A Lenten Experience: Beyond Michshol

As Seneca observes, the language of truth is simple (Veritatis simplex oratio est), and yet, it is not easy to communicate the truth unless one intends it. Truth can be intuitive, but when ignored or downplayed, it judges, sometimes accusing: nowhere is this more apparent than when fakeness defines our discipleship. 

Coming after Christ teaches us that ‘Veritas et rosae habent spinas’ – truth and roses have thorns: it entails a need to craft a listening radical heart because, as Pope Benedict XVI reminds us, we were made for greatness, not to be deceived by comfort sought or offered.  

This reminds me of a passage that initially proves baffling: “And if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell” (Matthew 18,9). 

Being snared by the eye is a familiar story because just as “Death and destruction are never satisfied, neither are human eyes” (Proverbs 27,20). Thus, we are warned: “The eye is the lamp of the body: if your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness?”(Matthew 6,22-23). 

Surpassing the gouging, ‘michshol’ is translated as ‘to stumble’, offering insights into the significance of the interrelationship between eyes and michshols. 

In Jewish law, it is forbidden to put a ‘michshol’ in front of a blind man’s path (Leviticus 19,14), which can be extended to mean that one should not be a ‘michshol’ for others (lead others to do wrong). Thus, in Ezekiel, ‘michshol’ has an ethical underlining: “Son of man, these men have set up idols in their hearts and put wicked stumbling blocks before their faces”(Ezekiel 14,3). In Isaiah, God is a ‘michshol’ for those who betray His trust (Isaiah 8,14). 

All three examples specify a negative aspect that blinds our hearts to what God intends by ‘emeth’ (firmness, faithfulness, truth) and ‘hesed’ (loving-kindness, mercy, unfailing love). Matthew reinforces this insight by associating ‘michshol’ with someone who scandalises: someone who causes “the little ones – those who believe in Jesus – to stumble”(Matthew 18,6). 

Investigating further, two questions arise: What prevents me from following the Magister? How do my michshols obscure the truth? Interrelated, these questions condition my formation of conscience. Prayerful silence provides a realistic and enriching environment when answering them. 

Admitting my michshols is not easy unless one intends to take the Magister’s observation seriously: ‘Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your eye?’ (Matthew 7, 3-5). 

It’s easy to ignore and project my failure onto others: to hypocritically assume that I can heal others by not recognising my michshols. Admittance is hard when truthfulness is subject to personal preferences: caged by subjectivity, the formation of conscience is confined by impaired evangelical values, weakening our identity as disciples. 

My conversion thus implies an ongoing search to expose my heart to God: to focus on the Magister as my way, truth, and life (John 14,6), offering the opportune time to honestly recognise my michshols without the fear of condemnation (John 3,17).

The silence of our liturgy, when focused on the Tabernacle, provides a space in time to admit our michshols as a learning experience to greater insights in intimate prayer. 

Carefulness accompanies because ‘our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt’ (William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, 1.4.85).

Martin


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