The Voice

A baby starts to cry, we pick her up and rock her carefully side to side, usually murmuring, “Sshh, it’s all right…” in the hope that her crying, her discomfort, will soon cease. We hug children to us throughout their growing up, “Sshh, it’ll be all right”, in the hope that the pain, or the frustration, or the crying, will stop.

Sometimes, when we embrace our daughters, our brothers, our partners, our friends, it’s because of our discomfort as much as theirs. We find their crying awkward, and simply desire them to stop, holding them until they do.

Silence is golden. The more sinister side of this is when “children should be seen and not heard”, or when only “the man of the house can speak”, or “what would someone of your age/background/gender/race/education have to say that is worth listening to?”

And silence falls, leaden, not golden.

There are times when the voices of the age seek to silence others: by law, or by might, by violence, or by threat. Herod was such a one, and several Caesars; Stalin and the Stasi sought to silence even whispers; yet still voices found their way. Journalists and bereaved mothers found their voices under Pinochet; tank defiers spoke volumes in Tiananmen; Australian medicos standing, mouths mummified, cried out for the infant victims of Nauru’s demonic plight.

Jesus comes to two foreigners, deemed to silence by impediment of tongue, or impediment of society. Yet both find their voice and are given life.

This woman bowed, unbroken, before Jesus and begged her daughter’s life. Jesus’ words are the least like our Jesus’s words in all the Gospel, “This is not for the likes of you.”

Her courage and her desperation give her hope and wisdom, “Crumbs from your hand are enough to satisfy all my need.” And she is right about Jesus, about her daughter, about the bread he offers. Nameless she remains, like so many others, but known for always.

This other, also nameless, is brought to Jesus who, having loosed his tongue, immediately commands silence. Not by might, or violence, or threat, but in the hope of a moment’s more concealment to work his work while it is still day. Naïve folly, as the word of hope spreads and the nameless disabled becomes famous across communities and millennia.

Such small and monumental stories, which have their echo in our advocacy for those silenced by oppressors and the joy of those who have heard the forgiveness and healing of Jesus.

Lord Jesus,

Give us the courage and the hope to speak;

loosen our tongues that we might praise your name

and give voice for those who have been silenced.