Silent grace at work

Moderator, Dr John Kirkpatrick, offers an Easter reflection that reminds us of God’s wonderful grace.

When you’re 16, cash flow can be quite a problem. Quite a bit more cash is required when you have passed from a quarter of bonbons to a packet of Player’s No 6. So a way has to be found. For me, one of the best and simplest ways was to get a ‘chit’ for train fares. In my boarding school, a ‘chit’ was a permission slip to access money from the school office. I handed it over and got instant cash. It was like a ‘hole in the wall’ before they were invented. You still had to make the train journey though and that was the tricky bit. With a few old used tickets in hand, mostly it was no problem. That was until some zealous conductor would have to check every one and every detail.

“Just you wait there young lad.”

Silent stares as the honest and decent folk walk past, some stealing a glance to see just what an offender looks like. Then there is the long wait, time to make up an alternative narrative. I think the worst part was knowing that I would involve a really honest person. Outside, waiting in the car to give me a lift was my host, Rev Jim Matthews… a decent and good man to the core.

Whatever conversation occurred out of my sight or hearing, I cannot tell, but when he came to meet me there was no mention of the ticket or of any issue. On that subject it was just silence.

“…like a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth” (Isaiah 53:7).

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” So begins Charles Dickens’ novel A Tale of Two Cities. In it we meet a man named Charles Darnay who has been sentenced to death by the guillotine. He waits in the Bastille in Paris for his sentence to take place. Sydney Carton, a man who strongly resembles Darney, breaks into the jail with a few friends and knocks Darnay out. Carton exchanges clothes with him, and his friends steal the unconscious Darnay out of the jail. Carton then waits to die in Darnay ’s place. Love of a woman is the backstory for those not familiar with the plot.

The scene is witnessed by a young woman, also condemned to die. When she realises the truth she is amazed and says to him, “Are you dying for him?” He answers, “Yes”. Out of love, Sydney Carton will silently go to his death in the place of Charles Darnay.

“…like a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.”

At nine o’clock the lights are switched off in the dormitory. There is meant to be absolute silence from then on. How can 18 boys do that? The answer is that they don’t. Before long, there is a general hubbub of noise; not a pillow fight or anything like that, just conversation. Then… the slow, silent turning of the door handle and a small but growing slice of light cuts through the room.

“Right, who was talking? Own up.” This is followed by a predictable silence… and then from out of the darkness I hear, “It was me sir.” What does he mean ‘it was me’? It was ‘us’, all of ‘us’.

There is a momentary pause, time seems suspended underneath the sheets of 17 beds as we wait in silence.

“Out here now, quick!” And there follows the sound of three sharp slaps as a slipper is raised and brought down hard.

That was 50 years ago or more, and here, as I write, it is as powerful in memory as in actuality. The silence of the volunteer and the sound of the punishment echo in my mind.

“…like a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.”

Then we read in the gospel records the declaration concerning Jesus by Pilate: “I find no guilt in him”(John 18:38 and repeated in John 19:4 and John 19:6).

In answer to further questions Jesus does not reply. His silence is deafening. He has chosen to say yes to the will of his Father and embrace the role of the sacrificial lamb. So he does not defend himself, he will defend us instead. Here is silent grace at work.

As we listen to this silence we can hear many things. We hear our own conscience reminding us of our guilt and we are silent too because we know that it is right. We hear a sigh of overwhelming kindness and love from a heavenly Father towards his Son. This truly is the beloved Son, well pleasing.

I think I can hear many words, spoken to try and justify ourselves for things that we are guilty of… but I hear his silence above them.

In his silence he has won for us a true voice. We now have the right to speak, to pray with hope, and to praise with acceptance.

When I left that railway station at the age of 16, I had several coins weighing in my pocket. How heavy they felt. Like the heaviness of guilt we can all feel. Jesus’ obedience and silence is a work of grace for us. This wonderful grace is eloquently described in some words from the hymn Before the Throne of God Above. Only this grace, when accepted, can lift the weight of guilt in all our ‘pockets’ and hearts.