The demands that Jesus made of those who wished to become disciples were very strict. "Anyone who wishes to become a follower of mine must leave self behind; he must take up his cross, and come with me. Whoever cares for his own safety is lost; but if a man will let himself be lost for my sake and for the Gospel, that man is safe. What does a man gain by winning the whole world at the cost of his true self? What can he give to buy that self back? If anyone is ashamed of me and mine in this wicked and godless age, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him, when he comes in the glory of his Father and of the holy angels" (Mark 8:34-38).
We do not have to seek a cross to bear nor do we have to make martyrs of ourselves. Indeed, we are taught in the Lord's Prayer to ask that we may not be brought to the test. People who expose themselves to unnecessary risks and dangers on behalf of God or what they believe is God's will are usually found to be either fanatics or simply exhibitionists. They do not ring true. They tend to repel, rather than encourage honest seekers on the way to the knowledge of God. It is their ego that is in command, so that God is, in fact, the object of their self-centred enthusiasm rather than the subject of their aspiration. We all have, eventually, to face our special test or trial, but, through God's grace, we are shielded from this supreme moment until we are strong enough in the spirit to bear it.
The thoughts of Pascal are especially relevant in this respect. He writes: "It is tempting Me rather than proving yourself to think whether you would act well in some case that has not occurred: I shall act in you if it does." Even Jesus bore His supreme cross only at the end of His ministry when, as the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews puts it, He had learned obedience in the school of suffering and had offered up prayers and petitions, with loud cries and tears, to God who was able to deliver Him from the grave.
The cross we are all called on to bear is a defect in our own personality that prevents us from showing ourselves in full glory to the world. It is either some difficulty that has been with us since our birth, or else it is a wound inflicted upon us by our environment, so that we bear a permanent scar, either on the body, or even more pertinently, in the psyche for the remainder of our life on earth. It is strange to contemplate the paradox of the Creator who saw that all He had created was good, as the Genesis myth quite rightly states, and the seeds of creation that are so often aberrant and warped. Theologically this decline from initial perfection is interpreted as a result of man's fall from the divine kingdom by the selfish use of his will. But, as I have already stated, I believe all this was part of God's plan to enable man to attain divine knowledge as a responsible individual, so that he could play his part with God in the creation and maintenance of our world. Certainly, according to the mythological account of the Fall described in Genesis 3, God created both the tempting serpent, who was to become the most powerful symbol of the devil in man's life and the tree in the middle of the garden, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. One can hardly doubt that man would inevitably be tempted to master all mysteries according to his own will. The fall from God's kingdom is the birth into individual consciousness which is a necessary stage in the development of a full human being. It has been said with some wisdom by a psychoanalyst that evil is that which awaits transformation. Indeed, it may even be the transforming agent in God's economy. Life is openness, openness to oneself, to God, and to all the circumstances of life, to those which appear evil no less than to those that are good. The faith that saves is an attitude of openness to the fecundity of life's experiences, to the "givenness" of God. It does not require a theologically reasoned approach to the divine mystery so much as an availability to the healing power of the present moment. This is the sacrament of the present moment, that J. P. de Caussade speaks of in his spiritual classic, Self-Abandonment to the Divine Providence.
I have recently had my attention drawn to an observation in Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici: "In the most imperfect creatures - and such are everywhere where the power of the sun is - in these is the wisdom of His hand discovered." This view is complementary to an insight of R. W. Emerson in his Essay on Compensation: "There is a crack in everything God has made." These two thoughts deserve profound reflection. It is the imperfection of the creature, the crack in the finished product, that is the way to a knowledge of God in the life of that creature. The flaw might indeed be an example of God's turning a fallen world in its own very falling to its own best advantage. Perfection in human form would make one so god-like, at least in one's own estimation and in that of the foolish people who form the majority of the race, that one might feel no need for further exertions. To act as if one has arrived at perfection, or the full truth about life, is to approach dangerously near the stagnation of death. Paradoxically, only when one has died to this seductive delusion, does one start to live authentically again, and on a higher spiritual level. This thought adds a deeper dimension to the Parable of the Publican and the Pharisee.
The cross we have to bear is the signpost on the way we are to go to become full human beings. It is, in other words, our way of growth to self-mastery, and like all growth, it has its quota of pain. In the course of natural selection that is the heart of the process of evolution, the species that survives is the one that has triumphed over its difficulties by means of the development of some new characteristic that allows it to live more profitably in its environment. In a somewhat similar way, it is suffering that is the spur to scientific research which increases the knowledge and power of the human race. But whereas we believe that the development of a new characteristic in an animal is the result of a fortuitous, or random, genetic mutation that is inherited by the offspring to their natural advantage in an indifferent environment, it is in man's power through the gift of a brilliant mind to alter the environment, as well as his response to it, as a result of exploration, experimentation and the implementation of the results of his research. Where there is no pain there is no growth, but only a sleepy, rather irresponsible state in which people do as little as possible so as to avoid exertion or commitment to anything except their immediate comfort. Furthermore, it is in times of national suffering rather than during periods of prosperity that people come closest together. When all are in pain or in danger of extermination, they remember their common humanity and cease to look down on or exploit each other.
The cross we all have to bear can be likened to the yellow star of David that Jews were forced to wear during the Nazi occupation of Europe. It was a sign of discrimination, of ostracism, and of death. But it also had the character of distinction, perseverance and ultimate resurrection. The remarkable vision that Ezekiel had when he was shown the plain full of bones which were resurrected to full human stature as an immense living army (Ezekiel 37:1-10) is a symbol of the historical situation of this great people. In their human form they have been subjected to the full gamut of fate's vicissitudes - never powerful in number and yet never extinguished despite the frequent jealousy they have aroused in others - but each tragedy has been succeeded by a regeneration of a fresh remnant that has added its lustre to the world. Their contribution has been to the human mind and spirit. Two other great religions, Christianity and Islam, owe their existence to the abiding Hebrew witness to the sovereignty of God despite all temptations to turn from the invisible splendour and worship the idols contrived by man. And the achievements of the human mind in the realms of art, science and philosophy have been incalculably enriched by the Jewish contribution. Yet even this people with their ancient store of wisdom and their enormous enthusiasm for life are still only at the threshold of their true vocation: to be a nation of priests which will be a light to the whole world. This was revealed in their greatest representative, Jesus of Nazareth, and still awaits its implementation as a witness to all people. It certainly has, as yet, not been shown by any of the world's great religions, including the one that takes its name from Christ.
"Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only those who do the will of my heavenly Father. When the day comes many will say to me 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, cast our devils in your name, and in your name perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them to their face: 'I never knew you; out of my sight, you and your wicked ways!'" (Matthew 7:21 23). The solution to this paradox lies in the attitude of those who proclaim the Lord's name. To return to the strict demands made by Christ, which I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, it is said that anyone who is ashamed of Him or His, the same will Christ be ashamed of. In fact all life, and especially human life, is of Christ, and so the true Christian dare not turn his back on, let alone persecute or hurt, any creatures, especially human beings. It is of the accusation of cruelty that both the Semitic monotheistic religions that have arisen from the fundamental Jewish insight so often stand condemned. In the Hindu-Buddhist tradition there is, on the other hand, far too great an indifference to the plight of man as a social being, an attitude fostered by a metaphysic that regards the phenomenal world as little more than an insubstantial illusion which is to be transcended when the round of rebirth is extinguished in the bliss of Nirvana. It is exactly in this type of society that Western socially-orientated philosophies are so desperately needed, just as the Western world needs the understanding of non-attachment that comes from Eastern spiritual practice.
The cross that is our personal lot brings us to a full measure of our humanity, and when properly accepted, lifts us beyond the dual temptations of cruelty and indifference to the plight of our fellow creatures. To bear one's cross requires first of all the courage to acknowledge it in clear consciousness, and that without self-abhorrence or indeed any kind of adverse judgement. We are told by our Lord to "love our neighbour as ourselves"; this is indeed the second great commandment, and it follows the first even greater commandment which is to love God with all our being. In fact there is only One who can truly love us as we now stand - whether we be criminal or saint - and that is God, "unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hidden". To love God requires the simple, yet very difficult, act of opening ourselves to God as we now are without either self-abasement or self-justification. Often this openness to God's love follows an experience of humiliating self-abasement which comes after we have behaved extremely badly, so much so as to have earned the contempt of all those around us. Deprived as it were of all human comfort in our self-inflicted misery, we are at last open to the reality of God's constant love towards us. And then a change takes place. What was previously hidden within us - so much so that we could hardly bear to face it in the clear light of consciousness - now becomes freely revealed to us as a lovable, if perverse, side of our own nature. And the corollary of this recognition of the whole of our personality, shadow side as well as spiritual aspiration, is that we can also begin to accept other people as they are, and love them for being what they are.
When we carry our cross in the full radiance of acceptance and love of it, we suddenly become aware of the presence of the risen Christ at our side. He is there, available to strengthen us in our travail, so that what was previously an intolerable burden now becomes an adventure into authentic living. The oft-quoted words, "Come to me, all whose work is hard, whose load is heavy; and I will give you relief", take on a new significance. And indeed the healing power of the Holy Spirit gradually transforms the earthly cross into a radiant cross of light in which dwells the risen Lord. Our wounds (to quote Dame Julian of Norwich again) have become worships, and we can be an instrument of God's healing power to all those in a similar distress.
It is furthermore in taking up our cross in courage and faith that we leave self behind. The self that is left behind is the dominating ego which likes to project a favourable image of oneself on to the world. When the depths of the personality are revealed by the cross that is borne, the ego is displaced from its dominant position to a secondary serving role by the true self, or soul, which is energised through its spirit by the Holy Spirit. It comes about therefore, that, if we follow Christ in honest acceptance of our full nature, the ego is gradually transfigured by the authentic self within, and we begin to function consciously at this level of identity ("I and the Father are one" John 10:30). The safety of the ego is as evanescent as is our mortal life; when we relinquish that safety for God's service, we discover a principle within us that survives the death of the body, because it is immortal. This is the true self with its spiritual centre. To know this true self is incomparably better than winning the whole world; this attainment too is fleeting and transitory, whereas the self within is eternal. Not all the world's riches can buy it back, since it is of God. Only heart-felt penance can restore the self to its place of centrality in a sinner's personality: even the Prodigal Son came to himself only when he had been brought to abject poverty and had lost everything he possessed.
A strong, yet unnecessary, ingredient in the sufferings we have to undergo is the tendency to compare ourselves with other people. This temptation is especially strong when one has to bear the type of cross that prevents one functioning freely in the society of the worldly ones. It is hurtful to compare the apparent happiness and success of one's peers with one's own manifest inadequacies and failures. To this pain is often added a fear that God is punishing one for one's sins; the distress that all these misconceptions are liable to engender can mount up to a black despair. How little one knows of what is happening in someone else's inner life! How seldom do we see the feet of clay on which a deceptively impressive person is supported! It is only in coming to terms with the full range of our own personality that we can start to know our fellow creatures for what they are. At last we begin to see the person instead of standing in rapt awe before an image of him that we ourselves have fashioned. Conversely, we stand in much greater respect of the common people around us whom we had previously dismissed as of little account. The widow who gave her tiny contribution to the temple treasury was commended by Christ as giving more than any of the others, including the rich who had given large sums. For they had more than enough left over for their subsistence and comfort, while she, with less than enough, had given all she had to live on (Mark 12:41-44).
In everyday life we are like sleep-walkers, oblivious of our benefits. We simply do not realise how privileged we are until we have allowed our cross to take us down into the hell where our brothers also live. As our cross is glorified and transfigured by Christ into something beautiful for God, so we may play our part in transfiguring the sordid society from which we ourselves gained our sustenance in earlier days. It is indeed in this way that social action becomes practical and inevitable: the spur is deep compassion born of shared suffering and not glib political and economic experimentations in which individuals are lumped together as "the masses" to be manipulated according to the power drives of ego-centred theorists. These are, of course, often well-intentioned enough in their desire to reform society, but they will inevitably work from the head rather than from the whole person until they too have been tried and refined in the furnace of suffering. One cannot really help "the masses" until one knows oneself to be a part of them, and remains a part of them throughout one's life. As soon as one starts to manipulate and organise others, one sets oneself apart from them in a superior position, and at once despotism rears its baneful head. The ego - our old Adam - has to be renewed in Christ before it may be one with the true self within. Only then can it be an agent of healing for the whole world.
Another cross many of us are called on to bear is the burden of unpleasant experiences in our childhood that leave psychological scars which prevent us living to our full potential. Not only is there a crack in our own personality, but it also extends into the society in which we were reared and into those who have had responsibility for our welfare. Man's inhumanity to man is often the result of deep inner deprivation which shows itself in such anti-social attitudes as anger, jealousy, race and religious hatred, and a desire for the destruction of all that is beautiful and noble. What the deprived person cannot attain, he wishes to destroy in others, and he is filled with malice against those who are happy and prosperous. He attributes underhand dealing to those who do well for themselves, especially if they are strangers. The pain that accrues from the injustice that men suffer as part of their social heritage can bite very deep, and in itself it eloquently testifies to the indivisible membership we all inherit in the full body of mankind.
These social and psychological disabilities are in part the special preserve of those who specialise in the social sciences and psychotherapy. But in the end the victim himself has to accept his afflictions as his particular cross to be borne among the vast army of struggling human beings. When we have finally, after much pain and recrimination, ceased to wage a continual war against the injustice of our lot - as Job did to his irritating comforters - and have come to the greater wisdom of accepting it as our contribution to bearing the collective sin of the world, only then can we move from destructive self-pity to a positive attitude in which we are able to use our particular experience for the benefit of other afflicted people. There are indeed two fundamental approaches to the suffering which is an inherent part of the life that we have been given by God's grace. We can either opt out of life by means of a variety of self-destructive manoeuvres ranging from drug addiction and crime to suicide, or else we can persist in the faith that there is a deeper meaning to the apparently purposeless flow of our existence. In this faith we will never give up the struggle until we have been granted a blessing from our adversary comparable to that exacted by Jacob from the angel of the Lord who contended with him.
Destructive gestures do not solve the problems of life; they merely extend them into the future, either of our present life or else into the life beyond death. It would be insensitive to condemn a destructive choice out of hand, because suffering is often too deep for any casual observer to fathom. But if one has the courage to persist, a present blessing will show itself: the ability to see life in its eternal mode and to know God as Father. As I have already indicated, these gifts are the fruit of terrible suffering that has been borne patiently and with courage. Only the one who has attained this knowledge can be of help to others. To be constantly available as a source of help to one's fellows is the greatest privilege one can know. Those who have survived ill-treatment and injustice as integrated people are special agents of God. They bear in their deeper psyche the authentic marks by which Thomas knew the risen Lord - the marks of the nails on His hands and the mark on His side where the soldiers stabbed the body with a lance, and from which blood and water flowed.
As the cross of life is held aloft to God in submissive triumph, so the memories of the past are renewed, reconsidered, and eventually healed. St Paul says: "It is not to be thought that I have already achieved all this (knowing Christ and arriving at the resurrection from the dead). I have not yet reached perfection, but I press on, hoping to take hold of that for which Christ once took hold of me. My friends, I do not reckon myself to have got hold of it yet. All I can say is this: forgetting what is behind me, and reaching out for that which lies ahead, I press towards the goal to win the prize which is God's call to the life above, in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:12-14). This forgetting of the past does not mean a failure of memory, a state of amnesia. It would be a great loss if we were ever to relinquish the inner benefits of a past experience, no matter how terrible it was at the time. We learn more through our mistakes, our pains and our trials than we do from the occasional moments of triumph and ecstasy. What has to be lived through and healed is the emotional charge of our past history, that feeling of depression, fear, resentment or hatred, as the case may be, that accompanies painful memories. These emotional responses enter our consciousness and muddy the clear waters of our perception when we are confronted with a situation that evokes a strong past association. They poison all promising new relationships with people in the present; they insinuate themselves in the cheerful repose of everyday living so that we become irritable and distrustful; they destroy the inner peace that comes after a glorious aesthetic experience. Only when the emotional charge of the painful past has been transmuted into a feeling of thanksgiving for what we have been enabled to achieve and learn from it for the benefit of the whole human race, can we forget what is behind us and look in eager anticipation to what lies ahead. It is Christ who enters the memories of the past and redeems them from the bondage of regret to the glorious splendour of universal compassion. We do not need to contrive His entry into the inner room which is our true self; we simply have to open ourselves to His unseen presence, for He stands perpetually at the door knocking for admisson. When He had taken supper for the last time with His disciples, He gave them bread to eat and wine to drink that He had blessed. He consecrated the common elements of the earth so that they assumed an eternal role as His body and blood. "Do this as a memorial to me." Whenever we remember what He did for us and move beyond our groans of self-centred pity to embrace the whole world's pain, He enters our lives, redeeming the past and leading us in hope to our future work. For this transmutation of the memories of the past to occur, three requirements are necessary: a conscious awareness of the cross we have to bear and a presentation of it to God, work for our fellow men, and ceaseless prayer.
Our memories are healed as we experience the forgiveness of our sins, and we in turn are able to receive those who injured us as brothers. It is in this way that the radical demands of the Sermon on the Mount can be fulfilled. "Love your enemies and pray for your persecutors; only so can you be children of your heavenly Father, who makes His sun rise on good and bad alike and sends rain on the honest and the dishonest" (Matthew 5:44-45).
MeditationThat aspect of my character of which I am most deeply ashamed is, when confronted with courage and humility, my way of most intimate approach to the weakness of my brothers. Once I have learnt to love myself in all my parts, I find that I am also in love with all life. But first I must give of myself to God, who makes me infinitely lovable by infusing me with His love. Then my wound becomes an object of worship, just as the precious wounds of the crucified Christ were the way of Thomas knowing Him when He returned in His spiritual body.