There is a sound rising in the world today, and it is not the sound of peace. It is the sound of the sword. Nations are stirring, conflicts are spreading, and truth itself is being obscured in the noise. And into this moment, the Word of God speaks with a clarity that we cannot ignore.
“And if the watchman see the sword coming, and sound not the trumpet: and the people look not to themselves, and the sword come, and cut off a soul from among them: he indeed is taken away in his iniquity, but I will require his blood at the hand of the watchman” (Ezekiel 33:6).
These are not comfortable words. They are not meant to be. They are meant to awaken the conscience of those who have been entrusted with souls. And we must speak plainly about what we are witnessing.
When any civil authority – no matter how powerful, no matter how influential – begins to speak in terms that pressure the Church, or suggest that the Successor of Peter should be coerced, or brought into alignment with political will – this is not a small matter. This is not simply rhetoric. This is a line that must not be crossed.
And when such words are directed even toward the Holy Father, toward the Vatican, as though the Church were something to be managed, influenced, or even threatened by the powers of this world, then something has gone deeply wrong.
The Church does not belong to any administration. She does not belong to any nation. She belongs to Jesus Christ.
And the Pope – whatever his strengths or weaknesses, whatever prudential judgments we may question – is not a political instrument. He is the Vicar of Christ, and the office he holds must never be treated as something to be pressured or bent to the will of men.
This should concern every Catholic. Not because of party, not because of ideology, but because it reveals how easily the world forgets what the Church is. And this is precisely the moment when the watchman must not be silent.
Because silence, in the face of confusion, becomes complicity. Silence, in the face of pressure, becomes permission. Silence, when the sword is already visible on the horizon, becomes a failure of love.
The prophet does not say that the watchman must win the battle. He does not say that the watchman must control the outcome. He says only this: that when he sees the danger, he must sound the trumpet.
And that is what we are called to do.
Not with anger. Not with political ambition. But with clarity, with courage, and with fidelity to the truth that has been entrusted to us. Because there is something far worse than being misunderstood by the world. It is to stand before God, having seen the danger – and having said nothing.
And so we must ask ourselves, what is a watchman?
A watchman is not placed upon the wall to be admired. He is not there to be liked. He is not there to maintain a comfortable silence so that those within the city may rest undisturbed. He is placed there for one reason: to see clearly, and to warn faithfully.
And that means he must be willing to speak when others would prefer quiet. He must be willing to raise his voice when others would prefer diplomacy. He must be willing to risk rejection, misunderstanding, even persecution, rather than fail in the duty entrusted to him by God.
Pope St. Gregory the Great once wrote: “A spiritual guide should be silent when discretion requires and speak when words are of service.” And there is a wisdom there that we must not lose. Not every moment calls for words. Not every situation demands a response. There is a holy silence that belongs to prayer, to contemplation, to trust in God.
But there is also a silence that is not holy. There is a silence that is born not of prudence, but of fear. A silence that arises not from wisdom, but from a desire to avoid conflict, to preserve comfort, to remain acceptable in the eyes of the world. And that silence is deadly. Because when truth is being obscured – when souls are being led into confusion – when the very nature of the Church is being misunderstood or pressured – silence is no longer an option.
We are living in a time when many voices speak loudly, but few speak clearly. There is endless commentary, endless analysis, endless noise – but very little truth spoken with the authority and clarity that comes from fidelity to Christ.
And so the temptation arises, even within the Church, to soften the message. To speak in vague terms. To avoid anything that might be perceived as controversial. To remain neutral when neutrality is not possible. But neutrality, in the face of moral truth, is itself a choice. And it is not the choice of the watchman.
The priest, the bishop, the shepherd – he does not belong to himself. He belongs to Christ. And the souls entrusted to him are not his to manage, but his to guard, to teach, to lead toward salvation. And this is why the image of the watchman is so powerful.
The watchman does not create the danger. He does not cause the sword to come. But he is responsible for what he does when he sees it. And we do see it.
We see confusion about truth. We see moral clarity being replaced with shifting narratives. We see the language of justice being used to justify what is unjust. We see the dignity of human life disregarded, and the very foundations of society shaken.
And yes, we see the Church herself being drawn into the currents of the world – pressured, criticized, sometimes even manipulated by those who do not understand her nature. And in such a time, the temptation is either to fight like the world fights – or to retreat into silence. But the watchman does neither.
He speaks.
He speaks not as a partisan, but as a witness. Not as a strategist, but as a servant of the truth. And that truth is not an idea. It is a Person.
Our Lord Jesus Christ, standing before Pontius Pilate, stated: “ … Thou sayest that I am a king. For this was I born, and for this came I into the world, that I should give testimony to the truth …” (John 18:37).
He did not say this to gain favor. He did not say this to avoid the Cross. He said it knowing full well what it would cost Him. And that is the model of the watchman. Not success. Not approval. But fidelity. Because the truth does not belong to us. We are its servants.
And so the question comes to each of us – not only to bishops and priests, but to every soul who has received the light of Christ. Where have I been silent? Where have I seen confusion, error, or injustice – and chose not to speak?
Where have I allowed fear – fear of rejection, fear of conflict, fear of being misunderstood – to silence the truth that I know has been entrusted to me?
We cannot all stand in the same place. We do not have the same responsibilities. But every one of us has a voice. Every one of us has a sphere of influence – a family, a workplace, a community – where truth must be lived and, when necessary, spoken. And we must remember: to speak the truth is not to abandon charity. In fact, it is the opposite. To remain silent while others are led into error is not love. It is a failure of love.
True charity does not mean avoiding difficult truths. It means speaking them with humility, with patience, with a genuine desire for the good of the other – but speaking them nonetheless. Because love desires salvation. And salvation requires truth.
The watchman does not shout to condemn. He sounds the trumpet to warn, to awaken, to call people back from danger. And so today, the call is not to fear the noise of the world. It is not to be overwhelmed by the conflicts of nations, or the shifting tides of politics, or the pressures placed upon the Church. The call is to be faithful.
Faithful in prayer. Faithful in truth. Faithful in witness.
To return to the things that anchor us when everything else seems unstable: the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the Rosary, Eucharistic Adoration, confession, the daily turning of the heart toward God. Because the strength of the watchman does not come from himself. It comes from the One who placed him on the wall.
And so we do not stand alone. Christ is with His Church. He has not abandoned her. He will not abandon her. But He does ask something of us. He asks for our voice.
Not a voice of anger. Not a voice of division. But a voice of truth – clear, steady, and unafraid. Because one day, each of us will stand before Him. And on that day, the question will not be whether we were accepted by the world. It will be whether we were faithful. Whether we saw the sword – and sounded the trumpet. Or whether we remained silent – and allowed the silence to speak in our place.
May we choose well. Because the hour we are living in is not an ordinary one.
There is a kind of pressure now – subtle in some places, very open in others – that seeks to reshape the Church, not from within her divine constitution, but from the expectations of the world. And we see it most clearly when the Church refuses to align herself with the ambitions of nations, and suddenly becomes a target.
When the Church will not bless what is unjust – when she hesitates to endorse what powerful voices demand – when she speaks, even imperfectly, in a way that resists the momentum of war or the spirit of retaliation – there are those who respond not with humility, but with frustration, even hostility. And this should not surprise us.
Our Lord Himself said, “If the world hate you, know ye, that it hath hated me before you” (John 15:18).
The Church is not hated because she is irrelevant. She is resisted because she refuses to belong to the world. And that is what we are seeing now. When leaders begin to speak as though the Church should fall into line – when there is language that suggests pressure, influence, or even consequences toward the Holy Father or the Vatican because the Church will not move in step with political will – then something deeper is being revealed.
It is the ancient temptation: to bring the things of God under the authority of man. To treat the Church not as divine, but as an institution to be managed. To forget that her authority does not come from governments, alliances, or public opinion – but from Christ Himself.
And this is where the watchman must be especially clear.
Because it is easy, in such a moment, to become confused. To begin to think in political categories. To take sides as the world takes sides. To measure the Church’s words against national interests rather than eternal truth. But the Church does not exist to serve the interests of any nation. She exists to save souls.
And that means she must remain free – free to speak the truth, free to call sin what it is, free to resist what is unjust, even when that resistance is misunderstood or misrepresented.
This is not rebellion. This is fidelity. And it is precisely in moments like these that the courage of the shepherd is tested.
Will he speak clearly, even when his words may be twisted? Will he remain anchored in Christ, even when the currents of the world pull strongly in another direction? Will he defend the dignity and mission of the Church, not with aggression, but with unwavering clarity?
Because the pressure is real.
It comes from governments. It comes from media. It comes from within the Church herself. It comes from the fear of losing influence, losing approval, losing position. But none of these are the measure of faithfulness. The measure is truth. And truth does not change with circumstance.
What is unjust does not become just because it is popular. What is morally wrong does not become acceptable because it is widely supported. And what contradicts the Gospel cannot be sanctified by any earthly authority.
And so the watchman must continue to speak. Not because he believes his voice will change the course of nations overnight. But because silence would betray the One who sent him. Because every word spoken in truth is an act of fidelity. Every warning given in love is an act of mercy. Every refusal to compromise is a witness that Christ is still King – even when the world forgets.
And we must not overlook this: the pressure placed upon the Church today is not only external. It is also internal. There is confusion within. There is hesitation. There are voices that call for accommodation, for adaptation, for a softening of what has always been taught. And here again, the watchman must not be silent. Because the danger is not only that the Church will be opposed by the world. The danger is that she will begin to sound like it.
And if that happens – if the clarity of the Gospel is replaced with ambiguity, if truth is softened into suggestion, if the call to conversion is replaced with affirmation – then the trumpet will no longer be heard. And the people will not be warned.
That is why this moment matters. This is why your voice matters. This is why my voice matters. Because the watchman is not only on the wall in Rome, or in a cathedral, or in a parish. In a certain sense, every Christian is placed on the wall of his own life.
You see what is happening. You hear what is being said. You feel the pressure, the confusion, the pull to remain quiet. And the question comes again: Will you speak? Will you hold fast to what you know is true, even if it costs you something? Will you refuse to allow fear to dictate your silence? Because the world does not need more noise. It needs truth.
Clear. Steady. Uncompromising. Spoken in love, but spoken nonetheless.
And we do not do this alone. The same Lord who warned the watchman … is the Lord who strengthens him. The same Christ who stood before Pilate … stands with His Church now. The same Spirit who gave courage to the apostles … gives courage still.
And so we go forward – not in fear, but in faith. Not in anger, but in conviction. Not in silence, but with the sound of the trumpet. Calling, warning, inviting – always pointing back to Christ.
Because in the end, it is not the strength of nations that will prevail. It is not the strategies of men. It is not the pressure of power. It is the truth. And the truth has a voice. May we never fail to speak it.
May Almighty God bless you, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Bishop Joseph E. Strickland
Bishop Emeritus
