Through the cross to the light. As we begin the holy season of Lent, we are faced once again with the brutal sacrifice that our Lord Jesus Christ made to purchase our salvation. His cross was torture, humiliation, and utter agony. The prospect of His trial and crucifixion was so daunting that He begged God the Father to let it pass Him by. Jesus pleaded until blood and sweat ran from his pores (1). Yet, in spite of His fear, our Lord went to His death willingly, knowing that by doing so He was carrying out His Father’s will (2). Christ’s example leads us to consider some difficult questions: Do we really have to suffer in this life to do God’s will? How could suffering possibly benefit us?
Our Lord calls us to master ourselves and to control our passions by accepting suffering in our life: "Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If any man will come after me let him take up his cross and follow me”(3).If we want to follow Christ, we have to accept suffering. Notice that Jesus calls each man to take up his cross; not a cross, not the cross, but his cross. This is a deeply personal invitation from our Lord.
Personal or not, this call can be difficult to accept. When I’m in the midst of difficulty, I often ask God:
Lord, I’ll suffer for you, but please, can it be something else? I only got two hours of sleep last night. You’re asking me to remain patient and act charitably when the driver in front of me refuses to speed up even though he’s in the fast lane. Can I suffer some other way instead? How about I go to an extra Mass this week? It would be really inconvenient for me to have to wake up early and go to church. Will you take away the frustration and anger that’s building up in me if I take on some other kind of sacrifice?
What I often struggle to realize is that Christ is calling me to pick up my cross, not the one that I feel suits me best in a given moment. I should have a choice though, right? I make all kinds of personal choices in a given day. If I’m cold, I turn the temperature on the thermostat up. If my head is pounding, I take an Advil. If I notice the cookies in the pantry after I’ve eaten dinner, I have a few because I was craving sweets. None of these things are evil, so why would God ask me to say no to small pleasures? It feels like taking up my cross and denying myself is unfair and unnecessary.
Despite what my weak mind might think, nothing could be further from the truth. Church teaching tells us that the cross is not meant to punish us, but to make us who we were meant to be: "The way of perfection passes by the way of the cross. There is no holiness without renunciation and spiritual battle. Spiritual progress entails the ascesis and mortification that gradually lead to living in the peace and joy of the beatitudes"(4).
It might feel unfair or even unbearable at times, but carrying our cross forms us into the perfect men that we are called to be. There is an alternative though: we could turn away from our cross. We could say to God, No thanks, Lord. I think it would be better for me to be comfortable today. The Church presents two alternatives when it comes to our cross, "Either man governs his passions and finds peace, or he lets himself be dominated by them and becomes unhappy"(5).
To follow our passions whenever they call is is to give up our freedom. The alternative to accepting our suffering is to be a slave to sin, which leads to misery. St. Paul captured this state of bondage in his letter to the Romans: "For the good which I will, I do not: but the evil which I will not, that I do. Now if I do that which I will not, it is no more I that do it: but sin that dwelleth in me"(6).
This concept is easy to understand but difficult to put into practice. In the midst of suffering, the furthest thing from my mind is the fact that my pain can actually bring about some good for me or for anyone. Usually it goes something like this:
There has to be something that would make you happier than seeing me suffer, Lord. Wouldn’t you rather I feed the hungry at a soup kitchen or preach the Gospel on a street corner? These things are so much better than me bearing this pain. After all, don’t you want me to do good to others and to spread the good news? Can’t you put up with some of my imperfections now and again if I’m able to do great things in your name?
This seems like a reasonable request. After all, no one can be perfect. Lorenzo Scupoli, a 16th century priest and author of Spiritual Combat would argue that while my thinking sounds reasonable, I’m way off the mark when it comes to what God desires for me:
"Therefore if you used every endeavor to mortify yourself and to tread down your inordinate affections, inclinations, and rebellious passions, even in the smallest matters, you would be rendering to God a greater and more acceptable service than if, while permitting some of your inclinations to remain unmortified, you scourged yourself until you bled, fasted rigorously, and practiced an austerity greater than of those hermits and saints of the desert, or if you converted souls by the thousands"(7).
Confronting our unique human weakness is essential in the pursuit of holiness. Acts of penance like bread and water fasts can be beautiful offerings to God, but they can be overshadowed if we leave our habitual sins unchecked. Converting souls is a noble pursuit, but how can we expect to lead others to perfection if we fail to lead ourselves first?
We were all born with weaknesses. God wants us to accept what He gives us, the good and the bad. He asks us to do something that we have direct control over: to accept and to work against our imperfections by relying on Him. Choosing to suffer for God is a good thing, but what about when we don’t have a choice? We didn’t choose our weaknesses; they are part of who we are.
Then what’s the point? Why did God make us imperfect to begin with? Our imperfections were meant to draw us closer to Him, by inviting us to rely on God and God alone to make us perfect. Our Lord’s first request is that we give ourselves totally to Him by embracing the good and the evil that comes our way. If He asks us to bear some cross He does so knowing that our carrying it will ultimately benefit us.
The crosses in our lives are not meant to destroy us. They are an invitation from God, meant to purify us of the imperfections in our character, which are the result of original sin. Carrying our cross will be painful at times. As a friend of mine likes to say, "There are two kinds of pain in life, neither of which we can avoid: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret." There is no middle ground in the spiritual life. Will we embark on the adventure of a life of discipline, joy, and fulfillment, or will we remain in the shallow grave of complacency, selfishness, and bondage?
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Quotations:
(1) Luke, 22:44
(2) Luke, 22:42
(3) Matthew, 16:26
(4) Catechism of the Catholic Church: With modifications from the Editio Typica. (2003). New York: Doubleday. Paragraph 2015.
(5) Catechism of the Catholic Church: With modifications from the Editio Typica. (2003). New York: Doubleday. Paragraph 2339.
(6) Romans, 7:19-20
(7) Scupoli, L., & Scupoli, L. (2002). Spiritual combat: How to win your spiritual battles and attain inner peace ; plus, Interior peace: The path to paradise. Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute Press. Page 10.
Images:
1. Christ Crucified - Phillippe de Champaigne. Obtained CatholicViral.com (https://catholicviral.com/54-paintings-of-the-passion-death-and-resurrection-of-jesus-christ/)
2. The Agony in the Garden - Carl Bloch. Obtained via CatholicViral.com (https://catholicviral.com/54-paintings-of-the-passion-death-and-resurrection-of-jesus-christ/)
3. Unattributed. Obtained via marshallan.org (http://marshallan.org/the-resurrection-of-christ-key-to-our-faith/)
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