The Narrow Door

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, approaching the fortieth 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 identifies with the cross because, as noted, it specifies the willingness to follow the Magister. Encountering the cross is, therefore, the decisive moment: it introduces us 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.  

Following in Bonhoeffer’s steps, rather than identifying the cross with personal hardships, it reminds us to focus on God, instead of 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, apart from its ability to deepen my self-understanding, enhances the believing community, which is the body of Christ (1Corinthians 12,27; Romans 12, 4-5): it cements our dedication by providing the framework wherein we can exercise our being ‘lesser’ (Minorem) for the sake of others.  The cross sharpens 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 religious tradition, ritual or regulations intended to reinforce our presence as 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 the need for forgiveness. This responsibility towards others underlines our rethinking; it serves to sharpen our awareness of God. Hence, the cross enlightens our choices: it questions our willingness to subject our hearts to God’s scrutiny by the power of the Holy Spirit: “The Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, the Spirit of counsel and of might, the Spirit of knowledge and fear of the Lord” (Isaiah 11,2).  

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 ‘lesser’ 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 ‘narrow door’ through which we experience His graciousness.  

Martin


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