ANGUSTUM OSTIUM

How often have I heard the Gospel proclaim, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me”(Matthew 16,24)! Three questions accompany this affirmation: (i). “What does ‘deny myself’ imply ”? (ii). “What does the reference to the cross mean”? (iii). “Why are these qualities specified as conditions to discipleship”? These questions increasingly preoccupy me because, celebrating the thirty-ninth anniversary of my ordination, like a good accountant, I need to add up my ‘numbers’ and discover the results: numbers do not lie: wisdom demands self-criticism because “the unexamined life is not worth living” (Plato, Apology, 38a5-6).

Thinking, examining my life, another Gospel passage draws my attention: “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to” (Luke 13,24). The narrow door - the angustum ostium -is identified with the cross because, “Whoever wants to be my disciple, must deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow me” (Matthew 16,24). Encountering the cross is the decisive moment of discipleship: it introduces the believer to “self-emptying” (Kenosis): a fundamental insight, which permits us to follow the Magister because it provides us with the freedom to respond to God’s comforting presence, which now shapes our lives.  

Rather than identifying the cross with personal hardships, it reminds us to be focused on God, rather than on ourselves. This radical rethinking concerning myself identifies with ‘Metanoia’, which allows me to understand repentance as an on-going experience expressive of my commitment to the Magister. The cost of discipleship is identified with this commitment characterised by disinterested, committed love, which I identify with ‘Agape’.

Disinterested committed love enhances the believing community, which is the body of Christ (1Corinthians 12,27; Romans 12, 4-5): it cements our discipleship by providing the framework wherein we can exercise our commitment.  The cross shapes our love if it is to truly transform our commitment to following the Magister in deeds, not words (James 2,18). 

It is tempting to identify our commitment with tradition, ritual or regulations because fewer questions are raised. This identification creates the illusion of conversion so that we no longer feel the need to rethink our lives. No longer focused on our conscience and the need for its formation, our actions contradict our claims to discipleship. A conscience sharpened by an understanding of the cross entails that we focus on our responsibility towards the neglected, the disadvantaged, the oppressed and forgiveness. This responsibility towards others does not justify our lifestyle; it serves to sharpen our awareness of God. Hence, the cross enlightens our choices: it questions our willingness to subject our hearts to God.  

Subjecting our hearts to God entails redirecting our focus from self-centred aims to obedience as God’s comforting presence infiltrates our hearts. Obedience is, therefore, integral to the formation of our conscience. While not ignoring that obedience can be used to abuse rather than to enlighten us, it serves to balance our selfishness by opening our eyes to the need for solidarity with the marginalised by power structures and deep–rooted prejudices.

Subjecting our hearts to God reminds us of the need to be ‘Minorem’ by practising self-emptying through disinterested committed love, reflecting our repentance and willingness not to use others to enhance our presence. We can do this only if the Magister is truly the ‘Angustum ostium’ through which we experience His graciousness.  

Martin


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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,...
Read more

SILENTIUM EST AUREM

       Growing older and perhaps less tolerant, the old Latin saying   - Silentium est aurem (Silence is golden) enhances its value because it protects me from futile noises, and clarity unfolds. In an environment infiltrated by noise, silence is elusive and yet, in its stillness, my true self emerges from noise’s haziness.             Painful experience has taught me that silence’s aptitude shatters doubt’s commotion. Its stillness enlightens my faith - the confidence in what we hope for and the assurance about what we do not see (Hebrews 11,1). Augustine’s advice thus enlightens: ‘ Enter into your heart, and if you have faith, you will find Him there ’ ( Confessions Bk 10), because in silence, we attune our hearts to the Divine Presence.             Through silence’s stillness, our heart finds its voice: our readiness to dialogu...
Read more

A SANCTUARY IN TIME

     We readily limit the significance of the cross to an emblem to consolidate a religious or cultural identity or as an excuse to enhance our misery, forgetful that “ misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows ” (William Shakespeare, The Tempest II.2).      The significance of the cross highlights our baptism because, as pointed out by Saint Augustine, all those who belong to Jesus Christ are fastened with him to the cross, which sets the setting for Bonhoeffer’s assertion that the cross is not the terrible end to an otherwise happy life: it meets us at the beginning of our communion with Christ.           Scrutinising these insights, we need to focus on Shabbat’s stillness where the cross becomes a sanctuary in time, challenging our trustworthiness: it expresses a lived-out silentium underlined by the Magister’s reassuring presence: ‘ Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest ’ (Matthew 11,26...
Read more