I was born into a Hindu family, but at the age of 18, I accepted Jesus as my Savior. For more than 20 years, I lived as a Christian praying, reading the Bible, attending church, and trying to walk with God. I gave everything I had to this faith.

And yet, through all those years, one longing never left me: I just wanted God to speak to me.

Not through sermons, not through vague impressions, not through verses stretched into meanings they didn’t originally carry but directly, clearly, unmistakably. A God who supposedly gave His life for a relationship with me surely wouldn’t find that too difficult.

But instead of clarity, what I found was silence. And that silence became one of the biggest cracks in my faith.

My Struggle with God’s Silence

I can’t count how many times I prayed, begged, or sat in silence, waiting for God’s voice. Sometimes I thought I caught a “whisper”, a passing thought or feeling, but deep down I knew it could just as easily have been my own mind.

The church’s answer was always the same: pray more, fast more, surrender more. If I wasn’t hearing God, the problem was me. Maybe I wasn’t holy enough, maybe I hadn’t repented of some hidden sin, maybe I wasn’t fully committed.

But here’s the crushing part: I was trying as hard as I possibly could. I was sincere. I was desperate. And still nothing.

“God Speaks Through the Bible” – But Then What?

When I voiced these struggles, many Christians told me: “God has already spoken through the Bible. You just need to read it diligently. Ask the Holy Spirit for understanding, and you’ll hear Him.”

Well, I did read the Bible diligently. I’m not complaining that God didn’t provide me with material blessings or answers to every life problem. All I wanted was something simple, to know that God Himself was speaking to me.

The strange part is, many fictional books I’ve read felt more alive, like the author somehow knew my heart and mind. But with the Bible, I didn’t want just some random comforting verse pulled out of context to be my “proof” that God spoke to me. That felt like forcing meaning into the text.

What I longed for was the real thing. A God who could sit down and talk to me like a person. If that’s too much to expect, then what is the meaning of calling this a “relationship”?

The Bible itself says believers already have everything they need:

• “[God] made known to us the mystery of his will… to bring unity to all things in heaven and on earth under Christ” (Ephesians 1:9–10).
• “In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Colossians 2:3).
• “We have been given every spiritual blessing in Christ” (Ephesians 1:3).

When I received Christ, didn’t I receive all of these promises already? Or does the Bible actually say that I need to work for them, strive for them, or earn them? If they are truly mine, then why does the Christian life still feel like a constant struggle to gain what was supposedly given freely?

If all of heaven’s knowledge and riches are already mine, why do I still feel like I’m groping in the dark, hoping for scraps of “revelation”? Shouldn’t being filled with the Spirit mean clarity, not confusion?

If I Am Righteous, Why the Silence?

The Bible says that in Christ, I am now seen as righteous. My sins are forgiven. I stand justified. If that’s true, then what exactly is preventing God from showing up and speaking to me, not in vague whispers, but as a real person, the way He supposedly did with people in the Bible?

If righteousness has been “credited to me,” as Paul writes, then what barrier is left? Why does it still feel like hearing God’s voice depends on a level of spiritual performance I can never reach?

If Faith Is the Only Requirement, Why Isn’t It Enough?

Hebrews 11:6 says, “Anyone who comes to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.”

Well, I believed. I sought. I trusted that my faith would be enough. But here’s the painful truth: faith didn’t produce God’s voice. It didn’t matter how sincere I was or how committed I became. Most Christians I knew admitted the same thing, God didn’t speak to them either, at least not in any clear, direct way.

No one could honestly say, “God speaks to me every day.” And yet, isn’t that what a relationship is supposed to look like?

Where Is the Joy of Salvation?

Christians often talk about “the joy of salvation.” But what joy is there if salvation means spending your life straining to catch a whisper, never knowing if it’s God or just your own thoughts?

If I can’t experience the joy of God speaking to me here and now, what am I supposed to look forward to after death? Eternal life is supposed to be a relationship with Him, but if that relationship feels like silence now, why should I expect it to suddenly feel different later?

What joy is there in salvation if God’s presence in this life feels absent, hidden, or conditional?

The Theological Wrestling Response

When I asked these questions, the answers I received all circled back to the same themes:

• God speaks in His timing, not ours.
• He speaks in subtle ways, not audibly.
• Your sin or lack of surrender blocks His voice.
• You need to grow in maturity before you can hear Him clearly.

But no matter how they framed it, the conclusion was always the same: if God was silent, the fault was mine.

The Atheistic Critique: Silence as the Real Answer

Eventually, I had to step back and consider another possibility: maybe the silence itself is the answer. Maybe no one’s faith is ever “enough” because there’s no divine voice to hear in the first place.

From this perspective, the contradictions make sense:

• If God were real, faith should open the door—but it doesn’t.
• If righteousness were real, nothing should block His voice—but everything still does.
• If salvation were real joy, believers would overflow with it—but most are quietly disappointed.
• If spiritual riches are already ours, why do we constantly feel impoverished?

The simplest explanation is that believers aren’t failing to hear God—there’s just no one there to speak.

The Core Tension I Couldn’t Resolve

If God truly sees me as righteous, why the silence?
If faith is enough, why doesn’t it work?
If salvation is joy, why does it feel like work?
If Christ has given me every spiritual blessing, why do I feel empty?
If eternal life is relationship, why does the relationship feel one-sided now?

I carried these questions for years, and the silence never changed. Eventually, the silence itself became the loudest answer.

Making Peace with the Silence

I no longer believe the problem was me. It wasn’t that I didn’t pray enough, fast enough, or surrender enough. It wasn’t that my faith was too weak.

The truth is simpler: there was never a voice there to begin with. And as painful as that realization was, it also brought me peace. I didn’t have to keep striving. I didn’t have to keep blaming myself. I didn’t have to keep waiting for a whisper that would never come.

Closing Reflection

At 39, looking back at my journey from Hinduism to Christianity to unbelief, I see this clearly now: the silence was always there. I just didn’t want to admit it.

I know many reading this are still in that place, waiting for God to speak, wondering what they’re doing wrong, trying harder and harder just to hear a single word. I was there too.

But maybe the silence isn’t your failure. Maybe it’s the most honest answer there is.

Question for Readers

Have you ever wrestled with this: If I am righteous, why doesn’t God speak? Did you ever feel like your faith should be enough, only to be met with silence? How did you process that tension between the promises of joy and the reality of silence?