And then, there is the Voice absent. The Voice that doesn't defend. The Voice that doesn't explain. The Voice that extends grace by saying nothing at all.
I suppose one could argue that Jesus, hanging on the cross, the crown of thorns piercing his skull, the nails tearing apart His hands, the life blood dripping down His whipped and torn body, didn't have the strength to summon up a defense. But something tells me that even if He could have, He wouldn't have.
Jesus knows that some things are better left unsaid, that what comes next often explains it all, and grace comes in the form of us being able to come to our own realizations about things.
And on this Palm Sunday, as I think about how limited I am in extending grace to others, how I often hoard forgiveness in my heart, unable to part with it because somehow I let myself believe that giving up anger means giving up justice or being right. All the times I have said, "I forgive you," but I didn't really mean it. All the times I let angry words and actions root in my heart, the stones of my defense and prideful "how dare they"s overrule the stillness of God's grace for me.
And on this Palm Sunday, in the silence of His own defense, I begin to trade the stones for living water. I receive fully the bread and wine and let His grace for me crush the walls of carefully constructed pride and self-righteousness. I let the silence fill me to the brim and I think about His sacrifice and the fact that if I truly honored it, I would live it out.
I would sacrifice pain for forgiveness.
I would sacrifice being right for the opportunity to love.
I would sacrifice pride for humility.
I would sacrifice my image for His.
Sometimes the silence says more than words could ever...
Linking with Michelle at Graceful, Shanda for On my Heart, Laura for Playdates, and Jennifer for Godbumps.