The Son of Man is to be handed over to men
and they will kill him,
and three days after his death the Son of Man will rise.
Lent is the time when we prepare ourselves for the Passion of Jesus, for the celebration of the most sacred mysteries of our faith. Yet we are often like the disciples:
But they did not understand the saying,
and they were afraid to question him.
Lent is the time when we must reckon with the reality of the cross, not only for Jesus, but for each of us who, as his disciples, are called to take up our own crosses and follow him. It is probably true of all of us that there is a part in all of us that loves the cross of Christ, that loves the love he showed for us, but also another part that recoils and pushes back from such a stark reality. This other part of us acknowledges the implications of the cross, that sin was so bad that it could not simply be ignored or smoothed over. But rather than embracing this reality, this part of us tries to figure out how it can get the most for us and lose the least. We are told we must lose our lives in order to save them. But we try to calculate a way to do so and still get what we want, to still surrender as little of ourselves as possible, to give our lives, perhaps, but hopefully without actually experiencing the loss of all things.
But they remained silent.
For they had been discussing among themselves on the way
who was the greatest.
There is this multivalent aspect to the cross because of who we are. We are at once new creatures in Christ, but with an old self that isn't entirely dead. We have both the Spirit within us producing his fruits, but also the reality of concupiscence drawing us downward toward sin. The new self doesn't calculate what it can get for itself by pouring itself out in love for others. But the old self can't be persuaded to give anything without seeing how it can benefit thereby. We tend to try to solve this by bargaining with the old self, making promises to it, in order to free ourselves to live as we should. We tell our ego that it will feel good, feel like a top rate Christian, if only we do this or that act of love. And sometimes it comes along for the ride. This can help, because to some degree, if we pay attention, love reveals itself to be its own reward. But it is also often the case that we don't receive as many good feelings as a result and the ego feels disappointed and the next act of love becomes harder. Let's take a more realistic perspective this Lent, one which is prepared for a little endurance, not because of the feelings, but because of our faith in the good entailed and what the process is doing.
Accept whatever befalls you,
when sorrowful, be steadfast,
and in crushing misfortune be patient;
For in fire gold and silver are tested,
and worthy people in the crucible of humiliation.
We are called to become servants, those who look not toward what the can get, but what they can give. And this isn't that unusual, for it describes our normal relationship with children. They can't do much to earn our affection, and sometimes seem to actively try to repel it. And yet we love and receive them. We tend to hold adults more accountable, to demand of them a greater degree of reciprocity, but we are actually called to love all with similar largesse.
Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me;
and whoever receives me,
receives not me but the One who sent me.
Who can we receive today, not because of what they can do for us, but because in receiving them we receive Christ himself? Isn't receiving Christ a better reward than anything for which our egos might try to bargain, or shouldn't it be? Since we realize this, let us seek him!
Take delight in the LORD,
and he will grant you your heart's requests.
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