Silent Cry

It is hard to suffer. It is harder when we cannot express our suffering, when the suffering is so strong that we have not even the strength to cry. I learned in emergency assistance courses that if you come to the scene of an accident, you should not necessarily turn first to those who cry the loudest. You should look for the people who don’t cry anymore. They might need your help the most.

During the period in which we meditate the passion of Christ, I feel encouraged to pray for all who silently suffer. Because Christ experienced the same, when he stood before Pontius Pilate, when he was flagellated, when he was mocked – so much so that the evangelist Luke interpreted the situation with the prophet Isaiah:

“Like a lamb led to slaughter or a sheep silent before shearers, he did not open his mouth.” (Acts 8:32; Isaiah 53:7)

What could he have said? The plot was made. Only his friends could see his suffering. It touches my heart that Jesus could not say anything. How much he must have suffered! All the ignorance and injustice as an “answer” to his healing and consoling! Sometimes the silent cry is the loudest. Days before, he still wept over Jerusalem – now he does not even weep.

No matter if our suffering is caused by others or self-inflicted, or if we just don’t know the cause at all, not being able to express our suffering is the worst. Contemplating the passion of Christ gives us consolation. When Jesus is entering Jerusalem together with his disciples, the Pharisees want him to rebuke and silence them. Jesus replied to the Pharisees:  “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out!” Jesus encourages us to cry out our suffering. I don’t have to hold back. He invites me to do it in front of him, or in front of a good friend. Jesus hears me. He even hears the silent cry. He sees me. He even sees the smallest tear. And he will answer me.

Lord, I ask you to watch over those who don’t cry anymore, who suffer so deeply that they cannot even cry. And I ask for myself that you help me to express myself, my sufferings and my concerns without fear, with courage, and with hope.

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Embracing the Cross

Sometimes there is a lot on our plate. Sometimes it is just too much what we have to bear. It is then that we realize what Jesus meant when he said everybody has to carry his cross. During my sabbatical time a couple years ago, I had the privilege to visit Glendalough, a 6th century monastery village in Ireland. Nestled in beautiful landscape are ruins of monastery houses and chapels and also a tall cross about twelve feet high. I was told if one was able to wrap one’s arms around the cross while making a wish, the wish would become true. I tried this, along with many others, but to be honest, I forgot the wish I had and I forgot if it later became true. Still it was a nice ritual.

Later somebody showed me the picture taken from the event and suddenly I realized what I actually did: I embraced the cross! This is the meaning of the ritual—if we embrace our cross, which always seems to be big – too big –, if we manage to fully take it on and accept it, our wish will be fulfilled. It means we will be okay. What will happen will be good for us. We will be ourselves instead of running away from ourselves, avoiding our cross. The cross is heavier if we don’t accept it. Instead, the suffering, if voluntarily accepted like Christ did, is a way to redemption. Seen from this perspective, it becomes again true what Jesus said: My yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Mt 11:30). It is difficult to accept our cross; it requires some stretching on our part, but we will be able to do it.

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“My yoke is easy.” (Mt 11:30)