Zabenthung Dominic

There are burdens the heart must carry alone. Not because they are light, but because they are too heavy to be shared. Not because they are unworthy of words, but because no words could ever hold them. Some truths are too delicate to be spoken, too fierce to be freed, too sacred to be placed in another’s hands. Some knowledge does not belong to the world but must die in the silence of the soul, where only God hears the whisper of its weight. 

Jesus knew this weight. 

That night, beneath the dim glow of flickering lamps, His hands broke the bread, His voice poured the wine, but His spirit trembled beneath the shadow of knowing. A presence lingered at His table – Judas, a friend, a brother, a chosen one. Hands that once healed now reaching for betrayal, eyes that once burned with devotion now clouded with secrets. 

And yet, the others saw nothing. They ate, they laughed, they lifted their cups in celebration. No one could see the storm gathering in His soul. No one could hear the silent shattering of trust. 

He could have spoken. He could have stripped the night of its disguise, turned whisper into thunder, named the betrayal before it took its first breath. But He did not. He simply carried it. Not out of fear, not out of weakness, but because some wounds are not meant to bleed in the open. Some truths must not be deciphered before their time. Some burdens must be borne in silence, not in surrender, but in strength. 

There is a suffering that does not scream. A grief that does not break like waves but lingers like mist. A sorrow that remains not because it is unresolved, but because it must be endured. It is the suffering of understanding – of seeing what others do not see, of knowing what must never be spoken, of holding a truth that cannot be placed into another’s hands. 

Jesus did not let it consume Him. He did not let the bitterness of betrayal poison the love that still flowed from His heart. Instead, He surrendered it – not to time, not to justice, not to the desperate hands of human reckoning, but to the Father. He entrusted the unbearable to the only hands that could hold it, the only heart vast enough to contain it without breaking. 

And so, He teaches us: Not every burden must be laid down. Not every truth must be spoken. Some things must be carried to the end. Some things must be buried within, not in fear, but in quiet strength – not as chains that bind, but as crosses that sanctify. 

The world tells us that truth must always be told, that no weight should be borne alone. But there are burdens that words cannot carry, griefs that no human voice can ease. There are secrets that belong not to the lips, but to the silence of the soul. 

Perhaps this is what it means to walk the narrow path – not to be unburdened, but to bear the unbearable with grace. To hold the weight of knowing without resentment, without despair. To trust that some truths are not meant to be released, but to be sanctified in the depths of the heart, where silence is not emptiness, but prayer, where sorrow is not wasted, but redeemed. 

For not everything must be spoken. Not everything must be known. Some things must be carried in silence, to the end, where only God sees, where only love remains.