Coming home from church last evening Caroline asked me, "Why was the sermon so long? And, why did he just keep repeating the same thing?" I responded, "I think he was trying to find a way to end it and it wasn't coming together." Caroline, "Really? I don't think there should be a problem ending--you just say, 'the end' and stop talking." Gotta love that she always cuts right to the chase; I, however, was rehashing the sermon in my mind and wondering how I would have ended it or whether it could have been ended earlier. It was difficult--it was a sermon about violence; standing up to violence; being the presence of God in the midst of violence; living in a violent world and responding--it was complex, scary, uncomfortable, and necessary--and it had no absolute way to respond. It could not be neatly wrapped up--it was messy.
Boss was driving us home and not saying a word. I wondered what he was thinking about or was he thinking about anything? As we walked in the door he deposited himself on the couch put on his, "I am absolutely disgusted with you" face as Chris Senior said, "he's mad about us talking to ________." And now came the avalanche--"why would you do that? I can't trust you with anything. I can't believe you told anyone else." I started talking and talking and talking. I tried to make him see that while it was uncomfortable, what we did was necessary. I kept talking about justice and equality and holding people accountable. I kept telling him it was because we loved him and were defending him but it was bigger than than just that. It was about standing up for what's right. He wasn't buying it: he felt betrayed and he's a 16 year old boy who hates any kind of conflict. Heck, I'm a 46 year old woman who hates conflict. I don't know if I would have gotten it at 16 either, but I wanted to convince him and to make him see AND admit that what we did was right. I wanted him to jump on board and be willing to step forward as well and so I kept talking saying the same things in different ways, and then Caroline's words echoed in my ears and coarsed through my body settling in my heart, "just say 'the end' and stop talking." And so I did.
Words--they can bring healing and they can bring hurt. We use them to comfort and soothe and we use them as weapons wielded to wound. It occurs to me we also use them too much. We use them and keep using them, repeating ourselves over and over when we are trying to explain things which perhaps cannot be explained, when we are trying to persuade, when we are trying to control or manage a complex situation. We use them when we are trying to defend our beliefs, our actions, our words themselves. Perhaps we use them when silence would be more powerful, more appropriate, more life giving. Perhaps we use them and fill a silence that needs to be present--an uncomfortable silence that allows ourselves and others to process, to reflect, and to heal.
When Jesus stood before the chief priests and the elders he did not answer. (Matthew 27:12; Mark 15:5). Perhaps by sometimes standing silent we allow our lives--our actions--to be our witness; to be our answer; to be our strength.
I remain silent, Boss remains angry--but somewhere in the silence we will find love, healing and reconciliation. I know that because I know because of Jesus' actions love wins.
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