MEASURING OURSELVES

LUCTOR ET EMERGO – I struggle and emerge

    Having experienced Lent, it’s time to re-examine paths taken or ignored as the liturgy refreshes our steps and invites us to measure ourselves as we meditate on the Praeconium Paschale – the Easter Proclamation. 

    As disciples, we need to constantly measure our experienced ‘Metanoia’ (conversion) as the ratio of our willingness to embrace ‘committed love’ (Agape) and the ability to implement it as a fundamental value underlining discipleship. This implementation can enhance a passage ‘from possibility to actuality’ (a posse ad esse).  As we do so, we need to consider our environment; physical, emotional and spiritual, insofar as it either enhances or hinders actuality: hence, the need to examine it closely and not simply ignore or be subjected to it. 

    What dominates many of us is – and this brings into perspective Huxley’s insight (Brave New World)  – a cosmic order focused on the ‘me’ now subjected to an irresistible invasive technology that doesn’t necessarily enrich us. Some might further suggest that we are but an extension of this mechanism: an affirmation that underlines Orwell’s opus (George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four). 

    The automation of the human person sustains a misreading of faith in general and of discipleship in particular, especially where social media is concerned, because its impact is not necessarily addressed by an honest apprehension of the human person or a willingness to enhance its dignity. 

    While not ignoring its positive contribution, social media’s drawbacks need to be understood: depression and anxiety, cyber-bullying, fear of being excluded, unrealistic expectations, negative body image, addiction, invasiveness and a tendency to replace direct human contact reinforced by the exaggerated restrictions imposed by COVIT-19. An impasse marked by individualism has been reached. 

    Within this context, although beneficial to many, the televised Eucharistic Celebration is easily misunderstood or manipulated because it undermines the faith community whose focus should be on breaking bread together. It discourages regular participation in the Eucharistic celebration, which is now often limited to funerals, baptisms, and marriages. It also discourages a community spirit because the faith community does not have to question its responsibility to minister to those on the fringes: the sick, the abandoned and the elderly, by ensuring their participation: for example, organised weekly transportation by members of the parish community – a lived-out committed love expressed in solidarity.  

    As individualism consolidates rather than a maturing experience, faith is limited to an emotional experience that transmutes into an extension of a dystopian cultural identity that doesn’t intend ‘Metanoia’ (conversion). Indirectly, this self-understanding ensures that faith is associated with initiation passages so that the Sacraments are limited to cultural identity. 

    This felt reality indicates that our pastoral model of evangelisation is out-dated. The proof is in the pudding: at least the majority of two generations no longer participate in the Eucharist, and many of those that do misuse its sacramental significance. 

    Their childhood catechism sums up their knowledge of the faith they no longer proclaim: it confines their experience of the Magister to tradition, cultural identity, or a blending of both, not necessarily addressing their values or choices.  

    What is worrying but simultaneously instructive is that a lack of ‘Metanoia’ persists despite years of catechism, meetings, courses and gatherings, all of which intend personal formation. If there is an answer to this impasse, it concerns a deep-rooted desire to encounter God enhanced by a witnessing faith community focused on the Logos as its ‘Omega point’. 

    Preaching Christ does not necessarily entail living him. Human words, independently of their good intentions, can never fill this void. Indeed, we need to limit our words because they often prove a barrier to ‘hearing’ (Shema’) God and our hearts: deafening, they neither enhance the faith community nor grace those who hear them. We must, therefore, consider Paul’s advice: “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what helps build others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen“ (Ephesians 4,29). 

Focused on ourselves, forgetful that like the serpents in the desert (Leviticus 21.4-9), we roam in circles afraid to let go of our insecurities because our measuring ignores the cross. The cross has a power beyond our understanding: we need to take it seriously because “when I am lifted from the earth, I will draw all people to myself” (John 12,32). 

Unless we surpass the foolishness of those perishing, recognising its Divine power (1Corinthians 1,18), the cross is a stumbling stone unable to reconcile our affirmations with our choices or non-choices concerning the Magister. We forget that although pure and blameless, “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5,21).

    Unwilling to live the power integrated in the cross affects us in subtle ways, limiting faith to a social phenomenon, which is used by some to further their determination to promote their contested values and undermine our self-confidence. 

    While we need to examine our evangelisation models, we must not use them to undermine our Metanoia (conversion), mindful that although many followed the Magister, many found no difficulty in abandoning him (John 6,60-70).

    Many will not turn away, but that doesn’t mean that all desire this personal encounter with the Magister despite claims to be religious. This insistence is often a tag to distinguish them from others in a society underlined by a crisis of identity. This is reinforced by a desire to belong to a specific group that doesn’t envisage ‘Metanoia’ as its core value, even if it reacts as if it is by emphasising a religious exterior. 

    This can give sway to a ‘maintenance mentality’ concerned with appearance, forgetful that to be, it is necessary to surpass a cultivated appearance (Albert Camus, Notebooks, 1935-1951). This is possible if we dare to say no and use our challenged discernment as an incentive to encounter God: to evangelise myself through a ‘radical rethinking’ (Metanoia) of who I am in God’s eyes rather than focusing on what others should be or need to be in my sight. 

    As is succinctly noted, evangelisation implies “The proclamation of Christ and his Gospel by word and the testimony of life, in fulfilment of Christ’s command” (CCC   905). There are, therefore, two inseparable keys to evangelisation: proclamation and testimony. What underlines their effectiveness is an experienced ‘change of heart’ (Metanoia) as a hallmark of our self-understanding as disciples. 

    Discipleship integrates an underlying comprehension whereby the disciple manifests a joyful intimacy with the Magister, which instinctively recalls intimate prayer as an evangelising modus operandi. Proclamation, therefore, relates to knowing the Magister and what he represents: his ‘Good News’ and thus, witnessing him reminds us of the need to let the ‘Good News’ transform into a personal modus vivendi by identifying the Gospel not with a message but with the Magister: he is the ‘Good News’ (Mark 1,1).

Our discipleship, therefore, identifies with an intimate ‘I-Thou’ relationship lived out within the ‘us’ of the faith community (Martin Buber, Ich und Du). It is, thus, unfortunate when we emphasise the message and ignore the Messenger. When we promote an ethical understanding that doesn’t emphasise the need for the heart’s conversion focused on intimacy with the Magister.   This failure confines our witnessing to intellectual affirmations that leave our hearts unmoved.

Emphasising the message rather than the Magister results in an inability to let our hearts be enlightened by the Magister’s intimacy as the foundation stone when we speak of faith’s transmission in terms of words and deeds (CCC 2472). 

Our attitude towards others is integral to our witnessing. This raises a question: ‘Is meekness of the heart (Mt. 11,29) something sought and practised?’ If so, then Pope John XXIII’s intuition proves helpful: to see everything, overlook a great deal, correct a little. This proves a practical way to challenge oneself as it reminds us that accepting the other is the beginning of evangelisation. 

This discernment (διαχρισις), as nominated in the Filacolia, reminds us that our witnessing of the Magister demands that we walk alongside others rather than expect others to walk along us. 

    Adapting our steps to others’ pace demonstrates our ability to surpass personal comfort zones and embrace the roughness of exposing one’s heart to others, undermined by prejudices and imposed expectations. This proves a learning experience, integrating stepping-stones to nobler insights. The Emmaus experience proves a prototype of what this learning experience entails (Luke 24,13-35). 

    Once we embrace our neighbour’s pace so that we are no longer troubled by it, we can look into our neighbour’s eyes and discover ourselves because what underlines us both is a genuine understanding of the Magister that allows us a Eucharistic comprehension centred on fellowship. What matters is no longer personal success but our ability to humanise our hearts by being one for each other in Christ. 

    The disciple can, therefore, understand how the person is “God’s masterpiece” because “created anew in Christ Jesus,” we “can do the good things He planned for us long ago” (Ephesians 2,10). Renewed by a steadfast spirit (Psalm 51,10), the disciple’s conduct witnesses the Magister’s presence. 

    Rather than an ethical comprehension, this witnessing reminds us of the need for a personal ‘Kenosis’ (self-emptying) as Ignatius of Antioch reminds us, “I am the wheat of God, grounded by the teeth of wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ” (Letter to the Romans). 

    ‘Kenosis’, therefore, integrates the ability to receive the Eucharist and share it abundantly. Sharing the Eucharist brings discipleship’s relevancy into perspective since it focuses on the disciple’s willingness to be true to oneself and, thus, not to be false to any person. 

    Accountability accompanies discipleship so that we can affirm whether or not we are being one for others or merely talking about it. Surpassing the preaching, we are reminded that our identity as disciples conforms with ‘Thy will be done’ and thus with the Magister’s insight: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will also be” (Matthew 6,21). 

    When words prove not to be “a source of wisdom, deep as the ocean, fresh as a flowing stream” (Proverbs 18,4), then it is wise to consider the Magister’s affirmation: “I tell you, on the day of judgement people will give account for every careless word they speak” (Matthew 12,36).

    Carefulness is required because discipleship’s prophetic presence is focused on reflective listening rather than talking. Hence, Polonius’s advice: “Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet, I. 3) Yes, we do speak too much, often to ourselves even as we pretend that we are talking to others: a narcissist monologue exhibited in preaching when it is not addressed to the needs of others and one’s conversion. 

    Listening to one's heart is a learning experience that isn’t easy to realise, but it is necessary when we speak of tasting ‘committed love’ (Agape) or ‘self-emptying’ (Kenosis). Superfluous words hinder the Spirit’s stirrings within our hearts and mute conscience’s challenging gaze, sealing its irrelevancy as we deafen our hearts. So yes, like Stephen Daedalus (James Joyce, Ulysses), I too fear big words that speak of generosity, peace, or justice, which make us so unhappy as we realise that presumption underlines them. When speaking of discipleship, words prove hollow unless they reflect a renewed heart focused on the Magister. 

    Conrad’s Heart of Darkness insists: “Men who come out here should have no entrails.” When I first read this opus, my thoughts wandered to old Bartholomew swinging through narrow, decorated streets accompanied by joyful bands and fireworks’ insistence, his entrails exposed. Conrad’s reference surpasses the fear of succumbing to tropical diseases; worse, the cruelty and squalor of imperial enterprises. It indicates the moral emptiness necessary to survive such evilness, sharply contrasting the impressive and majestic surrounding environment. Sometimes, discipleship proves likewise when it is unwilling to integrate the love of the Beautiful experienced in personal conversion.

    Less dramatic are sermons that intend to impress rather than communicate the preacher’s conversion. Consequently, the preacher’s tongue merely serves to pollute: “setting the course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell” (James 3,6). As dimness consolidates and minds wander beyond, these many words deafen our clear-mindedness so that we exhibit an ingrained fear expressive of an unredeemed contingency: tiny islands struggling amidst a vast darkness, reminding us of Conrad’s opus. 

    Unredeemed discipleship spells death: the inability to encounter the Magister as the way, the truth and the life (John 14,6). We are all redeemed through baptism, but it is clear that our response doesn’t reflect this affirmation, as we impose ourselves as models instead. 

    Contradicting Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship, we preach forgiveness without requiring repentance, participation in the Eucharist without confession, and forfeiting church discipline when it suits us. Yes, we long to enjoy the easy parts without the intention to embrace the cross, exhibited in ‘Kenosis’ (self-emptying). Although no longer fashionable, sin has assumed a quasi-cosmic dimension, serving as ‘J’accuse’ vis-à-vis humanity now focused on climate change or a redefinition of the human person excluding God. 

    Others insist that we abandon our heritage and enshrined values unquestionably and exchange them for something undefined, which justifies their agenda. The manipulation of free speech to suit ideology inhibits clear-mindedness as tolerance is used to suppress questioning. This can undermine discipleship’s prophetic role as others, promoting their agendas, sweep it aside and expect us to follow them, threatening us with accusations of intolerance that intend to silence us.  We might fear them because we fear becoming irrelevant, which might distract us from focusing on the Magister.

    We need to resist not by condemning but by experiencing the suffering of others as a key to understand our Magister who made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant being made in human likeness and being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death – even death on a cross (Philippians 2,7-8).

    Discipleship’s prophetic role intends hope rather than despair, solidarity rather than detachment. We, therefore, need to focus our energies on the Magister as we witness his ‘wholeness’ (Shalom) by embracing the dignity of each person. There is no room for prejudice or condemnation: only love is credible because it fulfils faith (Hans Urs von Balthasar, Glaubhaft ist nur Liebe).

    We might be tempted to reinforce discipleship by emphasising stricter adherence to regulations and rules that hinder our understanding of the Magister’s presence: to harden our hearts so that we can no longer determine whether it is more important to do good than evil (Mark 3,4).

 Discipleship is a response to God’s silent gaze: His committed love (Agape) expressed in His search for each of us, the lost sheep (Luke 15,4-7). As disciples, we extend God’s gaze to others so that we share our experience of being the lost sheep. 

    Rather than focusing on ourselves, which identifies with a ‘Majorem’ self-understanding, we are asked to become ‘Minorem’ (Matthew 18,1-5). This understanding entails responsibility because ‘if anyone causes one of these little ones – those who believe in me – to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea’ (Matthew 18,6).

    Our actions witness our Minorem status when the Gospels illumines them, following our Magister in his ‘self-emptying’ (Kenosis) by reshaping our lives on his own who came to serve rather than to be served (Mark 10,35-45): when we comprehend ‘that we do not live by bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of God ’ (Deuteronomy 8,3). Hence, the need to embrace silence within our hearts so that we can ‘hear’ (Shema’) God’s word as it refreshes our minds. This comprehension underlines our trust in God as we cross the wilderness within our hearts. 

    By being ‘Minorem’, God turns our life upside down as we question ourselves and seek the freedom limited by being ‘Majorem’. In other words, we must be ready to let God interrupt us as we learn to see things through God’s eyes remembering His advice to Samuel when sent to anoint a king: “Do not consider his appearance or height, for I have rejected him; the Lord does not see as man does. For man sees the outward appearance, but the Lord sees the heart.” (1Samuel 16,7).

Conscious that God doesn’t abandon us, we need to be strong and courageous, alert to God’s presence (Joshua 1,9). As we witness decline and rejection, discipleship recalls us to our senses, conscious that “consolation brought me joy” (Psalm 94,19). This joyfulness translates into a renewed self-understanding that sustains and strengthens our willingness to witness the Magister by a renewed self-understanding whereby my aloneness translates into fellowship focused on the Magister. 

Martin