Silenced No More: The Spirit Speaks

Sherri Jackson
Jun 8
4 min read

Updated: Jun 9

Rev. Dr. Sherri L. Brown, The UnMuted One

Today is Pentecost Sunday, and in many of our religious spaces, there will be much exuberant, extravagant, and expressive praise, pageantry, and production. Rightly so, as today marks a dramatic shift in the lives of those who follow the words and ways of Jesus Christ.

Yet, even on the Church’s birthday, some of us who may fill the pews and pulpits know what it’s like to stay in hard places.

We know what it means to remain in rooms where our voices were never welcome. We know what it means to serve faithfully in traditions that do not practice what we preach, for many preach grace but practice exclusion. We know what it means to survive in churches that love our labor but fear our leadership.

And yet we stay.

Lately, I have been trying to make sense of why we stay. Why do we remain in spaces, whether subtly or deliberately, refuse to engage what Kristian A. Smith, pastor of The Faith Community, calls “The Greatest Commandment Theology?” Regardless of one’s religious tradition, there is a tenet that spurs us to love our neighbor as we love God and ourselves. Though there are many scriptures in the Bible that speak to this theology, I lean towards the one found in Luke 10:27. It sits in the quagmire of a religious expert seeking to force Jesus into debating principle over practice, doctrine over duty, and legalism over love. Jesus doesn’t take the bait, but instead tells a story, asks a question, and provides instructions: “Go and do likewise.”

Whew, I almost went on a tangent. Let me get back to the question, “Why do we stay in places that seek to demean, diminish, damage, and destroy our worth?”

Admittedly, I’ve had to wrestle with whether to remain or leave such spaces. Sometimes, I remained, and other times left.

Today, I’m convinced that many remain, not because we’re weak. Not because we don’t see the mess. But because something in us believes that God is still moving. Still speaking. Still calling and still using us to make a difference in that space. And sis, if you’ve been feeling like you’re in a season of holding on, holding space, or holding your breath… you’re not alone. You’re in a sacred movement.

During the week leading up to Pentecost Sunday, I’ve been meditating on three sacred movements that I firmly believe shape every Black woman who dares to live and lead boldly. The sacred movements: Death. Departure. Divine Fire.

Let’s talk about them.

1. Death: What Had to Die

Before the fire ever falls, something has to die. And not always the dramatic kind of death. I’m talking about slow deaths. Private deaths. The kind of death that comes when you realize the system you were loyal to doesn’t love you back. When you stop shrinking to fit pulpits and pews that can’t handle your voice.

Like the women at the cross, many of us have had front-row seats to the death of our illusions, our spiritual homes, and even parts of ourselves. But don’t miss this: the women didn’t run. They stayed. They bore witness. And that act alone is a holy resistance.

2. Departure: What You Had to Leave

Resurrection doesn’t mean we get to go back to the way things were. Sometimes Jesus rises, but he doesn’t stay. Sometimes glory shows up, and then it moves on. And that’s hard. Because departure forces us to release what’s familiar, even if it once fed us, and we, in turn, fed it to someone else.

Black women know this movement well. We’ve had to leave denominations that denied our gifts. Leave roles where we were tolerated, not trusted. Leave theologies that made us small in the name of submission. But here’s the thing: departure doesn’t mean disobedience. Sometimes, leaving is how you stay true to your liberation.

3. Divine Fire: What Finds You When You Refuse to Be Silent

Now here’s where it shifts. The women who moved through death and didn’t run from departure were in the room when the fire fell. And that fire wasn’t random. It was targeted. Strategic. Divine.

It landed on everybody, not just the ones with titles. Not just the men. And definitely not just the ones who followed the rules.

The fire gave them voice. And that’s the part I want to linger on.

Because far too many Black women have been told to “wait their turn,” “stay in order,” or “submit to covering.” But Divine Fire doesn’t play by those rules. It doesn’t ask for permission. It doesn’t wait for church councils or committee votes. It comes to disrupt. It comes to empower. It comes to make sure the daughters prophesy, just like Joel said they would.

Divine Fire puts a mic in your mouth when the world hands you a muzzle.

It gives you the courage to preach when they only wanted you to pray.

It lets you speak in the language of your people, your pain, and your power, and still be heard by heaven.

So, if you’re feeling the burn, that holy agitation, that urge to speak up, that sense that your silence is no longer sustainable. Don’t ignore it. That’s not rebellion. That’s the Spirit. That’s the Jeremiah-kind-of-fire that won’t leave you alone. That’s God calling your voice to the forefront.

You don’t owe your loyalty to traditions that silence you.You owe your truth to the God who called you and empowered you to go forth.

So stay. Not in spaces that erase you, but in alignment with the fire that’s forming you.

And when the fire falls, don’t dim it. Don’t explain it. Don’t shrink from it.

Speak.

Preach.

Prophesy.

The world needs your unmuted, unapologetic, womanist witness.