The Pattern He Would Not Name

 And it came to pass that a man with a public voice began to speak again from scripture.

He said that he was teaching patterns found in holy writ, as he had always done. He reminded his listeners that he had studied for many years, that this was his habit, and that anyone who knew him would recognize the approach.

And he chose to begin with a pattern already familiar to the people.

Now it was known among them that this same pattern had recently been invoked in judgment against another man—openly, publicly, and without resolution. The memory of it was not distant, nor settled, nor healed. It was still present in the minds of those who listened.

And a woman, observing the timing, asked a simple question.

She did not accuse.
She did not presume.
She asked only where the man was coming from.

She asked whether the pattern he was teaching was meant to be understood in light of what had already occurred. She asked whether he was relating the ancient account to present events. She asked because listeners could not help but hear it that way.

And the man answered her at length.

He spoke of his habits.
He spoke of his sincerity.
He spoke of his long practice of viewing the world through scripture.

He said that the message was larger than any recent dispute, and that the matters raised before were small by comparison. He said that he was leaving his own opinions out of the teaching, and that he was not drawing comparisons to the present.

Yet he also acknowledged that listeners would inevitably apply scripture to what was happening around them.

And having said this, he refused to say more.

He would not clarify whether the pattern was being invoked in reference to the present moment.
He would not deny the obvious association.
He would not name the pattern as it now lived among the people.

Instead, he left the application to circulate freely.

And when it was suggested that the pattern, left unnamed, might nevertheless wound, he spoke not of the effect, but of his interior state. He spoke of anxiety, of inadequacy, of tears, and of the weight he felt upon his soul. He insisted that he did not seek attention, nor influence, nor followers.

And the people heard him.

Yet the question that had been asked was not answered.

For the question was not whether he was sincere.
The question was not whether he felt burdened.
The question was not whether scripture mattered.

The question was why this pattern was being spoken now, and whether it was being allowed to fall where it already had power to harm.

And on this, he was silent.

Thus the pattern moved among the people without a name.
It moved without ownership.
It moved without correction.

Those inclined to apply it did so freely.
Those already under its weight felt it press further.
And the speaker remained untouched by its consequences.

For there is a power in naming, and there is also a power in refusing to name.

And it was seen by some that to invoke a pattern while declining to acknowledge its present use is not neutrality, but a subtler form of authority. For though the speaker did not make the accusation himself, he created the conditions in which it could circulate, unowned and unchecked.

Thus the pattern was taught.
And thus the pattern was applied.
And thus the one who spoke of it bore none of its cost.

And many began to perceive that what was left unsaid had done more work than what was spoken.