
The world’s already loud—heaven still speaks in quiet hearts.

I guess I just learned these things the hard way… because I Learned to Shut Up.

I Learned to Shut Up • Darem Placer

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Play Acoustically Amid the Noise and the Haste includes I Learned to Shut Up

⌨ ᴛʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴏᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʙˡᵘᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵉᵐ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

When Silence Spoke Louder

In a Church ruled by power, one priest found a holier answer that no authority could silence.

In the medieval Church, many became priests not because of calling, but ambition. In those times—especially in 10th to 11th century Europe—being a bishop or archbishop meant power, land, and money. It wasn’t just about faith anymore; it was status, like being a lord who ruled over people.

One of them was Archbishop Manasses II of Reims, France. He lived like a ruler, not a servant of God. He sold positions in the Church, took bribes, and used Church money for himself. Anyone who spoke against him was punished.

But not everyone stayed silent. Father Bruno, known for his honesty and intelligence, stood against Archbishop Manasses’ corruption and helped push for his removal. The archbishop was later excommunicated, but before leaving, he sent soldiers to loot church property and hunt down his critics.

Reims was left in turmoil. A new archbishop later took over and tried to bring back order, but many priests were still difficult to deal with, and people had begun to lose their trust in the Church. Seeing how pride and politics had poisoned faith, Father Bruno chose a different path. Instead of fighting back with power, he walked away. He chose silence over argument.

With a few companions, he went to the Chartreuse Mountains in France. There they lived simply—each man in his small hut, praying, working, and staying close to God. This quiet beginning became the Carthusian Order, a life of prayer, humility, and solitude.

In time, the Church he left behind in Reims slowly healed. Reform took root, and new leaders rose who lived with integrity.

Meanwhile, Father Bruno continued his mission of renewal in silence—showing that faith doesn’t need power to change the world.

After all, why keep drinking from a cup full of cracks when you can still drink the same water from one that’s whole?

ᴛʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᴏᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʙˡᵘᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵉᵐ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

Traces of courage, silence, and sacrifice—this is Saints.

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