Category Archives: Daily Reflection

Lightly Held

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The first reading today is from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. This is one of those Pauline passages that can sound rather alarming: “Let those having wives act as not having them, those weeping as not weeping, those rejoicing as not rejoicing…” (1 Cor 7:29–30). What are we supposed to make of that? What we are supposed to do is to first ensure we understand the context.

Paul is responding to questions the Corinthians themselves had apparently sent Paul: “Now in regard to the matters about which you wrote…” (7:1). Marriage, celibacy, sexual relations, divorce, remarriage, and one’s state in life all appear in the chapter. At the beginning of our text, Paul turns his attention to the unmarried and explicitly distinguishes his pastoral judgment from a direct command of the Lord: “I have no commandment of the Lord, but I give my opinion…” (v.25) And then come the context: “because of the present distress” (v. 26). Exactly what Paul means by that distress is debated. It could include concrete hardships or persecution, but Paul’s argument clearly also has an eschatological dimension. Paul and the earliest Christians lived with an intense expectation that Christ’s return could be near: “I tell you, brothers, the time is running out” (v.29).

In that light, Paul’s pastoral advice is essentially: don’t make major changes merely for the sake of changing your status. Live faithfully where you are, because everything belongs to a larger reality that God is bringing to fulfillment. He repeats the phrase “as not.” He admonished the people to live married though as not married (so, too weeping, rejoicing, owning).  He’s saying don’t allow anything belonging to this passing world to become absolute. Grief is real but grief doesn’t have the final word. Joy is real but earthly happiness isn’t the fullness of Christian hope. Possessions have legitimate uses but they don’t ultimately belong to us. Marriage matters enormously but even marriage isn’t eternal in precisely its present form. The world is good but this present configuration of the world isn’t God’s finished creation.

What might all this mean for us? I don’t think most of us are living with an intense expectation of Jesus’ immediate return. I’d offer that Paul’s lesson for us is to live with a degree of  detachment without disengagement. Consider times when we have turned to career, money, health, possessions, relationships and other things in our plans. None of these things is necessarily bad. Many are very good.

Paul isn’t saying don’t seek these things out or enjoy them, he is saying don’t ask them to bear the weight of fulfillment that only God can bear. Hold these things, but hold them lightly. 

Love your spouse deeply but recognize that your spouse is God’s gift, not your possession. Enjoy what God gives you but don’t build your identity upon having it. Grieve who you lose but don’t believe that who death has taken is therefore lost forever. Use possessions without letting them possess you. Participate fully in the world but remember that this world in its present form is passing away. That produces a distinctively Christian way of living: fully engaged, but not ultimately attached; deeply interested and not indifferent.

Maybe a way to understand Paul’s point is to ask yourself: What am I holding so tightly that I have forgotten it was given to me by God? If we hold things lightly, in almost an open hand, perhaps we will remember the gift we have received.

And I hope that in those moments we realize that everything can be loved, everything passes away but only God can be loved as though He will never pass away.

Image credit: Saint Paul Writing His Epistles |attributed to Valentin de Boulogne | Houston Museum of Fine Arts| PD-US.

Contagious Holiness

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We all know what it means for something to be contagious. Someone in the family catches a cold, and pretty soon everybody is trying not to catch it. We keep our distance. We wash our hands. We don’t want whatever that person has to spread to us.

There is an interesting background to the mindset of today’s Gospel. In the Old Testament there were careful rules concerning what was clean and unclean. Contact with some diseases, bodily fluids, or the dead could render a person ritually unclean. The idea underlying these purity rules was clear: uncleanness could spread through contact, and so boundaries were maintained between what was unclean and what was holy. But when Jesus arrives, something remarkable begins to happen.

Simon’s mother-in-law is suffering from a severe fever. Jesus stands over her and rebukes the fever, and immediately she is restored. Then, at sunset, people begin bringing the sick to Jesus. Luke tells us that Jesus “laid his hands on each of them and cured them” (Lk 4:40). Jesus does not keep his distance. He gets close. And as Luke’s Gospel continues, this pattern becomes even more striking. Jesus will reach out and touch a leper. He will allow a woman suffering from hemorrhages to touch him. He will approach the dead. But something has changed.

The leper does not make Jesus unclean. Jesus makes the leper clean. The sick do not infect Him with their sickness, rather Jesus communicates healing to them. Death is overcome and life restored by Jesus. There is no contagion. In Jesus, holiness has become contagious flows into the world as healing, forgiveness, mercy, restoration, life. And perhaps that gives us another way of thinking about what it means to be a Christian.

Sometimes we can become rather concerned about what we might “catch” from the world around us. And certainly there are things from which we should protect ourselves. But Christians cannot spend their lives simply trying to remain safely separated from everything that is broken. Jesus didn’t. Jesus moved toward brokenness, the sick, sinners, the rejected, people carrying the burden of sin, toward people whom everyone else had decided were better kept at a distance. And instead of their brokenness changing Jesus, his holiness began changing them.

That raises an interesting question for us. What happens when someone comes into contact with me? When I encounter someone who is angry, does their anger infect me so that I become angry too? Or does something of Christ’s peace begin to spread? When I encounter someone who is lonely, do I keep my distance or does Christ’s compassion begin to spread? When someone has failed badly, do I add to the shame or does something of Christ’s mercy reach that person through me? When someone has lost hope, do I join in the despair or does the hope Christ has given me become contagious?

At the end of today’s Gospel, the people of Capernaum want Jesus to stay with them. But Jesus tells them: “To the other towns also I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God, because for this purpose I have been sent.” (Lk 4:43) Jesus will not allow the Kingdom to remain safely contained in Capernaum.

Holiness goes outward so that the Kingdom grows. And that is still the Church’s mission. The Church has long spoken of evangelization happening through the ordinary witness of Christian lives: through the way we love, care for those in need, treat our neighbors and strangers, and live our faith in ordinary circumstances.

Today, we will receive Christ in the Eucharist. The same Christ who laid his hands upon the sick, approached the outcast, forgave sinners, and brought hope to people who had lost it will come to us. And then we will leave this church carrying Christ into the world. So perhaps today’s Gospel invites us to worry a little less about what we might catch from the world and ask a different question: what might the world catch from us?

May the holiness of Christ become contagious through us. May we infect the world with Christ’s compassion, mercy, peace, hope and love.

Image credit: Created in Dalle-3 | Aug 31, 2026 | prompt: image with vibrant colors that portrays Jesus’s holiness going outward for healing, casting out spirits, and such.| CC-BY-NC

When the Word Disagrees with Me

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Today’s gospel is the familiar story of Jesus in his home town synagogue in Nazareth. He proclaims, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor….Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” (Luke 4:18, 21) At the beginning of today’s Gospel, everyone in the synagogue is impressed with Jesus. By the end, they’re trying to kill him. Why? There are likely reasons,e.g., misplaced familiarity with the “home town boy” – “Isn’t this the son of Joseph?” (v.22) What is the old adage about familiarity breeding contempt? Perhaps there is a corollary: familiarity leads us to think we know just enough and so we stop listening.

Jesus knows that the people want him to “Do here in your native place the things that we heard were done in Capernaum.” (v.23) It is the OT equivalent of the modern slang, “show us a little love.” One might guess they are feeling a little entitled. This is very similar to last week’s parable of the workers in the vineyard who had been at it all day, come the end of the day and they felt entitled to more. I wonder if they too stopped listening to the vineyard owner’s explanation?

But what about us? This is not likely the first time hearing this gospel or a homily about it. Are you still trying to peel back the layers of the story to discover how this story impacts you at this time in your life which is no doubt very different from the first time you encountered this episode.

The people in the synagogue heard scripture selectively. The people are provoked when Jesus quotes their own history back to them. They know Elijah, Elisha, the widow and Naaman. Their problem is not a lack of familiarity with Scripture. It’s a selective memory. Israel’s Scriptures contain both election and God’s concern for the nations. Nazareth likes the first and doesn’t want to hear the implications of the second.

We are equally capable of building a Christianity from our favorite verses. We can emphasize justice and forget mercy or emphasize mercy and forget justice. We can insist upon personal morality while ignoring our responsibility for one another. We can become passionate about changing society while avoiding our own need for conversion.

It is not just this story. Countless times we have heard the Beatitudes, the stories of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son. We know the words of Eucharistic institution. We know when to stand, sit and kneel. The danger isn’t necessarily unbelief. It can be overfamiliarity especially when we stop expecting the Word to surprise us. Sometimes knowing the Bible story is precisely what prevents us from hearing the Bible story. Familiarity can create the illusion our understanding is complete.

Jesus senses that he has touched something the listeners don’t want touched: God’s saving mercy for the “others”. The widow was a foreigner. Naaman was a Syrian and not merely a Syrian, but a commander in the enemy army. It is at this point that their admiration turns toward fury. It is just like the first workers in the vineyard parable: God’s generosity becomes offensive when God is generous to someone we don’t think deserves it.

We all have portions of Scripture we love because they reinforce what we already believe. The more revealing question is which parts do I wish Jesus hadn’t said? We readily hear Scripture when it supports our instincts about morality, politics, economics, social questions or whatever issue happens to matter deeply to us. The real test comes when Scripture challenges a position we already hold. We are very good at hearing the Word of God when it tells somebody else to change. The harder question is whether I will allow the Word of God to disagree with me.

The people of Nazareth thought they knew God. They thought they knew Jesus. They even knew the Scripture stories Jesus was telling them. What they weren’t prepared for was allowing those stories to change them.

So perhaps when the Word of God unsettles us, irritates us, or challenges something we have long assumed, our first response shouldn’t be, “That can’t be what Jesus means.” Perhaps it should be: “Lord, what are you trying to change in me?”

Image credit: Created in Dalle-3 | Aug 28, 2026 | prompt: create an image of Jesus in the Nazareth synagogue as described in Luke 4 – keep in an icon style with vibrant colors. Have Jesus centered with listeners on either side, seated. Include an open scroll or book | CC-BY-NC

Becoming Wise

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Today’s reflection is based on Matthew 25:1-13, the Parable of the Ten Virgins, and is part of our parish elementary school Friday Mass celebration. 

I grew up in Florida, where hurricanes were simply part of life. Back then storm tracking wasn’t nearly as good as it is today, so experience really mattered. Back then lots of new people began moving to Florida who had never experienced a hurricane.

One of our new neighbors worked in the aerospace industry. We assumed he was a “rocket scientist”—so obviously he was really smart. But being smart is one thing. Knowing how to prepare for a hurricane is another.

My dad was wise in the way hurricane preparedness and made an effort to share his experience and wisdom of how to prepare the house and the family for the experience. It was a lesson in character. Not only for us to prepare for the coming storm, but also to help the “hurricane rookies” prepare and make decisions about boarding windows, filling sandbags, taking in lawn furniture and plants – and the things “rookies” might not think about. You needed to have several days of food that did not need refrigeration. No electricity, no refrigerator. That means you needed easy to eat food, peanut butter and jelly, trail mix, a camp stove, and canned goods…. And a manual can opener. No electricity, no electric can opener.  

Trust me the list goes on and on: water, flashlights, batteries, and for our modern times: portable power banks for phones, cash because the ATMs and credit card machines might not work.

You get the point. Our neighbor was a “rocket scientist” but not wise in the way of hurricanes. My dad was wise in such things and was possessed of the character to share with our neighbors.

Today’s gospel is about wisdom.

Were the young women in the gospel smart? Maybe they were all the “rocket scientists” for their day. But it seems there were two kinds of young women described in the parable. The ones who brought extra oil and were prepared for the unexpected – in this case the late arrival of the bridegroom. Was the late arrival likely? Possible? Who knows, but it is a celebration and such things are prone to go “off schedule.” And so some were prepared and brought extra oil.  The others did not.  

Knowledge often comes from books; wisdom often comes from experience. The ones who brought extra oil thought ahead and acted responsibly. They did not know when the groom would arrive. They simply stayed ready. Wisdom means making good choices, not just knowing information.  Wisdom prepares for tomorrow.

How might this apply to you? 

  • Pack your backpack the night before.
  • Do your homework before it is due.
  • Pray every day, not just when there’s a problem.

Wise people prepare before the moment arrives.

And there’s something interesting about the oil. When the moment comes, the young women can’t simply borrow readiness from somebody else. Some things have to become part of us before the moment arrives. 

You can get help with math from a teacher. You can get help with homework from your parents. But you cannot borrow somebody else’s kindness. You cannot borrow somebody else’s honesty. You cannot borrow somebody else’s friendship with Jesus.

And remember something else about my dad. His wisdom wasn’t just knowing what our family needed. Wisdom made him notice the family next door. He shared what he knew so they could get ready too. Christian wisdom doesn’t just ask, ‘Am I ready?’ It also asks, ‘Who can I help?’

Knowledge often comes from books; wisdom grows as we learn to make good choices.

Jesus tells us today: Don’t wait until the last minute to become the person God is calling you to be. Don’t wait until you need God to begin praying. Don’t wait until someone is lonely to learn kindness. Don’t wait until you’re tempted to lie to decide that honesty matters.

Every day we make little choices that put a little more oil in the lamp.

So this school year, learn as much as you can. Be smart. That’s one reason you’re here. But ask Jesus for something even greater. Ask him to make you wise. And every day, fill your lamp.

Be smart, but become wise.

Created by Dalle-3 on 8-26-26 with elements: word “Wisdom”, wooden letters, light bulb, warm wooden background

Dem bones, dem dry bones

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Today’s first reading is from the Prophet Ezekiel chapter 37, the famous “dry bones vision.” Ezekiel has been the source of all the first readings for this week. It has been a week in which the Word of God came to the prophet and directed him to preach a word of destruction against Jerusalem, the kingdom of Tyre and the shepherds (kings) of Judah and Israel. Then the Word of God changes.

In Wednesday’s first reading, after condemning the shepherds (kings), we have the wonderful passage from Ezekiel 34:11 “For thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will look after and tend my sheep.” And indeed, God sent his only son to be the King of kings and the Good Shepherd.

Thursday, the Word got even better

“I will sprinkle clean water upon you to cleanse you from all your impurities, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you, taking from your bodies your stony hearts and giving you natural hearts. I will put my spirit within you and make you live by my statutes, careful to observe my decrees…you shall be my people, and I will be your God.” (Ez 36:25-28)

That is what God plans to do and in today’s reading Ezekiel is given the vision of result of the promise

“Thus says the Lord GOD: From the four winds come, O spirit, and breathe into these slain that they may come to life. I prophesied as he told me, and the spirit came into them; they came alive and stood upright” (Ez 37:9-10)

It is always good to pay attention when God breathes into the world. The ruah (breath/spirit) hovered over the void of chaos at Creation and there was life. God sent the Good Shepherd at whose baptism the Holy Spirit hovered. The ruah of God hovered over the disciples at Pentecost and their was new life for the Church – all this just as God promised.

The ruah, breath, Spirit of God is present in the world, fulfilling the promises of the Covenant, fulfilled in Jesus Christ. “…you shall be my people, and I will be your God.” God is fulfilling the divine side of the deal. We are called to let the Spirit heal our dry bones and be the people of God in the world.

Figure out the part of your life, the hard part of your heart, or whatever burdens you. Ask the breath of God to instill new life in you.

Image credit: “Vision of Ezekiel” by Paul Falconer Poole, c.1875; Tate Museum Creative Commons CC-BY-NC-ND (3.0)

Not without skills

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The first reading is from the Prophet Ezekiel from a larger section known as the “Oracles Against the Nations.” In our reading the charge leveled against the prince of Tyre is simple and direct: you have become arrogant, or as we read “haughty of heart”. The prophet outlines three dimensions of his hubris: the king claims to be divine, possessing divine authority and divine intelligence/wisdom. It is not hard to think about animating the prophet’s words with a strong measure of sarcasm.

The prophet seems to acknowledge that the prince of Tyre has some skills and savvy, but notes it is only for the accumulation of earthly riches and power – nothing that will last beyond the end. An end that is coming soon at the hand of  “the most barbarous of nations. They shall draw their swords against your beauteous wisdom, they shall run them through your splendid apparel…Will you then say, “I am a god!” In the end it will all come to another bonfire of the vanities.

Apart from the novel by Tom Wolfe, “bonfire of the vanities” refers to the evangelical call of the Dominican Girolamo Savonarola who in 1497 called the city of Florence to burn any objects that might tempt one to sin, including vanity items such as mirrors, cosmetics, fine dresses, playing cards, and musical instruments. Savonarola campaigned against what he considered to be the artistic and social excesses of Renaissance Italy, preaching with great vigor against any luxury.

None of us would suffer the delusion of thinking ourselves to be divine as did the Prince of Tyre, but then again none of us would say we are without skills or savvy. The question then, in Florence, and now, is to what end do we direct those God-given skills? Do we seek security for our families? Maybe security and comfort? Perhaps security, comfort, and luxury? Or are we on the verge of becoming like the Tom Wolfe character Sherman McCoy, a successful NYC financial whiz, who has given himself the moniker, “Master of the Universe.” Somewhat like the Prince of Tyre, yes?

To the prince, Sherman McCoy and to us, the gospel simply says: “Amen, I say to you, it will be hard for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of heaven. Again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.“

It is not the wealth, the security, the comfort or the luxury – it is the lure of those things, the lure to sin against the most basic of commands: “what the LORD requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

From time to time, we all need to consider what parts of our life, our possessions, that are candidates for the bonfire of the vanities. Consider what weighs us down on our journey to the Kingdom of God.

A painting by an unknown Florentine master depicting the execution of Fra Girolamo Savonarola, on May 22 1498. Photo: Wikimedia commons.

The Harder Deal?

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How many times have you heard today’s Gospel of the landowner who went out to hire laborers for his vineyard? Most often we hear it as a contrast between God’s generosity and our sense of fairness. Sometimes it’s the ‘it’s never too late’ homily. Both are good ways into the parable. Then there is the “Five O’Clock Christian” homily with the message to the ones who have labored all day and are thinking, “After everything I’ve done all these years, these johnny-come-latelies get to scoot in at the last minute” The message to the “there from the beginning” folks is all those years of fidelity had meaning. It can be a warning you are turning faith into a scorecard or a timesheet for the accounting department.  

Each of Jesus’ parables is meant to draw us into the scene, to associate with one of the characters. You’re here at daily Mass. You take your faith life seriously and have been for some time so I doubt you are “five o’clock” believers. Yet we are more prone to those passing whispers: I’ve been doing this all my life. I’ve sacrificed. I’ve followed the rules. I’ve served the parish. In those moments we are right there with St. Peter when he asked Jesus, “We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?” (Mt 19:27) We are like the early workers who say they have borne “the day’s burden and the heat.” 

But underneath their complaint is a question we rarely ask: was being in the vineyard all day really a disadvantage?” Do we believe that spending a lifetime knowing Christ, receiving the Eucharist, experiencing forgiveness, belonging to his people, and having the hope of eternal life was somehow the harder deal? That’s when we need to remind ourselves that it has all been a grace and a privilege to receive: unearned, undeserved, but freely given.

Maybe then we begin to understand what it means to work in the vineyard. The years we have spent following Christ were never wages we earned. They were themselves a gift. The Eucharists we have received, the sins forgiven, the prayers answered, and even the prayers we are still waiting to have answered, the people who have accompanied us in faith, the hope that has carried us through difficult days: all of that, that was the vineyard.

So when the five-o’clock worker finally arrives, perhaps our response should not be, “Why does he get what I get?” Perhaps it should be, “Thank God he finally made it into the vineyard. And thank God I have been here all along.”

And maybe then we will fully embrace an attitude of gratitude for the work and the destiny to which we have been called.

Image credit: Red Vineyards at Arles | Vincent Van Gogh, 1888 | PD from wikiart.org

A metaphor, right?

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In today’s gospel we have the famous expression: “Amen, I say to you, it will be hard for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of heaven. Again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God” It is a continuation of the encounter with the rich young man of yesterday’s gospel.   In other form, the expression also appears in the Jewish Talmud and in Qur’an 7:40: “Indeed, those who deny Our verses and are arrogant toward them – the gates of Heaven will not be opened for them, nor will they enter Paradise until a camel enters into the eye of a needle.”

In the Christian context it seems to bluntly say that it is flat-out impossible for rich people to enter the Kingdom of God. Lots of commentaries say that The “Eye of the Needle” was a gate in Jerusalem, which opened after the main gate was closed at night. It was intentionally narrow and low so that travelers could only enter one-by-one and any beast of burden (e.g. the camel) would have to be either lightly loaded or completely unloaded. Hence: “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor.” So – there was a chance for rich people after all!

The interpretation has been put forth since at least the 15th century and possibly as far back as the 9th century. However, there is no archeological or historically reliable evidence for the existence of such a gate. One has to be suspect of the later rising of the explanation – somehow tamping down and tempering Jesus’ words.

Cyril of Alexandria claimed that “camel” is a Greek misspelling and that kamêlos (camel) was written in place of kamilos, meaning “rope” or “cable”. More recently, George Lamsa, in his 1933 translation of the Bible into English from the Syriac, claimed the same based on the Syriac.

Camel, rope, cable – still pretty impossible. But then it is a metaphor. Right? I would suggest we are right back to yesterday’s point: do you possess wisdom about riches and their place in your journey to God? Jesus identified for the rich young man the one possession he could not imagine himself without and he walked away sad. Not angry, not thinking Jesus was unreasonable. For perhaps the first time, the young man knows exactly what stands between him and the freedom he is seeking. And he discovers that, at least for now, he is unwilling to let it go. The young man knows God’s will for him. He just decides that the price is too high.

But no worries. It’s just a metaphor, right?

Image credit: iStock, std license.

The grace of restlessness

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A young man approached Jesus and said, “Teacher, what good must I do to gain eternal life?”  (Mt 19:16) Jesus answered the young man. “When the young man heard [Jesus’] statement, he went away sad…” (v.22) In the online notes , the US Catholic Bishops note that Matthew is not proposing a two-tier Christianity, with ordinary Christians merely keeping the commandments and unusually holy Christians pursuing perfection. Matthew has already commanded all disciples to “be perfect” (5:48).  There is a lot more to this gospel than “possessions can get in the way of following Jesus.”

After Jesus recounts the Commandments, after which: “The young man said to him, ‘All of these I have observed. What do I still lack?’” (v.20) That might be the most important sentence of the whole text:  “What do I still lack?”

This isn’t the story of a sinner refusing conversion. It is the story of a religious, morally serious person who realizes that being good and being completely free for God are not necessarily the same thing. He senses that something is missing. There is an itch he can’t quite scratch. You’re here at daily Mass. I’d say that puts you in the category of a religious, morally serious person. But is there something nagging at the edge of your consciousness? Perhaps “what do I still lack” is a question for all of us.

Perhaps we are like the young man. We keep the commandments. We know that our spiritual life has not achieved “fullness.” There’s something more. Maybe like the young man we keep asking.

What I love about this gospel is that Jesus takes the young man’s restlessness seriously. The answer to that young man is to dispossess his material wealth. That’s the answer to him. That is what holds him back. But that might not be the source of your restlessness.

Instead, Christ might answer our restlessness differently. Need to surrender some resentment? Still looking for everyone’s approval and recognition? Need to be in control? Need to be more trusting with that part of your life you hold back?

Jesus identified for the rich young man the one possession he could not imagine himself without and he walked away sad. Not angry, not thinking Jesus was unreasonable.  For perhaps the first time, the young man knows exactly what stands between him and the freedom he is seeking. And he discovers that, at least for now, he is unwilling to let it go. The young man knows God’s will for him. He just decides that the price is too high. 

Sometimes sadness reveals where our deepest attachment lies. 

The young man’s question was, “What do I still lack?” Today, I think my question would be: “Lord, what is this restlessness within me trying to tell me? What am I still afraid to place in your hands?”

Be attentive to the grace of restlessness in your life.

Image credit: Heinrich Hofmann | 1888 | Christ and the Rich Young Ruler | Brigham Young University Museum of Art | PD-US

Taking up the cross

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In today’s gospel when Jesus says: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Mt 16:24-25) – what did you hear? Because of the way we use the expression in everyday language, I think a tendency to think of “our cross” is to focus on nagging health concerns, local traffic, or difficult coworkers or relatives, and similar events in our lives. Bit of a metaphor. 

For Jesus’ first hearers, the cross was not a metaphor at all. It was a horrifying public reality. It represented Roman power at its most brutal: humiliation, shame, and a death reserved primarily for slaves, rebels, and those the empire wanted to make examples of. When Jesus first spoke these words, no one in the crowd would have thought of daily travails, church steeples, or even salvation. They would have imagined a more horrific end. After the Resurrection, Christians saw the cross in an entirely new light: the place where God’s love conquered sin and death. 

We are modern people, believing people and these words appear in an ongoing dialogue about discipleship. While suffering can certainly become part of discipleship, that is not what Jesus primarily means. Notice the context. Immediately before this saying, Peter has rebuked Jesus for speaking about his coming suffering and death. Jesus replies: “You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” (Mt 16:23) Only then does he say: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.” The cross is not simply something that happens to us. It is something we choose because we are following Christ.

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