“The Shiny Moment and the Silent One: Discernment in an Age of Spiritual Noise”

This week, something happened that I’ve been praying about ever since. I want to share it—not to judge anyone, but to reflect on what it taught me and about how easily we drift from the anchors Christ gave His Church.

On the same night a fellow member spoke about a sudden vision she received, I was sitting in Adoration before the Eucharistic Lord.

And for the first time in weeks, something unforced happened:

my soul settled.

My heart finally rested.

My mind unclenched.

That was my “God moment.”
Not fireworks.
Not a vision.
Just the quiet weight of real Presence.

The kind of moment that requires no interpretation, no confirmation, no decoding. The kind of moment the Church recognizes as the ordinary path to extraordinary grace.

A silent Host.

A silent God.

A silent healing.

Then I returned to the group.

She came in late, breathless—full of excitement, emotion, and questions. People had prayed prophetic words over her. She described a vision. She said she “knew the voice” because she used to practice tarot and it wasn’t that voice. And there was a rush of meaning poured into every detail.

Shiny.
Dramatic.
Immediate.
Appealing.

But also… fragile.

And I watched something happen—not malicious, not intentional, but revealing:

The room leaned toward the shiny thing and away from the quiet thing.

My Adoration moment was treated like:

“Oh, that’s great, Adoration is nice.”

Her vision was treated like:

“Oh! God is moving! Heaven is opening!”

Shiny vs. old.

Flashy vs. foundational.

The ancient faith felt “normal.”

The emotional moment felt “spiritual.”

And that contrast revealed something important—and uncomfortable.

When the shiny things aren’t tested, error slips in quietly.

The Church teaches, with remarkable clarity, that any spiritual experience must be tested:

• by Scripture

• by the Magisterium

• by the sacraments

• by a priest

• by peace, clarity, and obedience

Anything that:

• bypasses confession

• contradicts Catholic law

• minimizes the priesthood

• or elevates private revelation above formation

Must be cut off immediately, or the soul becomes vulnerable.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, we were told priests “Might not understand,” and to seek a lay apologist instead. And no one stopped to say:

“Wait—this is backwards.
This is not how the Catholic Church discerns spirits.
This is not how we protect a vulnerable soul coming out of the occult.”

The shiny thing carried the moment.
The quiet thing was forgotten.

I left the night sad—not because God wasn’t moving, but because we lost sight of how He normally does.

Adoration is not boring.

Confession is not outdated.

Obedience is not legalism.

Discernment is not fear.

They are the very guardrails Christ Himself gave us. If we ignore these, even with sincere hearts, we place souls at risk without realizing it.

The enemy does not need to show up in darkness and shadows. He only needs us to forget that the Church teaches us the rules of discernment for a reason.

My quiet moment before the Eucharist was truer than the vision.

Not because mine was better. But because His Presence is certain.

The shiny things must always be tested.

The silent things are already approved.

Sometimes God speaks in visions. Often, He speaks in silence. But He always speaks through the Church. This week reminded me of a simple truth: If it bypasses confession, humility, or obedience, it may be shiny—but it is not from the Spirit. And the saddest part of the night was not the vision. It was how easily all of us, me included, forgot the sacred weight of the ordinary ways God comes to us. May the Holy Spirit Himself teach us to love the silence before the Host more than the noise of untested revelations.

Because only one of those can save a soul.