Reflection y Sem. Clark Cedric Mendoza
“Aware of this, Jesus withdrew from that place”
No confrontation.
No defense of his reputation.
No drama.
The Gospel does not open with triumphant. It opens with a threat.
We heard that when the Pharisees went out and plotted how they would kill Jesus, Jesus already knew this and withdrew to that place.
Jesus backed off. Paano pa kaya akong mahinang nilalang lang? Just a human being.
The Lord invites us to look at this very specific moment in the Gospel.
The Lord withdraws himself.
Ayaw niya ba ng away? Ayaw niya ba ng gulo? Ayaw niya ba ng problema?
Matthew in his Gospel, was ever careful to show us that nothing about Jesus is accidental, tells us this withdrawal fulfills what was spoken through the prophet Isaiah — (that here is the Servant who will not quarrel, whose voice will not be heard in the streets, who will not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick).
Whenever we hear the word “withdrawal” or “backing off,” our modern culture immediately translates it as weakness. In a world that tells us to always assert ourselves, to demand space, and to fight for what we want until the very end, stepping back looks like a defeat. Withdrawal meant defeat, that backing off was the same as giving up.
Looking closely at the Gospel, Jesus’ withdrawal was not a sign of fear or cowardice. Jesus withdraws not because he is weak, but because his strength does not need to prove itself by staying and fighting every battle offered to him. Some battles are not his to win by confrontation — they are his to win by gentleness, by refusing to break what is already fragile.
It was a deliberate, grace-filled pause. It was a movement to protect a higher purpose, which is to fulfill the prophecy of prophet Isaiah: “A bruised reed he will not break, a smoldering wick he will not quench.” Jesus backed off because He knew that His hour had not yet to come, and there was still a deeper mission to unfold.
What I Have Not Said Out Loud
I never thought this Gospel would become very personal to me.
Last year, I met someone.
Someone who captivated me in a particular way that only meant one thing. She got past every wall I didn’t know I had. She had a way of interrupting my thoughts long after our conversations ended. And somewhere along the way, what started as annoyance became something I had to name honestly before God and Mama OLA: I loved her.
I never said anything about her.
Not because I doubted what I felt,
but because I could not, in good conscience,
to ask her not to wait at the door of a vocation I was still discerning,
still unsure that I could give my whole self to.
And when I’m trying to attempt,
too late she already had someone else,
— that her heart already had a longing home
— I did what Jesus did on hearing of the plot against him. I withdrew.
I did not fight for her.
I did not make my feelings her burden to carry.
I let the door close quietly, the way one closes a door so as not to wake someone sleeping.
Every Gospel has a word that quietly stays with us.
Sometimes it is “love.” Sometimes it is “mercy.” Sometimes it is “forgiveness.” This time, mine was a different word.
“Jesus withdrew.”
And I remembered a night when I did almost the same.
While browsing my Instagram stories I saw something
I would never have wanted to see. Still remember it vividly.
When “back off, pare” suddenly burstout of my mouth.
I was with Zayrus and Raprap during this night.
Strolling the bright streets of Marikina Heights…
while I am in a realm of emptiness.
BACK OFF PARE, BACK OFF
I used to be a torpe, type of guy — and I believe up to now.
Torpe is a Filipino slang word that usually gets translated as “shy/mahiyain” or “coward/duwag,” but more than this.
A torpe isn’t someone who lacks feelings — he’s someone whose feelings are too much to trust in his own hands.
Observes, overthinks, hesitates, reads every signal twice, and ultimately says nothing — not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares in a way
that makes him afraid of getting it wrong.
I have come to believe that it is a way of loving someone by refusing to complicate what is already whole for them. Withdrawal, in this sense, is not the absence of love. It is love refusing to break what is already fragile. It is love that has chosen not to break the bruised reed of someone else’s happiness, even at the cost of leaving own wick unlit a little longer.
I’d rather carry the ache alone than risk mishandling someone else’s heart.
Withdrawal is not simply letting go or giving up.
Sometimes, backing off is a silent language of love.
Sometimes, being torpe or choosing to step back is
how we silently wish someone the absolute best,
even if it means we are no longer part of the story.
The Interruption I Did Not Ask For
To be completely vulnerable.
Not too long ago, someone captivated my heart — yes, I fell in love.
I did not choose to fall in love with her.
I did not plan for my heart to be caught off guard in the middle of formation.
I realized that this experience was actually God’s will and planned to interrupt me. This was not a distraction from God — it may have been God’s plan to make me come back to Him. God interrupts our routines, our plans so that He may renew our hearts. He invites us to leave behind, even for a little while, our classes, deadlines, assignments, and personal desires— not because they don’t matter, but because there is something even more important: He calls us back to Himself. Back to Himself.
Some interruptions are not distractions from our vocation. Sometimes they are the instrument God uses to make us ask again, honestly, why I am here?
Sometimes we forget why we wanted to become priests. Sometimes we forget why we entered religious life. Sometimes we forget why we chose this vocation at all. We become so occupied caring for others, so consumed by the schedule of formation itself, that we neglect the quiet condition of our own being — the being that first said yes to this call.
Only when we return to Christ can we return to our vocation with clarity.
Only when we allow ourselves to be renewed can we become instruments of renewal for others.
Erich Fromm, Karol Wojtyla, and Love
When life breaks our hearts, sometimes philosophers becomes also a mirror of our soul.
Erich Fromm who is a critique of our modern culture that views love as a transactional exchange or a feeling to “fall into”. Instead, he argues that authentic love is an active skill requiring four core components: care, responsibility, respect, and knowledge.
Karol Wojtyla would also add: “The greater the feeling of responsibility for the person, the more true love there is.”
And Augustine who wrote that our hearts are restless until they rest in God. Looking back, It is not simply looking for love but rather looking for the One who is Love.
Today’s generation wakes up to a world that never sleeps. Constantly connected online, yet alone offline. Healthy love, on the other hand, supports the freedom and autonomy of the other person. Stepping back was my highest act of love for her and for God. It was an act of respect for her choice and her happiness, and an act of responsibility toward my own covenant with Christ.
The Bruised Reed I Chose Not to Break
Jesus withdrew to heal, to pray, and to fulfill the Father’s will. My personal experience of withdrawal was not a loss for me, but a transition back to what my heart truly desires.
Let us offer our private hurts, our “what-ifs,” our hidden heartbreaks, and our heavy responsibilities to Jesus.
May we always find the courage to back off from our own selfishness, so that we can fully step into the beautiful, extraordinary plans that God has drawn for our lives. I do not know if she ever knew what she was to me. I do not know if she will ever read this. Maybe she never needs to. Some words become holier when they remain unspoken. If she ever reads this, I hope she knows only one thing:
I loved you enough not to complicate what was already yours to have.
I want this reflection to stand as the words I withheld out of love, not fear.
Jesus withdrew — not in defeat, but in quiet trust that gentleness is still a form of strength. And to my vocation, that was still being shaped, still uncertain in places, still bruised in others — thank you for the interruption. It did not pull me away from the call. It sent me back to it, reminded of exactly why I said yes in the first place.
A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out, till he has brought justice through to victory.” (Matthew 12:20)
Neither, I hope, will I.
Amen.
By Jan Ernest Pàting
A second-year AB Philosophy student and aspirant of the Society of Saint Paul. He is currently discerning his vocation to the religious life inspired by the footsteps of the great apostle Paul.