He Moves In Quietly

I’ve walked hospital halls in silence, and blessed homes where grief had left a chair empty at the table. And I’ll tell you something I’ve learned:

God does not knock loudly.

This week’s Gospel says:

“If anyone loves Me, they will keep My word, and My Father will love them, and We will come to them and make Our home with them.”

That word—home—is what stopped me.

Not throne.

Not temple.

Home.

Not “we’ll come when you’re ready.” Not “we’ll stay if you behave.”

Just: We will come. We will dwell.

And it made me remember something. When I was younger, I thought of God’s presence like a bright light—blazing, undeniable, overpowering.

But now? Now I know His favorite doorway is the quiet heart.

Not the strongest. Not the loudest. Just the one that says, “I’m here, Lord.”

The Gospel goes on:

“Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you.”

The world talks about peace like it’s a thing you can buy or earn.

But the peace Jesus gives—it’s not a reward. It’s a companion.

It moves into the room before you even open the door.

It sits beside you while you grieve.

It holds your hand when you can’t pray.

That’s the kind of peace I’ve watched descend in hospital rooms, in the sacred stillness after Reiki, during quiet meditation, and yes—even in TikTok comment sections where someone whispers, “Please pray for me.”

This Gospel is not abstract to me.

It’s the rhythm of my ministry.

The Holy Spirit does not arrive with fanfare.

She settles in like a breeze through the window you forgot you opened.

So maybe today, the invitation isn’t to strive for peace.

Maybe it’s just to sit still long enough to notice He’s already moved in.

And in case no one told you lately—

You are not alone.

And your home, is sacred ground.

Fr. Mark Colville

Traveling Light Ministries