I don’t know exactly how to put this into words, as the main idea of faith is the fact that it is only that. Faith. No certainty, no proof, just evidence as far as the human mind can comprehend. But what Christianity gets right about this idea of following something based only on one’s own volition is that it does not necessarily need to be completely shrouded in darkness. Our Lord is not invisible because our Lord came down from heaven, and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary and became man.
I’ve been a practicing Catholic for 5 years, which means I have experienced 5 Good Fridays, 5 Holy Weeks and 5 Easters. But only this Good Friday could I, by the grace of God, truly comprehend Jesus’ Passion in my full human capacity. On Ash Wednesday, Lent always seems like a huge burden. Whether it be mere coincidence that greater intention calls greater scrutiny or it be some other supernatural entities coming to fetter the faith of the most dedicated, calling into question the most basic pillars of our faith is probably a more common occurrence than we would like to admit. Through the hunger of fasting, we question our need for a physical connection to Jesus, in times of exhaustion and sloth, we find ourselves beginning to doubt the merits of steadfast prayer, and in times of trial, we find ourselves questioning our deepest held values.
On the morning of Good Friday, a day I had highly anticipated this year, I woke up with one question on my mind: Why didn't Jesus defend the truth? When he was accused, he offered no reply. When they gave him the cross, he held out his hands. When they brandished the nails, he submitted willingly.
I don’t remember when I first encountered the quote “The truth is like a lion; you don’t have to defend it. Let it loose; it will defend itself,” but it was definitely less than 5 years ago. I was Catholic. And I disagreed with this statement vehemently.
Just look at our culture! We have men becoming women, mothers killing babies, US congressmen defending foreign terrorists on the taxpayer’s dime all because we became afraid to fight for the truth. This is your sorry excuse as to why our society is in a place of near irreparability? You’re telling me that all we need to do is stand back and wait until the lion wakes up from his 40-year-long slumber, gets his bearings, and fights for himself? The truth is not a lion. The truth is something that we steward ourselves. We control where and even if it leads our society.
It was this line of reasoning that led my work as I grew into the Conservative I am today. I considered myself not only a freedom fighter, but a truth crusader. My deep sense of unyielding justice blazed passionately and deeply, heating the gears of every classroom discussion and peer debate. It was my responsibility to keep things in line. If my classmates did not know the truth, or at the very least that there was another side to an issue, I was to blame. The truth needed me to direct its public school classroom debut. As recently as March 22nd, I believed this applied to both my school and private life as well, claiming to my new, similarly-minded freshman friend, I let my father scold me when I genuinely do something wrong, but I draw the line when he begins declaring absolutes like “you NEVER do the dishes!” As a Catholic and a Conservative, I understood that authority matters, and that I needed to submit to the head discipliner, but that it was only necessary to do in cases when I believed I was being honestly critiqued.
On the evening of Palm Sunday, a tearful, yet transformative exchange took place with someone I love dearly, ending with my interlocutor boldly declaring “I will NEVER become religious,” a statement I only managed to hear over my tears and repeated utterance of the Ave Maria. What had begun as a sarcastic remark about coming to church with me next Sunday had ended as a shouting match that included completely inaccurate accusations of an intrinsic desire to convert everyone to Christianity because “I want everyone to see the world how I see it” predicated on a misunderstanding of the pain we were each experiencing. After both of us had lost the ability and patience to say any more, I found great solace in St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, the book I had been reading the day prior. It was the most painful conversation I had ever had. As a student in a New York public high school, I know better than anyone that not everyone views the world the way I do. I do not want all unbelievers to experience Jesus because I want them to, but because Jesus wants them to, yet I was the one being accused, and I was the one who had fallen into the feckless duel in the name of defending the truth. I never felt lost or threatened in my faith that the Holy Spirit would one day soften this person’s heart, yet through the residual tears, I felt that something was about to change for me. That night, I did not feel vindicated after this exchange as I did in many previous instances in which I spoke out to do my duty in shepherding the truth. I did not feel truly innocent when reflecting upon my tired defense that self-denial, asceticism, and humility before the Lord was not fabricated by men who had their own earthly interests in mind, and therefore is the reason why religion is not just an idea made up by power-hungry zealots to make themselves feel comfortable and accepting of their natural ends.
That Friday, I pondered (as I often find myself doing) why Jesus did not perform a miracle on that afternoon in Jerusalem. From the Bible, I knew that in the literal sense, the answer to this is the same answer as to why he did not throw himself down for angels to catch at the Devil’s request. But until that day I didn’t understand why.
That Good Friday, after 5 years of reciting the words, I finally learned that Jesus is The Way, The Truth, and The Life. I finally connected the idea that because he is The Truth, he is the steward of it. Jesus did not submit to the lies of the Jews that wanted him dead because he defeated death. And he defeated death for us.
That Good Friday, the Holy Spirit relieved me of my duties of defending the truth because he revealed to me that that was never my job in the first place. It was my own bullheadedness that impeded my path to true submission to the Lord. I believed I was the ultimate authority in my own quest to unleash the truth, my own quest to unleash Jesus.
That Good Friday, I saw why it is right to turn the other cheek and to allow any false accusations. And while we should not completely throw up our hands and give up on the future of Western culture, we should not let it have such a hold on us that we believe we are the ultimate guardians of it, and responsible for its future.
In 1 Corinthians 8:1-3, one of the verses that found its way in front of my eyes that Palm Sunday evening, Saint Paul proclaims 'We all have knowledge'; yes, that is so, but knowledge gives self-importance – it is love that makes the building grow. A man may imagine he understands something, but still not understand anything in the way that he ought to. But any man who loves God is known by him.”
“The truth is like a lion; you don’t have to defend it. Let it loose; it will defend itself.” I don’t consider it providential that I now know that that quote is commonly attributed to St. Augustine of Hippo, the subject of my favorite piece of art. At the end of the day, I love all unbelievers as I love all believers. I pray for both unceasingly.
At the end of the world, I believe, as St. Paul did as well, that every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. That is the power of the Truth, that far transcends my human abilities.
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