Staying Silent when People Offend Us

"Another day when a council was being held in Scetis, the Fathers treated Moses with contempt in order to test him, saying, 'Why does this black man come among us?' When he heard this he kept silence. When the council was dismissed, they said to him, 'Abba, did that not grieve you at all?' He said to them, 'I was grieved, but I kept silence.'" (Sayings of the Desert Fathers, Abba Moses the Black 1)

Historic Background and the Test of Silence: 

This profound saying from the Desert Fathers features Abba Moses the Black, a figure of remarkable transformation and spiritual depth. Scetis, or Skete, was a monastic settlement in the Nitrian Desert of Egypt, one of the very first monastic communities in Christianity. The Desert Fathers were monks who lived in the deserts of Egypt and Syria, renowned for their wisdom, discipline, and pursuit of God.

The blunt, almost shocking question, "Why does this black man come among us?" immediately confronts us with the uncomfortable reality that racism is not a modern invention. Prejudice based on skin color has unfortunately existed throughout history. However, in this specific context, the intent of the Fathers was not simply malicious bigotry, but a deliberate "test."

Abba Moses had a notorious past. Before his conversion and entry into monastic life, he was a powerful and fearsome leader of a gang of robbers, known for his violence and ruthlessness. His transformation from a hardened criminal to a humble monk was a testament to the power of God's grace. The Fathers, being keenly aware of his past and the potential for his old temper to resurface, were likely probing the depth of his spiritual growth. They wanted to see if the fierce, easily provoked man of his past had truly been crucified with Christ, or if the roots of "righteous anger" and self-defense still held sway. Their question, though offensive, served as a spiritual litmus test. They aimed to provoke a reaction, to see if he had truly mastered his passions.

 

The Power of Silence in the Face of Calumny and Our "Ingrown Toenails": 

What is most remarkable about this account is Abba Moses' choice to remain silent. His later admission, "I was grieved, but I kept silence," reveals the immense inner struggle and the victory of his spiritual discipline. He did not deny the pain, but he chose not to react externally.

This brings us to the concept of being calumniated. To be calumniated means to be falsely and maliciously accused, to have one's reputation attacked with slanders and lies. When Abba Moses was called "this black man" in a derogatory way, it was a calumny, an attempt to diminish him and perhaps even provoke him into a display of his former self.

Here, we can integrate the insightful metaphor from Bishop Eric Varden who recently discussed this on a podcast entitled "Desert Fathers in a Year": At some deep, metaphorical level, all of us carry something akin to an "ingrown toenail."  

This is not a literal physical ailment, but a profound spiritual or psychological vulnerability—something deep and painful that seems unwilling to go away. It might be a persistent feeling of inferiority, a past failure we haven't fully reconciled, a perceived inadequacy, or a peculiar sensitivity that leaves us feeling exposed. This "toenail" represents a tender spot in our soul, a part of us that is easily bruised or inflamed.

Now, consider the pivotal question Bishop Varden poses: How will we respond when someone, either accidentally or deliberately, steps on that toenail? 

Our natural instinct when calumniated, or when our "ingrown toenail" is trod upon, is righteous anger. We want to defend ourselves, to set the record straight, to "show them what's up." We feel justified in lashing out, in proving our innocence, in asserting our worth. This is a powerful, primal urge rooted in self-preservation and a desire for justice. However, the Desert Fathers, and indeed Scripture, challenge us to consider a different path: the path of silence, of peace in the face of provocation.

Abba Moses' silence, in this light, is not merely a refusal to engage in an argument; it is a profound act of spiritual mastery over his own "ingrown toenail"—his past, his identity, the very parts of him that the Fathers sought to probe. He was grieved, yes, because the words likely touched a deep vulnerability, but he chose not to react externally, thus refusing to give power to the attack.

 

Scripture and the Discipline of Silence: 

The Scriptures offer profound insights into the power of silence, particularly when faced with unjust accusations or attacks.

Consider Isaiah 53:7 describing the Suffering Servant, a prophecy fulfilled in Christ: "He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so He opened not His mouth."

This verse paints a vivid picture of voluntary silence in the face of extreme suffering and injustice. Jesus, though innocent, remained silent before His accusers. In Matthew 27:12-14, we read: "But when He was accused by the chief priests and elders, He gave no answer. Then Pilate said to Him, 'Do you not hear how many things they testify against You?' But He gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed."

Jesus' silence was not an admission of guilt, but a profound demonstration of His sovereignty and His commitment to His Father's will. It disarmed His accusers, leaving them bewildered. His silence spoke volumes, testifying to a peace that transcended the chaos of the court. His "toenail" was being crushed, yet He responded with divine composure.

Another powerful passage is 1 Peter 2:23: "When He was reviled, He did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly."

Here, Peter explicitly links Christ's silent endurance to our own call to suffer patiently. The temptation to "revile in return" is strong. It feels like a just and necessary defense, especially when our "ingrown toenail" is stepped on and we feel the sharp sting of pain. Yet, Peter instructs us to entrust ourselves to God, the ultimate and just judge. Our silence in such moments is an act of profound faith, a declaration that our vindication comes from God alone. It prevents us from descending to the level of our accusers and becoming entangled in their negativity. It allows us to protect our tender inner peace.

 

Choosing Peace Over Retaliation: 

The challenge before us, following the example of Abba Moses and Christ, is to cultivate the discipline to remain silent, to refuse to allow those who attack us—or those who unwittingly step on our "ingrown toenails"—to steal our spiritual peace. This is not passive resignation, but active resistance to the world's way of responding to conflict.

As St. John Chrysostom beautifully articulates, "When we are insulted, the best revenge is to endure it with silence, for thus we make the insulter seem foolish." He understood that our silence can be more powerful than any retort, exposing the emptiness of the attacker's words and protecting our inner sanctuary.

Similarly, St. Anthony the Great, another prominent Desert Father, taught, "A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him, saying, 'You are mad, you are not like us.'" This speaks to the madness of a world that often attacks those who embody Christ-like virtues, including peace and forbearance—especially when those virtues stand in stark contrast to their own woundedness.

When we are met with hate, or when someone strikes a painful chord within us, our natural inclination might be to respond in kind. But Jesus calls us to a higher standard: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:44). This is the ultimate act of responding to hate with love, and often, silence is the first step in that loving response. It gives us space to pray, to seek God's guidance, and to prevent our own anger from consuming us. It is the discipline that allows us to tend to our "ingrown toenail" with the balm of God's peace, rather than flaring up in a reactive pain.

 

Reflection and Challenge: 

Consider the last time you were calumniated or unjustly attacked, or perhaps when someone, even innocently, touched one of your deep sensitivities—your "ingrown toenail." How did you react? Did you defend yourself vehemently? Did you allow the words to steal your peace and stir up anger within you?

Abba Moses reminds us that the pain is real—"I was grieved." But his choice to remain silent, to not let that grief manifest in a retaliatory action, is a profound lesson in spiritual warfare. It is a testament to the fact that true strength lies not in lashing out, but in mastering one's own spirit.

Today, let us embrace the challenge of silence. When faced with unjust criticism, slander, or provocation, or when our tender spots are touched, let us pause. Let us remember Abba Moses, the Desert Fathers, and above all, our Lord Jesus Christ. Let us choose to entrust ourselves to God, to guard our spiritual peace, and to meet the assaults of others not with heated words, but with the quiet power of Christ's love and the discipline of silence. For in that silence, God's voice can be heard, and His peace can reign within our hearts, undisturbed by the clamor of the world and the pain of our own vulnerabilities.

 

In Jesus' name,

Judah