When Our Lord entered Gethsemane, He did not first ask His disciples to act – He asked them to watch. To stay awake with Him in His sorrow. He did not demand solutions. He asked for presence.
“But Jesus held His peace…” (Matthew 26:63).
(LifeSiteNews) -- Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
There are moments when the silence of God seems to echo louder than the world’s noise. Moments when suffering lingers, when answers don’t come, and when the faithful – even the shepherd – must keep watch in the dark.
This is such a time.
And today, I do not come with solutions. I come to keep watch with you.
Christ is still among us – not always in triumph, not always in clarity – but oftentimes in hiddenness. Hidden in the wounds of the sick, hidden in the confusion of the present-day Church, hidden in the persecution of those who seek the Traditional Mass, hidden in the quiet tears of a mother praying in the night. And it is there, precisely there, that the faithful should be able to expect that their shepherd will remain.
For it is in that stillness, amid the shadows and the silence, that true pastoral courage is forged. The shepherd’s presence is not measured by words or grand gestures, but by the steadfastness to stay when all seems quiet or even forsaken. In the loneliness of the watch, where trials press hardest and hope feels faint, the shepherd is called to stand as a living sign of God’s unyielding love – a silent sentinel who bears the burdens of the flock, sharing their sufferings and interceding before the Throne of Grace. Here, faith is not passive resignation but an active, prayerful endurance that embraces the mystery of God’s timing and providence. To remain is to witness the hidden work of grace even when it is veiled from human sight.
A bishop is called to be a sentinel. He is not to abandon the gates when the city grows restless. He is not to retreat from the altar when tears fill the sanctuary. He is to watch.
“And He cometh to His disciples, and findeth them asleep, and He saith to Peter: What? Could you not watch one hour with Me?” (Matthew 26:40).
When Our Lord entered Gethsemane, He did not first ask His disciples to act – He asked them to watch. To stay awake with Him in His sorrow. He did not demand solutions. He asked for presence.
It is the role of the shepherd in a suffering Church: not first to solve, but to stay. This is where the bishops are called. Ready to keep vigil while others flee. Ready to guard the tabernacle. Ready to hold the lamp of faith when others let it burn low.
Pope St. Pius X once wrote: “The office divinely committed to us of feeding the Lord’s flock has especially this duty assigned to it by Christ, namely, to guard with the greatest vigilance the deposit of the faith delivered to the saints, rejecting the profane novelties of words and oppositions of knowledge falsely so called” (Pascendi Dominici Gregis, 1907).
And that faithfulness is tested not only in doctrine, but in compassion – in the long-suffering patience to accompany God’s people through their darkest hours.
And yet – today we see many shepherds, many bishops, who are not truly present with their flock. But I want to say to you today – that whether your shepherd has stood present with you or not – you are not alone.
In Isaiah 53:2-3 we read, “ … There is no beauty in Him, nor comeliness: and we have seen Him, and there was no sightliness, that we should be desirous of Him. Despised, and the most abject of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with infirmity … ”
Christ is no stranger to hiddenness. He was born in an out of the way place. He fled into exile. He was misunderstood by the religious, betrayed by the close, judged in silence. And when He rose from the dead, He did not appear to all – only to the few who had kept watch.
There is a temptation today – even in the Church – to equate Christ with approval or victory or with the status quo. But the saints knew otherwise.
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St. John of the Cross wrote: “The endurance of darkness is the preparation for great light.”
St. Gemma Galgani said, “If you really want to love Jesus, first learn to suffer, because suffering teaches you to love.”
And Pope Pius XII declared, “The Church, following her Divine Founder, advances always under the sign of contradiction.”
We must not fear the hiddenness of Christ. We must not rush to solve what God is asking us to carry. The Lord is not absent. He is veiled – as He is in the tabernacle.
Perhaps you, dear listener, are among those keeping vigil – for a loved one in the hospital, a son who has lost his way, or a Church you barely recognize. I want to speak to you now:
“The Lord is good to them that hope in Him, to the soul that seeketh Him. It is good to wait with silence for the salvation of God” (Lamentations 3:25-26).
Do not despise the waiting. In the silence, Christ is near. He does not forget the one who watches. He sees the tears no one else sees. He remembers those who do not walk away.
And I – as a shepherd – am here watching with you. I do not come with easy explanations or quick deliverance, but with faith in the One who is hidden yet wholly present. And it is here – especially here – that we must look toward the altar, toward that veiled and quiet miracle that sustains us. For in the Blessed Sacrament, we encounter not a distant God, but the crucified and risen Christ, who remains with us in silence, in suffering, and in sacramental mystery. What seems hidden is, in truth, the place of greatest nearness.
And today - I want you to remember this – there are tabernacles all over the world – sometimes locked, often quiet – that contain the same Christ who walked the roads of Galilee, who wept in the garden, who hung on the Cross.
Christ – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity – remains with us, waiting in silence, exposed to indifference, adored by the few.
“And whilst they were at supper, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and broke: and gave to his disciples, and said: Take ye, and eat. This is my body” (Matthew 26:26).
Here is the mystery of Christ in suffering:
– Hidden.
– Misunderstood.
– Offered.
St. Peter Julian Eymard wrote: “The Eucharist is the supreme proof of the love of Jesus. After this, there is nothing more but Heaven itself.”
Christ is hidden in the Eucharist. And Christ is hidden in the suffering. The question is “Will we kneel?”
I say today to those who are broken, quiet, faithful – He waits for you.
To you who are carrying the cross, unseen by others -
To you who feel left behind, unheard, misunderstood -
To you whose body or soul is weary from affliction -
To you who feel confused by the mixed messages you are hearing from the Church.
Christ is closer than you think.
“The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord hath anointed me: he hath sent me to preach to the meek, to heal the contrite of heart, and to preach a release to the captives, and deliverance to them that are shut up. To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God: to comfort all that mourn” (Isaiah 61:1-2).
Your wounds are not wasted. Your silence is not unnoticed. The prayers you whisper in the dark are gathered like incense before the throne of God.
The Church may be bruised, but Christ is still within her. You may be suffering, but Christ suffers in you. And this shepherd sees – and stays.
The silence of the Church is not abandonment. It is the silence of Gethsemane. The suffering of the Church is not defeat. It is the birth pangs of the resurrection.
You are not alone. Even if the night feels endless and no voice seems to answer, you are accompanied – by the silent prayers of the Church, by the intercession of the saints, by the love of those who suffer with you unseen. The wounds you carry are not unnoticed in heaven. Every sigh, every tear, every quiet act of endurance is caught up into something greater – into the very heart of Christ, who suffers with you and for you. And in that communion of suffering, hope begins to rise – not always swiftly, but surely, like dawn breaking over the hills.
“Now the God of patience and of comfort grant you to be of one mind one towards another, according to Jesus Christ: That with one mind, and with one mouth, you may glorify God, and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 15:5-6).
Let us remain together -
In the night watch.
In the silence of the Eucharist.
In the stillness where Christ is hidden -
And where, at last, He will be revealed.
May Almighty God bless you,
the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Amen.
This transcript was originally published on Bishop Strickland's Substack.
