Gospel according to Saint Mark 8,27-35
Jesus set out with his disciples for the villages around Caesarea Philippi; and on the way He asked them, «Who do people say I am?». And they told him, «Some say you are John the Baptist; others say you are Elijah or one of the prophets». Then Jesus asked them, «But you, who do you say I am?». Peter answered, «You are the Messiah». And He ordered them not to tell anyone about him.
Jesus then began to teach them that the Son of Man had to suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the Law. He would be killed and after three days rise again. Jesus said all this quite openly, so that Peter took him aside and began to protest strongly. But Jesus turning around, and looking at his disciples, rebuked Peter saying, «Get behind me Satan! You are thinking not as God does, but as people do».
Then Jesus called the people and his disciples and said, «If you want to follow me, deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me. For if you choose to save your life, you will lose it; and if you lose your life for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel, you will save it».
Knowing Christ… crucified
Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries
Rome, September 15, 2024 | XXIV Sunday in Ordinary Time
Is 50: 5-9a; James 2: 14-18; Mk 8: 27-35
Two children standing in front of the image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. One of them noticed that, wherever he stood, the eyes of the Lord were following him. He asked his companion: Why, wherever we are, do the eyes of Jesus follow us? The other boy answered: He is watching us to see if we do anything wrong. But the first child said: I don’t think so. Jesus’ eyes follow us because he wants to make sure that nothing bad happens to us. Two different answers to a question more profound than the one asked by many intellectuals about Christ
Christ’s question to his disciples: Who do you think that I am? is not solved with a clever phrase. Peter gave an accurate answer, but Jesus’ intention, surely, is to make his disciples see the way to follow him, what he expected of them, that they take up the cross and follow him. This is what he says when Peter, a moment later, expresses his disagreement with his willingness to be judged, condemned and crucified.
To really know a person means something more than knowing about his character or qualities, something more than observing how he acts, listening to his words, as important as this is. Neither the mind nor the heart is enough.
Many of us have felt the desire to have known relatives who have passed away and of whom we have photographs, stories, perhaps an object… but it is not enough. We wish we could travel back in time, as described in so many novels and movies, to hear their voice, to live together and share so many feelings and experiences. Let us remember an example that became popular.
Somewhere in Time is a 1980 film that tells the story of a writer, Richard Collier, who meets an elegant and mysterious old woman, who dies soon after. A few years later, while staying in a hotel, he feels called by the portrait of a beautiful young woman. After investigating and inquiring in detail, he finds out that it is the old woman who greeted him. By means of a hypnotist, he manages to go back in time and meet the young woman, thus beginning a brief romance. Their romance is cut short because, unexpectedly, Richard is brought back to the present time. He dies immediately and the two of them find themselves, now forever, in eternity.
In the deepest human relationships, knowing someone means more than just doing things for that person, or working and dialoguing with him or her. Knowing him or her means being one with that person and, as far as possible, entering into his or her life experience. We walk through life together with our best friend or with our spouse in marriage or our brothers and sisters in community, precisely because we agree: we have communion in our common interests and common goals. What hurts him or them, hurts us. What rejoices that person, rejoices us.
This is how St. Paul explains it to the Philippians:
I want to know Christ, to experience the power of his resurrection, to share his sufferings and to conform my death to his (Phil 3: 10).
It could not be clearer. And let us keep in mind that Paul was not exactly a masochist… In any case, many concerns arise:
Is it not enough the pain that we all have to suffer, in body, soul and spirit? Is it not already too much to see the suffering of loved ones, of the innocent, and to feel suffocated by impotence?
What is certain is that pain is a mystery that we cannot fully explain. But no less certain are the consolation and the vision of those who have known how to offer suffering to God and to accept new setbacks for the sake of following Christ. This is the true Beatitude of which the authentic disciple enjoys.
This is what Isaiah says today in the First Reading: The Lord helps me, therefore I did not feel the outrages; therefore, I hardened my face like flint, knowing that I would not be disappointed.
The early Christians immediately identified this figure of the “Suffering Servant” with the person of Jesus Christ.
Similarly, St. Ignatius of Antioch, in the second century, after having worked tirelessly for the Church, made the following statement when he was led to Rome to be martyred there:
I know what is for my benefit. Now I begin to be a disciple (…) Let fire and the cross come upon me, the multitude of wild beasts, the tearing, breaking and dislocating of bones, the amputation of limbs, the breaking of the whole body, and all the frightful torments of the devil: they will thus enable me to attain Jesus Christ.
—ooOoo—
Certainly, getting to know a person IS NOT a task that can be concluded. In the case of a human being, because both he/she and I myself change. In the case of Christ, because his nature is divine, without limits, and he presents himself to us as an invitation to enter more and more into the mystery of his person. He himself confirms this, defining himself as the Way.
What does this mean in practice? To live as Christ lived. It means obeying the command Christ gave us: Be compassionate as your Father is compassionate (Lk 6:36). And not only this; it also means being attentive, each one of us, to the personalized mercy we receive from Jesus, that is, his daily forgiveness, his confirmation of the trust he has in us, as he does today with Peter, despite his displeasure at the words of that genial and impulsive disciple.
The compassion of Christ is that of our heavenly Father, that which the Holy Spirit infects us, is engraved in us, leaving a scar that never closes; on the contrary, it is a wound, a stigma that fulfills two functions: it marks the true disciple and disposes him to live the same compassion of Christ.
In a subtle and transparent way, St. James reflects this today in the Second Reading, saying that we must give to our neighbor what he needs, giving the obvious example of one who is without clothing or food. At times, what is necessary for those who suffer requires of us an effort, and of course a prayer, extreme. In many ways, we are asked to become Eucharist, to break as bread to serve as food for others. That, typically, means modifying our plans, just as Jesus stayed with the disciples on the road to Emmaus because they preferred it that way.
When it comes down to it, there are several obstacles to living this Christian compassion that we often fail to overcome:
* Our eyes simply do not see the depth of our neighbor’s pain. We even judge him as “too emotional,” or we are deceived by his cheerful and confident appearance. We are sure that we already do enough and our attention is absorbed by our supposed good deeds. So it happened to the priest and the Levite in the Parable of the Good Samaritan. Christ and those who follow him, see far, see deeper.
* It may be a person with a certain strength, with power and energy to do evil, who uses his energy to make others suffer, someone who shows no signs of changing his abusive attitude. That was the case of Zacchaeus, or the publican Matthew… but Christ does not stop. You and I may think that such a human being does not need compassion.
* We know that compassion, lived as Christ did, is even more vulnerable than the compassion of this world; it can be rejected, misinterpreted; for example, being accused that we intend to control the person, or to show our superiority, or that we have not understood well.
When Christ had compassion on the multitudes, he reached out to touch and heal those many individuals with their various physical, mental and spiritual needs. Jesus mourned the death of Lazarus face to face with Mary of Bethany. Christ-like compassion is never a remote, anonymous, second-hand experience, but a direct identification with the wounded.
Our unity with Christ in this mercy is realized above all…by Himself. In reality, He embraces us together with the Father and the Holy Spirit, leaving deep within us that Beatitude and that Stigmatization we mentioned before. The initiative, time and again, is taken by our Father who, as in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, prepares to receive us and waits patiently for us to be convinced that nothing is worthwhile unless it is for the sake of His kingdom, of those who hope to feel loved and to be able to truly love.
It is above all in trying to live mercy that the cross makes itself felt. It was the instrument of torture reserved for slaves, not for citizens. Christ, in addition to the shocking suffering of this torture, wants to give us the sign that he truly serves others, that he does not belong to himself. As St. Paul says in his Epistle to the Philippians: He took the lowly position of a slave and was born as a human being.When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died on a cross as criminals die (Phil 2: 7-8).
The affirmation that we have to take up the cross is not limited to bearing with patience sickness, pain, helplessness or sadness. That is what a mature and balanced person does, whether he is a believer or not. For the disciple of Jesus, it is a matter of turning to one’s neighbor, like bread, like humble food, knowing that, in a thousand different ways, this gesture requires the price of giving one’s whole life.
—ooOoo—
Let us use our imagination for a moment to see the context of today’s Gospel story.
Jesus and his disciples are gathered in Caesarea Philippi, in northern Galilee, a pagan territory. In the city there is a temple built by Herod the Great in honor of Caesar’s divinity. Christ and the Twelve are standing before the mountain on which the city is built, where there are several niches in which there are statues to the various gods and goddesses of the Greco-Roman pantheon. This sanctuary is a symbol of the confusion of answers offered by the cultures of the time to the basic questions about life, the same questions we ask ourselves today, with answers of all kinds.
Jesus turns his back on this bewildering array of gods and asks his disciples and us: Who do you say that I am?
In the face of Christ’s imposition of silence (he strongly commanded them to speak to no one about him), it seems that each of us has to answer this question… perhaps with another, more convincing than a precise opinion: And what do you want from me now?
_______________________________
In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,
Luis CASASUS
President
