It’s just the beginning. As Silence wears on, the strangely gentle, thoughtful Inquisitor Inoue and the “swamp” of Japan (as Inoue calls it) begins to choke the life out of this would-be mission. Devout Christians die. The priests are harried and, eventually, captured. Rodrigues struggles deeply with his faith. “I pray but I am lost,” he says. “Am I just praying to silence?”
The title of the book and movie references God’s stony silence in the midst of such terrible hardship. It echoes the plight of Japan’s hidden Christians, forced to worship in silence. It poignantly reminds us of those who die during the film, silenced forever for their faith. And perhaps it speaks to the silent struggle in Rodrigues’ own soul as he grapples with doubt and discouragement. It’s an extraordinarily challenging movie, perhaps especially for pampered American Christians—some of whom consider it persecution when someone says “happy holidays.”
Evangelical Christians often see the grand story of faith as a triumphant action movie. We tell ourselves that we fight against evil, war against the powers of darkness and, through Christ, our victory is already won. The worship music we sing varies in tone and texture, but often they feel like riffs on Queen’s stadium anthem “We Are the Champions.”
And all that’s true. But I wonder whether that attitude leaves us unprepared for those times when God’s ultimate victory feels so, so far away. We are finite creatures. Weak. We don’t suffer in silence: We cry out. “Surely,” Rodrigues says in the film, “God heard [Japanese Christians’] prayers as they died. But did He hear their screams?”
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