An audio version of today's gospel and reflection can be accessed here.
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Today’s gospel (Luke 9:18-22) is a scene that
is better known to us under its version in the gospel of St Matthew. St Luke,
who unlike St Matthew did not witness the moment personally, only gives us the
bare bones: Jesus’ inquiry about who people thought He was, the disciples’
varied responses, and finally St Peter’s reply that He was the Christ of God. From
this episode, we may be tempted to retain only Peter’s profession of faith, but
what follows is also instructive and not only because it foretells Jesus’
sufferings to come.
Of course, there is a vast contrast in the two messages: one
moment, we hear the faith of the Fisherman on whom the future Church is built,
and the next moment, we hear Jesus explain the sufferings that will be the very
lifeblood of that Church. So far, so much may we assume that this is all about
the Church. Yet the way in which these two messages come together is also an
instruction on how far the disciples had to go to be aligned with the will of
God, to live in that will, and to learn to say in their own turn the fiat
that challenges us all.
On the one hand, imagine how inspired they must have been to
hear Peter make his declaration. Surely, they must have discussed it a little among
themselves: exactly who is the Master? Now, Peter moved the game forward,
committing himself and them too in a way to something that would change all
their futures. Moreover, Jesus’ confirmation of Peter’s assertion, implicit in
His declaration about Peter, must have turned this moment into a transformative
one for all of them. Until now, they were just following this extraordinary
Man. From now on, they would be building a future with Him for all His
followers with Peter as the foundation. How much they must have felt that the
future was now clear, the direction was confirmed, that there was certainty
ahead, and that all would be well. The Jews of the first century anticipated a
conquering Messiah, and so surely what they now knew of Jesus would have come
together with their expectations: this was it, the triumph was imminent and –
wonder of wonders – their little band was right at the heart of the action.
Everything made sense, not least because they were at the heart of it all.
And, in our own discipleship, isn’t this very much like ourselves?
We want to know what God wants of us, and then we seem to learn or discover
something clarifying that points the way to the future. Here is the will of God
for us, we say: full steam ahead. Like the disciples, there is clarity, there
is meaning, and the meaning seems to make sense to us. My spouse and I used to
call this the spirituality of spoons. It is the kind of discernment that comes
about when people find that two soup spoons fit together and declare this fit to
be a revelation of the plans of God. The mistake is easily made; how nicely
these things fit together. Surely, this is what is meant to be! And yet, spoons
as eating implements don’t go with spoons; they go with forks. And if the
implication isn’t obvious, just ask yourself when you last saw anyone tucking
into dessert with two spoons in their hands. Humans calculate meaning in
sometimes very limited ways, but as God tells us in the Book of Isaiah, My
thoughts are not your thoughts and my ways are not your ways.
And what comes next in today’s gospel shows Jesus giving
this lesson to the disciples. For having confirmed His identity and filled
their hearts with joy, Jesus then shows them the desperate vision of His future
passion and death: His rejection, His sufferings, and His death. They were
probably too shocked to hear at the end His prophecy of the resurrection. But
surely, it cannot be this way, Lord. Being the Christ means riding out in
triumph, breaking the power of the enemy, cleansing the temple, restoring God’s
order. How could rejection, suffering, and death be the route towards a better
future?
And, is that not just like us at the crossroads the good
Lord brings us to, perhaps each day? We thought we knew what He wanted, but
then things do not work out. We thought we knew the meaning of the pleasant
joke, but Jesus’ punchline seems literally like a punch.
Why is this so? Because, unwittingly, we had begun to write
the next chapter in our own heads, instead of allowing the author of all things
to show us His draft. Reverting to our best animal instincts, we had believed
that our future required a tangible and visible reduction of uncertainty. To
make God laugh, they say, tell Him our plans. Yet to make God weep, we tell Him
implicitly all the time that our plans are much better than His.
We don’t mean to do this of course. Our head can say a
thousand fiats a day. Yet it is deep down in the darkest recesses of the
heart, well away from the holy images we keep of ourselves, that our human vanities
and insecurities lurk, that our wounds are at their deepest. Perhaps our outer
peripheries have been evangelised but what about our inner self? Like Peter, we
are unconsciously confident about our fidelity, and we forget that in the
gospel of Matthew, when Peter, the newly minted pope, rebukes Jesus for His
prophecy of future pain, the Good Lord turns a withering eye on His Petrine
Holiness and calls him Satan to his face. We are all worthy of the accusation,
not that that makes us especially bad. Jesus came to rescue us from the fate of
being delivered exclusively into our own wretched hands!
So, what is the meaning of it all? For us, there is only one
meaning, and that is the following of Christ. Today’s gospel extract breaks off
after the prophecy of the resurrection, but St Luke’s gospel continues with
words that cast a light on Peter’s fate and on the fate of us all, at least
those of us who are prepared to admit that God’s plans might just be better
than ours. The message is ominous all the same:
And he said to them all, If any man will come after me,
let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.
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