Denying yourself and taking up your cross: The 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Times

 

 

“…but whoever wishes to save his life, will lose it…”

--Matthew 16: 21-27

 

The readings for this Sunday are in such strange and perfect harmony that I—for one—feel grateful to whomever it was that arranged the schedule of readings so many years ago.  I believe the plan for mass readings and the revision of lectionary happened quite a long time ago—perhaps the 1970s—but please correct me, or inform me if you know the who and the when of it. But, thank you to whomever did this, and set in motion today’s cycle of readings. They sowed the seed, never knowing what soil would receive it.

 

What caught my attention in these readings was the theme of giving your life to God. And I think the most efficient way for me to address this theme is backwards: starting with the final reading—the Gospel, because I believe that the key to the series is found in the Gospel and that the other 2 readings (and the psalm) are –in some sense—clarifying texts.  One might consider these other 2 readings as forming a pair of lenses through which we more clearly glimpse the truth of the teaching in the Gospel—despite the fact that if our ophthalmologist were to hand us our new glasses with 2 such lenses we might find ourselves mistaking display cases for patients, and bathroom doors for exits, as we stumbled about trying to find our balance.  Hence, even trying on such lenses we must be cautious how we see and how we go.

 

The Gospel for today is Matthew 16: 21-27, and in it we have 2 important lessons. First, Peter’s clumsy attempt to either comfort or correct Our Lord. Immediately after Jesus hints at the fate awaiting Him in Jerusalem, Peter takes Him aside and seems to be trying to place a hand over His mouth, “God forbid, Lord! No such thing will ever happen to you.” (cf. MT 16: 22) To which Jesus responds, “Get behind me, Satan. You are an obstacle to me. You are not thinking as God does, but as human beings do.”

 

And breaking this down, we may find ourselves somewhat sympathetic to Peter’s position. Just a few verses before he was named top dog disciple.  He was renamed “the Rock” upon which Jesus would build His church (cf. Mt. 16:18).  And here –again, just a couple of verses later—he is being referred to as “Satan.” What could this mean? Well, I wonder if it has something to do with the detail of “taking Him aside”? Drawing Jesus to the side and trying to do a little damage control, Peter becomes a tempter. Regardless of any good intentions, Peter is tempting Jesus to soften or even veer away from the difficulties of doing God’s work. And by drawing Jesus aside, he is creating a situation of further temptation—a moment of secrecy, wherein temptation might grow (like mold growing in a dark corner of a damp closet).  This is a vision of how Satan works. Satan draws us into secrecy and hidden opportunities to turn away from the life that God has given us. To soften our commitments or renounce our decisions. Think of the alcoholic or the pornography addict, the gambler or the drug addict. How often does a moment of solitude become a moment of temptation? Or—more likely-- how often does temptation itself lead them to seek a moment of solitude wherein they might surrender to whatever demons is driving their desires.

But Peter is not dispensed with.  He remains the key disciples, despite what has just transpired. In fact, his failing here, prompts one of the most important teachings in all the gospel:

 

Then Jesus said to his disciples,

"Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,

take up his cross, and follow me.

For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,

but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. (Mt. 16: 24-25)

 

In other words, thinking like human beings means playing it safe: clinging to security, valuing comfort, earthly success, pleasures, or even just security (cf. Peter’s aside).  But thinking like God means giving ourselves completely, holding nothing back —regardless of what comes next.

 

That seems pretty clear, but then we remember our glasses and try them on, blinking and squinting through first one lens and then the other. Squinting through lens #2—Paul’s letter to the Romans—we see something interesting taking shape.  It looks like prayer, and yet it isn’t simply someone kneeling in a pew. It’s a figure working at a job, or taking time to help a neighbor, or perhaps turning off the TV, putting down their phone, or shutting off their opera records and getting up to empty the dishwasher. Perhaps even folding the laundry and putting it away. An amorous husband, putting aside his own desires to rub his wife’s feet and sing her a lullaby:

“Goodnight, Irene, goodnight, Irene… I’ll see you in my dreams…”

Through this lens we see that denying ourselves and taking up our cross, isn’t just a “spiritual practice” or a form of self-sacrifice, it becomes our worship—our prayer even.  And this reminds us that our prayer isn’t meant to be just words whispered over a meal or at bedtime, not just ritual for ritual’s sake—not even just a way of forming mental habits, but our prayer is a practice that –in fullness—should change our way of life. See through this lens, I realize: our prayer is our life, and our life is our true prayer.

Okay, so far so good.  But then we have that other lens; what I am calling lens #1. This lens is the reading from Jeremiah. In this bitter, tirade against God, we see the lesson of Christ as if through a prism (to use an ophthalmological image)—the prism of Jeremiah’s experience; his life lived for God.  And what we see is a kind of frightening clarity to the outlines of such a vague and sweetly sounding life.

“You duped me Oh, Lord, and I let myself be duped…
All the day I am an object of laughter, everyone mocks me...”

 

The prophet has denied himself, his own plans, his own choices, his own life and he has taken up his cross, his mission, the mission of proclaiming God’s message to Israel.  And, even though this was a mission from God, given by God to Jeremiah, it has been an utter failure; nothing good has come of it, only derision and reproach. And rejection by God’s people and their leaders. Things are so bad, that Jeremiah considers giving up, turning away, abandoning his mission (and perhaps God as well).   

 

“Even when I say to myself, I will not mention Him;

I will speak in His name no more,

then it becomes like fire burning in my heart,

imprisoned in my bones;

I grow weary holding it in;

I cannot endure it…” (cf. Jeremiah 20:8-9)

 

 One lesson we can pretty clearly derive through this lens is this: Giving your life to God does not assure you of comfort, security, honor or praise. In fact, as Jesus reminds us again and again in the Gospels: it often leads straight toward Calvary and the cross.

 

Which leads me to my last thought:

Today at mass, listening to the readings, I looked up at the wall and saw that I was sitting right under the image of Station VII: Jesus falls a second time. And for some reason, I kept gazing at that image even thought the mass went on—the 1^st reading, the psalm, the 2^nd reading; I stood up as everyone else did for the gospel, but I was still gazing at that image above me: Jesus falling a second time. And I realized: that is the entire message summed up in one image, right there!  Jesus falls a second time.  He is denying Himself and has literally taken up His cross, and the path he trods isn’t easy. He stumbles once and is ridiculed and abused, but He doesn’t give up. He rises, takes up His cross and continues the journey, knowing that He will stumble again (even a third time), but every time He gets back up and takes up the cross again. Never quitting, never turning away from the call to deny Himself, take up His cross and follow God’s call, to walk ever more closely with God. His will to serve His Father, our will to be like Him, to follow Him –that is the worship Paul is describing; that is the way to fulfillment, to becoming like our Lord, our God. When we are hungering for our addictions, we are seeking momentary pleasure or respite; it is ephemeral and passes away. It is, in the end, a moment’s satisfaction that leaves us even hungrier; as if we had drunk saltwater in an effort to slake our thirst. As if sin stirred in our souls an appetite for hunger itself.  And no matter how often we feel sated by a moment’s pleasure, the desperate need returns, the satisfaction fades, the pleasure disappears, that life is like foam from a wave, melting in the sand; there for a moment, then gone. No matter how desperately we try, it is a life we cannot cling to, because it is already lost even before it is gone.

 

Like the psalmist says: my flesh pines, my soul thirsts… for God, for you Oh Lord, my God whom I seek. (cf. Psalm 63).

 

Our flesh, our soul, our very being thirsts for God and only one thing will satisfy that longing. Let go of your safety net, your ego, your broken dreams; lay down the life you hoped for, the life you planned, the life that society keeps telling you will bring honor and success and power, and look around you for the cross that is waiting just for you.  It is there, waiting for you to take it up and find –for the first time, perhaps—you are finally alive.  Yes, you will stumble. Yes, you will fall. Like Peter, like Jeremiah, like Jesus Himself… But that’s okay. Get just get back up and remember one thing: Don’t be afraid. This is what it means to truly be alive! You, me, all of us… Quite literally, we were made for this.