“A voice for the voiceless”: this buzz phrase inspired a younger me, but it now makes me squirm. It is a succinct, catchy phrase often uplifted with good intentions, but I fear that it obscures the ways in which certain voices are purposefully stripped away from people. As many before me have demonstrated, “voice for the voiceless” tends to convey that there are those with voices and those without. More truthfully, we all have voices. This includes those who, rather than using verbal speech, communicate their voice in their own ways. The unjust reality is that too many voices are silenced or ignored, which is why advocating for justice is so integral to our life of faith. 

Today’s Scripture, from the Book of Daniel and the Gospel of John, has blocks of dialogue, which provide (at least) four models of advocacy. I am grateful that these passages render no one voiceless by including the speech of the oppressed (Susanna in the First Reading and the unnamed woman in the Gospel) and the speech of those advocating alongside them (Daniel in the First Reading and Jesus in the Gospel). If we take a closer look at their words and actions, I believe that we might find some windows into a holy balance of expressing ourselves and attending to others. We each hold an identity/identities that others may use to silence our voice, privilege our voice, or do some combination of the two. Bringing your attention to your own context of today, I invite you to consider to whom you most relate and to whom you most aspire:  

1. Like Susanna, is there anything about which you wish to “cry aloud” to God, bringing your righteous anger to prayer?  

2. Like Daniel, do you find that there are people in power willing to listen to you? If so, how might you start or continue to leverage that power to “cry aloud” alongside those without power? 

3. Like the unnamed woman, is there any action for which you would like to take responsibility and/or seek forgiveness?  

4. Like Jesus, do you have any opportunity to call out hypocrisy and offer compassionate understanding?

Shortly after opponents bombed his parish’s justice-seeking radio station, (now Saint) Óscar Romero  said “Each one of you has to be God’s microphone.” I wonder, might it be more constructive for us to imagine ourselves as “God’s microphone” than as a “voice for the voiceless”? How can we be an instrument to amplify, not replace, the voices that are too often cast aside?