HIDDENNESS

Hiddenness, evoked by images of salt, light, and yeast (Mt. 5,13-16), highlights a witnessing outreach. These images not only recall our mundaneness: they challenge our ability to re-evaluate it and thus, as Virgil notes, we gather strength as we go (Vires acquirit eundo).

The serenity underlying this revaluation expresses a gained ‘restfulness’, which identifies with Shabbat-Shalom: a surpassed restlessness beyond the noises that condition us. This inference again brings to the fore that very little is needed to make oneself happy: it is all within one’s heart because “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Mt.6,21). 

Discipleship envisages an equilibrium that associates solitude with a quietness experienced in prayer: the hiddenness of the inner room (Mt.6,6). This is not necessarily welcomed because for many, this quietness spells frustrated boredom or an absurd existence, recalling Sisyphus, king of Corinth, who cheated death twice but was then condemned to a futile restlessness (Homer, Iliad, Bk VI). 

The sought-after restfulness mirrors the Eucharist, where we are invited to eliminate the superfluous by embracing God’s Presence existentially. This proves difficult because we are often too self-centred, ignoring the quality of our thoughts, unable or unwilling to tune in to the Spirit’s stirrings in our hearts: challenging because they demand that the cross constitutes the frame of reference when speaking of discipleship. 

Recalling the Magister’s promise of peace (Jn. 14,27) – Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid - discipleship’s cost is retold. Accordingly, following in the footsteps of Herman Hübener, Ragheed Ganni, Oscar Romero, Bonhoeffer, the six Little Poor nuns who sacrificed themselves while caring for others suffering from Ebola and many others, discipleship recalls us to courageously mirror Abraham, who firmly stood on one side even as the whole world stood on the other side (Pesikta Rabbati 3). 

Witnessing the Magister’s peace concerns upholding the common good: “Maintain justice and do what is right, for my salvation is close at hand and my righteousness will soon be revealed. Blessed is the one who does this – the person who holds it fast, who keeps the Sabbath without desecrating it, and keeps their hands from doing evil ” (Isa. 56,1-2). This stand is accompanied by the courage to say no and strengthened by the ability to sacrifice oneself rather than expect others to sacrifice themselves for your sake. A critical vigilance accompanies, which is lived out in prayer’s hiddenness. 

The decision to withstand evil shouldn’t be mistaken with something other than what it is meant to be: ‘witnessing’ (martyria) the Kingdom’s impact. Expressive of discipleship, this impact entails an outreach of hearts whereby inclusion is an underlying principle that determines its effectiveness. 

This intended revolution thus reflects the Magister’s example: rather than killing others, he died for others. It is precisely for this reason that this revolution proves harder: it is easier to kill others than to die for others. Hence, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (Jn. 15,13) 

To die for others is a daily experience in discipleship. Its practised hiddenness relates to the mundaneness of daily living where the disciple is called upon to cry ‘Abba, Father’ as he seeks ‘Thy will be done’. The willingness to serve underlines it: to be one for others and with others without expecting anything in return. 

This experience is inclusive. It is expressive of an evolving fellowship that promotes a sheltering focused on accommodating and enhancing the dignity of each person encountered. It promotes a joyful environment underlined by a unity endorsed by ‘committed love’ (Agape), rooted in hope (Rom 15,13): a renewed self-understanding whereby the disciple’s attitude is subjected to the Spirit’s stirrings within our hearts. 

We might not notice, or prefer not to notice, that the real revolution concerns us: it obliges admittance that we are not the ‘true vine’, despite pretence to the contrary (Jn. 15,1-7). This reference to the ‘true vine’ is not superfluous because it envisages an honest awareness of who we are in God’s eyes and thus, the need for Metanoia – a renewed conversion. 

Martin