REFLECTION:

Recently, some of the teachers have mentioned that they notice I’m up early—maybe because I send out emails in the morning, or because they see the lights on at the rectory when it’s still dark. The truth is, I’ve come to love early mornings. It’s when I do most of my reflecting, praying, and thinking. I’ve grown to appreciate the quiet and the beauty of silence—though I’ll admit, that didn’t come naturally. It took time and practice to get used to it. But little by little, I learned not just to tolerate the silence, but to embrace it.

And in many ways, that’s how learning to hear God’s voice works.

In today’s first reading, we hear the story of the call of Samuel (1 Samuel 3:1–10, 19–20). Samuel is already serving in the temple, already close to holy things. And yet, when God speaks, he doesn’t recognize the voice. He thinks it’s Eli. Three times he runs to the wrong place before he finally learns how to listen. Even someone living in God’s house, doing God’s work, still has to learn how to recognize God’s voice.

Scripture shows us again and again that this is a process. The prophet Elijah doesn’t find God in the strong wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but in a tiny whispering sound (1 Kings 19:12). The disciples walk with Jesus for years, yet on the road to Emmaus they don’t recognize Him until He breaks the bread (Luke 24:30–31). Even Mary has to ponder these things in her heart (Luke 2:19). Hearing God is rarely instant. It is something that forms over time.

Like Samuel, we often confuse God’s voice with other voices—the voice of busyness, pressure, fear, or expectations. Sometimes we run to the wrong places looking for answers, when what God is really inviting us to do is to become still and say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Jesus tells us, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). But sheep learn that voice by staying close to the shepherd. And we learn God’s voice the same way: by making space for prayer and silence, by staying close to Scripture, by seeking wise guides like Samuel had Eli, and by being faithful in small things even when everything isn’t clear yet. St. Paul reminds us, “Be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God” (Romans 12:2). Discernment isn’t a switch you flip—it’s a muscle you train.

And maybe the most comforting part of this story is this: God is patient. He keeps calling Samuel. He keeps calling us. He doesn’t give up when we misunderstand, when we’re slow, or when we run in the wrong direction.

Little by little, if we learn to love the silence, to make space, and to stay close to Him, we begin to recognize the voice.



And one day, like Samuel, it will be said of us that the Lord is with us—and that His word in our life does not fall to the ground.