INTRODUCTION

 The saints did not all begin well, but they all ended well 

– Saint Jean Marie Vianney

    As stories are told and retold, living them, it is not unusual that they are embellished. This should not surprise us: Gandalf observes that all good stories deserve embellishment (JRR Tolkien, The Hobbit). Indeed, historical episodes that bedeck national identity are magnified and even altered as they cache the complexities underlying these narratives, now simplified to serve their purpose. 

    My intention here is diverse: what is intended is a personal undressing associated with an experienced ‘self-emptying’ (Kenosis, Philippians 2,7) as I seek to understand my discipleship: a participation of gained experiences rather than pedagogies.

    Following in the footsteps of John of the Cross, ‘Kenosis’ relates to a maturing process transforming the disciple into an icon that evokes likeness to the Magister (St. John of the Cross, Dark Night of a Soul). 

    Rather than imitation, this course of action entails a personal journey that seeks to integrate the Magister’s understanding of who “did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life – a ransom for many” (Mark. 10,45). Some might think this is a death wish, but this is neither intended nor desired because discipleship is a celebration of life, awakening us to beauty, and there is no beauty greater than God. Let honesty prevail as I affirm Augustine’s admittance: “Sero te amavi, pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova.”(Too late have I loved you, beauty so ancient and so new, Confessions XXVII) 

    Still, this story moves on, its end unknown till death’s embrace: maybe it is better this way because stories do not always have happy endings. This is especially so of stories that by far prove the more interesting, which are often full of unfathomable darkness and dangers. 

    This fear of the unknown can prove enslaving as Seneca observes, ‘it is crueller to fear death than to die’ (Crudelius est quam mortem semper fugere mortem). Maybe this explains why so many stories remain untold, as fear unhinges the heart and prevents it from exploring its depths. 

    Since shortcuts make long delays - Joyce indicates so in his Ulysses - it is wise to start at the beginning. Our beginning is marked by time: what to do with it. Wisely or not, time signs the beginning and the end of paths crossed or missed. Thus, I turn to Publilius Syrus and his advice: “Bis vincit qui se vincit in victoria” (He conquers twice who conquers himself when victorious). 

    One might presume that this use of Latin indicates a pompous ass, which might prove true, but more importantly, it intends to show, if not its knowledge, at least its respect for Latin. Although not denying either, Latin can concisely convey thoughts not necessarily possible otherwise. Besides, it recalls my school days, though not always happily so. 

    Returning to Publilius Syrus, his observation relates to an inference: when on top in time, don’t be arrogant, smug, cruel, or vindictive because so doing, you savour defeat. This is easily applied to those who presume discipleship but do not intend to live it. These seek to conquer everything but not themselves! Whether by commission or omission, to assume something but not anticipate beyond speaks of an embraced treachery: waggishly so, although not so waggish if one is at the receiving end. 

    Those who practice this treachery auto-convince themselves that they can get away with it; sometimes, they do! Triumphantly, often abetted by smugness, arrogance, and vindictiveness, they peep over their noses down under at the huddled ‘ochlos’ (crowd). Contemptuously, they confirm Hamlet’s observation that “One may smile, and smile, and be a villain” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet, I.5).

    It is also said that we reveal something of ourselves when referring to others. This might infer something negative, but it is not necessarily so: recognising something in another or oneself might help us to understand ourselves better. This observation recalls Marcus Aurelius’ insistence on being open-minded if one intends to find the truth (Meditations). Thus, a question is posed: ‘What is intended by this revelation?’ 

    The answer to this question relates to one’s heart and its concealed treasures: “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of” (Luke 6,45). What is intended here is a reflective silence to understand our story. As this is lived out, Publilius Syrus’s advice accompanies. 

    These personal reflections intend to clear my mind: reconciled with surpassed hindrances and suffered defeats, I can calmly relate what once seemed impossible. A Socratic insight underlines it, namely, that the unexamined life is not worth living. Accordingly, these reflections intend an examination: looking back, reaping old experiences gained, but forward-looking as the journey’s end approaches. It is helpful to consider me a bird nipping at a piece of bread too big to ferry across - insistent hunger marks my path. 

    Some points, reflecting paths crossed, are raised, but scholarship is not intended: think of these points as steps that can prove hard to climb and not necessarily easy to descend as arthritis strengthens its grip. Numerous concomitant references accompany, whose intention is to rouse curiosity and stimulate further reading.  

    Discipleship is a big word understood in time, even when claimed before its comprehension. Rather than a disciple, it is more accurate to think of me as a learner: it is pretentious to affirm otherwise because it’s Him who awaits me who will appraise my claim (Matthew 25, 31-40). At best, I am a ‘pupil’ (discipulus) ‘learning’ (discere) to discern the meaning of my path to Emmaus (Luke 24, 13-35), which summarises our liturgy. 

    Bonhoeffer’s Nachfolge (to follow in such a way that one understands the consequences), inspires this reflection: hence, the cost that accompanies discipleship (Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Nachfolge, first published in 1937, translated in English as ‘The cost of Discipleship’). 

    The act of following, indicative of discipleship, is addressed to every believer who seriously intends to respond to the Magister’s call to follow him (Matthew 4,19). It is mistaken to restrict this adventure to priests or religious because every believer is called upon to follow the Magister (Lumen Gentium, V.39-40). 

    Discipleship is indicative of an embraced commitment that isn’t insular because it realises its significance in how the disciple relates to others within a fellowship endorsed by solidarity (Pope Francis I, Evangelii Gaudium, 178-179). 

    The treaded paths envisaged weaken discipleship unless embraced in a maturing process within a ‘consuming time’ (Kronos) that signs our paths: the gloomy shade of death might frighten or cause despair, but it also proves an equaliser when we are tempted to overrate our presence.  This observation intends a softening of the heart, which underlines discipleship. It clears the mind to understand the Magister’s insistence to “go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice: for I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9,13; Hosea 6,6).

    Presuming righteousness blinds our hearts: it undermines any talk of fellowship because it weakens that sense of solidarity when one speaks of the faith community understood in terms of one body with many parts (1 Corinthians 12-27). Unsurprisingly, patience accompanies us since it’s presumptuous to insist we can keep pace with one another or that it matters to do so. It is, therefore, unwise to rush: understanding one’s steps marked by experience proves wiser. 

    Having taught for many years, I know that some students were not necessarily brilliant, at least not then, but with time, they blossomed and even surpassed those who were once brilliant. Not rushing, pruning where necessary, is one key to understanding teaching, but this same insight underlines discipleship as manifested by this insight: “He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful” (Jn.15,2).

    By discipleship, I therefore intend a student, learning to listen to his Magister while sitting at his feet: at best, he can understand him and personally live his teachings by the choices embraced, while at worst, he can memorise his Magister’s insights and embark on an academic career quoting him. This is the first lesson learned: a disciple seeks to integrate his teacher’s insights, while the pseudo-disciple merely talks about them (Matthew 7,21).

    One often hears it said, especially in spiritual exercises endured, to ‘imitate.’ Indeed, one of my favourite books for a while was Thomas à Kempis’s “De Imitatione Christi,” but having discovered the Prayer of the Heart’s openhearted readiness, I quietly disregarded it. Of course, by this, I do not intend to dismiss its usefulness, but books are like the Underground: stages mark your arrival, signalling the need to rise beyond.

Balthasar affirms, “The Fathers of the Church repeatedly stressed the uselessness of an objective salvation, if it were not subjectively renewed and appropriated, as a dying and rising again with Christ in the Holy Spirit.” (Hans Urs Von Balthasar, Love Alone: The Way of Revelation, Sheed & Ward London, 1968, p.35) This observation calls for an experienced lived-out discipleship underlined by ‘Metanoia’ (A renewed self-comprehension) rather than imitation.

    I find the metaphor of imitation uncomfortable because the Magister’s insights are his own. I might understand them: I might even wisely apply them to myself. Of course, if I desire to do so, then meekness of heart, consolidated by solitude and poverty of spirit, accompanies me. But it is dangerous to think of oneself as ‘Alter Christus’ unless this is intended in the Pauline sense of being stamped with Christ’s values and insights.

    For a person with one’s personality who thinks, or at least tries to think, it is better not to confuse things and pretend to be someone other than oneself. Of course, this might prove worse, but it is better to be true to oneself than to pretend otherwise. 

    Some prefer to ignore this advice and embark on paths that often lead to disappointments or worse. Having set unreachable criteria when they speak of discipleship, they despair of realising them so that they either shelter in self-created illusions or no longer desire it.  

    The proof is in the pudding. Thus, I embarked on my journey, thankful for the insights gained and bestowed. I do not do this alone but in a fellowship that makes ‘committed love’ (Agape) its intent. The die is cast! But do not say that I did not warn you: “Caveat emptor!” (Buyer, Beware!).

Martin