Barbed Silence

O God of tsedeqah and mishpat,
You have spoken through the prophets,
through Jesus, through the cries of the oppressed:
justice and mercy belong together.
Your call is not hidden.
It is clear.

Yet here I stand in a fellowship shadowed by silence.
I speak of Gaza, of the vulnerable, of the kingdom’s justice—
and my words fall unanswered.
The shepherd’s voice stays quiet,
and the people look away.
They do not know me,
but that is not what pains me.
What pains me is that they do not hear You.

This silence feels like betrayal.
It cuts like barbs.
Baptisms are celebrated,
personal salvation proclaimed,
while Your justice is muffled,
your gospel thinned to private comfort.
Where is the voice that should cry aloud?
Where is the church that should resist oppression?

I lament, Lord.
Not for my own rejection,
but for the loss of witness among Your people.
For the failure to rise in defense of the buried,
the silenced, the forsaken.
I lament because Your truth is avoided.
I lament because Your call is unanswered.

So I will speak and reveal this grief,
because it is real,
and because You have told me not to hide it.
Give me endurance in this way,
for it is painfully hard to bear.

Yet I will not let go.
I will speak as You give me voice,
publicly and privately,
until the silence breaks,
until Your justice thunders again
in the house of Your people.