“He was oppressed and He was afflicted,
      Yet He opened not His mouth;
He was led as a lamb to the slaughter,
     And as a sheep before its shearers is silent
          So He opened not His mouth.” IS 53:7

I’ve watched in amazement as sheep are corralled into a channel and take their turns to be sheared. I’ve watched as they are flipped over on their sides. And I have watched as the shearer applies the denuding blade to their bellies, necks, ribs, legs, and backs and then like an egg flopped over until their whole body is stripped bare. I’ve watched as these sheep did not struggle or flinch, but docile and completely at peace, submitted to the knife of their master, opening not their mouths. And I have thought about what a beautiful picture this is of Jesus, as described here by Isaiah prophesying about the crucifixion of the Son of Man. I want to be like this sheep; no, better yet, I want to be like the Lamb of God.
But silence does not come easy for me. When Jesus was questioned before Herod, who was in fact intending to free him, “He answered him nothing” (LK 23:9). Accused of ridiculous “crimes”, Jesus completely resisted the temptation to defend or justify Himself, but chose rather to commit Himself into the Hands of the Judge of all the earth, knowing that He would always do the right thing. I, on the other hand, reason that it is only natural to defend myself, and righteous to stand up for “the truth”. In reality, truth is not just about content; it is about character.
I’m learning that God always gives me a choice. Jesus chose the high road, committing His way to God. When I choose to defend or justify myself, I have to accept the results of my choice. When I choose to allow God to speak for me, then I am positioning myself to trust God’s judgment, and leave the results with Him.
I’ve discovered too that sometimes I open my mouth because I am seeking sympathy. Pity loves company; but the only cake served at a pity party is bitter. And my choice to imbibe comes at a great cost. When I seek the sympathy of man, I unwittingly forfeit comfort that comes directly from the Comforter. As the axiom goes, you cannot have your cake and eat it too. It is either the sympathy offered by a friend or colleague, or it is the compassion of your Creator. My choice. Yours too.
Jesus’ silence came at literally the most lonely and difficult juncture of His life. He had just been betrayed into enemy hands by a friend with whom he had daily walked, eaten three meals a day, and shared cold nights for more than three years. Another, perhaps His closest friend, had denied knowing Him three times in a row. The rest of His band of buddies had also rejected, and abandoned Him in His greatest hour of need. He had told them time and time again what He was about to go to the cross; and yet they left Him completely alone.
You did this as a man, Jesus. You were subject to all the fears, and doubts, and feelings of alienation and solitude as any of us. Despite the temptation to rebuff, or to be understood, You opened not Your mouth. You became just like me, so that I could choose to drink my cup as You did, and become like You. Help me, dear Jesus, to take the high road, to commit my way completely to the Father, to set my hopes on the comfort that comes from you, Holy Spirit. Sustain me, inspire me, and impart to me greater grace, that I might learn from you, and be silent before any and all of my accusers. Amen.

Sheep Shearing (2:21)