The Wound That Keeps Its Silence
There is a hurt that comes from the hands of others, and
It is the hardest to carry quietly.
A friend who became a stranger overnight.
Christ knew this road:
“When He was reviled,
He did not revile in return;
When he suffered,
He did not threaten,
But entrusted himself to him who judges justly” (1 Peter 2:23).
And from the cross he whispered,
“Father, forgive them,
For they know not what they do.”
This is nobility:
Not the proud refusal to be hurt,
But the quiet refusal to hate.
I think of the evening light on a monastery wall,
How it lingers a moment after the sun has gone.
So, love can linger in the heart
That has been wounded.
A small flame
Guarded with a cupped hand against the wind.
Do not hurry to be vindicated.
Let the Spirit, who speaks without sound,
Sit with you in the dark.
“Bless those who persecute you,”
Paul writes (Romans 12:14).
Teaching us that
Blessings arise from quietude,
A held breath,
A tear that does not become a curse.
You are not abandoned.
The Wounded One walks beside you, and
By His bruises you are healed.
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