Benedictine Sr. Joan Chittister, author and lecturer, lives in Erie, Pa.
Into this mix of struggle and tension, of cultural divides and future possibilities, of global unsureties and dogmatic certainties, comes the sixth question of Lent. It is a simple but a searing one: Who will cry out?
"Rabbi, stop your disciples from calling attention to you," the Pharisees demand in this Sunday's scripture (Luke 19:28-40). There is another agenda here to be attended to, after all: theirs. Or "tradition." Or it is simply any present event "at which such a [fill in the blank -- conversation, action, question, request] is improper." Everything and anything but Jesus is on those agendas, in fact. "Gentlemen," -- you can almost hear the tone of voice -- Jesus says to those who want to ignore the greater questions with which he confronts them, "if these [disciples of mine] do not speak up, even the stones will cry out."
There are some things, in other words, that are so major, so world-shaking, so morally demanding that they simply will not go away, no matter how much we try to ignore them or damp them or nicen them up or command them away. They affect so many people that they will not be minimized. They are erupting everywhere and cannot be dismissed. They may be denied the public arena over and over again but they will not be smothered. Though, heaven knows, smother them we try.
But the flow of history moves inexorably on with each issue that is disregarded in one period rising even more violently in the period that follows. In every decade and in every country and religion, the woman's movement keeps reappearing. In every nation everywhere the plight of the poor is threatening the rich. In every part of the globe every year the ongoing loss of natural resources undermines the well-being of people everywhere. So, the question persists: Who will cry out if not you, if not I?
It is a shattering moment, this confrontation with the inevitable, in the middle of this 40-day retreat into the self. Just when it would be so much more comfortable to sink into the symbolism of Lent, we are required to face reality. Just when we would like to put it all down for awhile -- all the clamor, all the dirty business around us, all the ecclesiastical arm-wrestling, all the social issues -- and concentrate simply on the "spiritual" life, on "Jesus," we find ourselves in a crowd on the noisy, sweaty road to Jerusalem, caught between the Pharisees and Jesus. Caught between the keepers of the system and the word of God. Caught between the stability of the past and the painful beginning of a new future where, deep down, we know we hear the deniers denying him and mourners crying for his absence and the question hanging in the air: Who will cry out? Who will cry out? Who will cry out?
The honest answer, the smart answer, is "Not me." And many people say it. They walk away and abandon the church to its incestuous self where only those remain who profit from the structures or who dabble in the structures for whatever social or personal placebo it might afford. They leave the political system and ignore the elections. They flee the tough conversations in the family and the office in the name of "nice." They say they have "no time for politics" and "no interest in the church." They drop out on the way to Jerusalem.
But there are those others who keep on shouting, who keep on telling the story even to those with no ears to hear. Over and over again they cry out. But is it worth it? And does it work? Did the disciples on the road to Jerusalem make any difference at all? Well, look at it this way: It got our attention, didn't it?
So whose turn is it to cry out this time?
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