The Quiet Subversive
A Spiritual Reflection
There are moments when you reach the edge of your voice.
I was there recently—feeling frustrated, spiritually disoriented, and wondering whether it was worth continuing the fight. I’m part of a group working toward a deeply needed change in our community—something rooted in human dignity and justice. But not everyone sees it that way. Essentially, we were told we were stirring the pot too much. That we were being divisive. That we should stop.
In that weary place, I entered meditation and asked Mama God for guidance. I waited for an answer. In the silence, two words arrived:
Quietly subversive.
What It Means
At first, the phrase startled me.
“Subversive” is a word we don’t always like. It feels dangerous, disruptive, even rebellious. And I suppose it is. To be subversive means to undermine an established power or system. But paired with “quietly,” it becomes something deeper. Something that feels like me.
To be quietly subversive is to resist without shouting, to challenge the status quo with wisdom and presence. It means staying rooted in love while refusing to comply with injustice. It’s strategic, faithful resistance—not passive, not loud, but absolutely powerful.
It’s the way I’m learning to move through the world as a woman of faith, a writer, and someone who has always had a strong sense of justice—ever since I was a kid who kept getting in trouble for saying what I thought.
The Women Who Walked This Way
The quietly subversive path is not new. Women have been walking it for centuries—both in Scripture and in history.
There were Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives who defied Pharaoh’s genocidal decree and saved a generation of boys.
There was Abigail, who calmly and wisely averted bloodshed, outmaneuvering both her foolish husband and a vengeful David.
There was Esther, who risked her life not with a sword but with timing, courage, and careful words.
There was Harriet Jacobs, hiding in a crawl space for seven years to protect her children.
There was Rosa Parks, whose quiet no echoed across a nation.
There was Eliza Scidmore, the first female writer and editor at National Geographic, whose initials hid her identity in order to get published.
They were not loud, but they were not silent. They didn’t make war, but they didn’t make peace with injustice either. They subverted the systems that tried to contain them—quietly, strategically, and with unshakable faith.
Why It Matters Now
The phrase quietly subversive matters more to me now than ever before. We are living in a world of compounding injustice—where genocide is unfolding in Gaza, where ICE kidnaps and detains people in camps, where women’s rights are being stripped away, and where the Church too often remains silent.
But silence is not neutral. When people of faith say nothing in the face of injustice, we align ourselves with the oppressor. And I believe that Jesus—radical, table-turning Jesus—calls us to more.
To be quietly subversive is to follow Jesus.
To say no to the empire, even when it’s disguised as tradition.
To defend the humanity of the marginalized, even if it costs us comfort.
To speak when the Spirit nudges, even if we shake as we do it.
The Invitation
Maybe you, too, have felt torn—between wanting to speak and fearing the fallout.
Maybe you've been called divisive for simply naming what is broken.
Maybe you've been afraid to stir the water.
If so, I want you to know: there is another way. You don’t have to shout. You don’t have to burn bridges. You don’t have to be reckless. But you can resist.
You can ask better questions.
You can tell the truth.
You can refuse to comply.
You can create beauty in places that profit from silence.
You can live your life as a quiet, sacred protest.
A Prayer to Close
Mama God,
Give us the courage to be quietly subversive.
To stand for justice without losing tenderness.
To honor truth even when it’s costly.
To speak, write, create, and live in ways that undermine systems of harm—
Not for glory, but for love.
Amen.
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The midwives, the prophets, the women who refused to bow remind us that resistance does not always roar. Sometimes it is a whisper that refuses to vanish. Sometimes it is simply choosing not to comply.
Quiet is not weakness. Subversion is not sin. Together they are how love learns to outlast the machine.
Loved this Dawn!