Jer. 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt. 16:21-27
The Bible has always presented this truth. In the Old Testament, we find people who discovered that life becomes meaningful when it is offered for God and for others. Abraham was asked to place even his beloved son Isaac into God's hands. He had waited for Isaac for years, and Isaac represented his future, his hopes and God's promise. Yet Abraham had to learn that even what is most precious cannot become more important
than God. His faith was tested precisely where his heart was most attached. He discovered that surrender to God is not losing everything; it is placing everything into the hands of God. Abraham's story prepares us for the Gospel because Jesus will later ask his disciples to surrender not merely possessions but themselves.We see something similar in Moses. When Israel sinned against God after the golden calf, Moses did not simply say, "They have sinned; let them suffer the consequences." He stood before God and pleaded for the people. In Exodus 32:32, Moses even says, "But now, if you will only forgive their sin—but if not, blot me out of the book that you have written." Moses was willing to identify himself with a sinful people. He carried their burden in his heart.
Esther gives us another beautiful example. When her people were threatened with destruction, she knew that approaching the king without being summoned could cost her life. Yet she said, "If I perish, I perish" (Esther 4:16). She was prepared to risk her position, her security and even her life for the sake of others. She could have remained silent and protected herself. But love would not allow her to remain silent.
Jesus has been speaking to his disciples, and now he tells them something they do not want to hear: "He must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised." Jesus knows where his mission is leading. Jerusalem is not simply a destination on a map. Jerusalem is the place of rejection, suffering, the cross and death. Yet Jesus does not turn away.
And here Peter enters the scene. Peter takes Jesus aside and begins to rebuke him: "God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you." We can almost understand Peter. He loves Jesus. He has confessed Jesus as the Messiah. He has dreams about Jesus' kingdom. Perhaps Peter imagines a victorious Messiah, a powerful Messiah, a Messiah who will defeat enemies and receive honour. But Peter cannot imagine a Messiah who suffers. He wants the crown without the cross.
Jesus gives Peter one of the strongest rebukes in the Gospel: "Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things." Jesus is not saying that Peter has suddenly become a wicked man. Peter's problem is more subtle. He loves Jesus, but he loves Jesus according to human expectations. Peter wants to protect Jesus from suffering, but in doing so he is unknowingly trying to prevent Jesus from fulfilling the Father's will.
The word "stumbling block" is important. A stumbling block is something placed in the path that causes another person to fall. Sometimes the greatest obstacles to God's plan do not come from hatred. They come from people who love us but cannot understand what God is doing in our lives.
The Old Testament gives us another picture of this mystery in the life of Joseph. His brothers rejected him, sold him and allowed him to disappear into slavery. Joseph suffered injustice, false accusation and imprisonment. Yet at the end he could look back and say that God had brought good out of what others intended for evil. Joseph could not understand God's plan while he was sitting in the pit. He could not see God's purpose while he was in prison. Sometimes we cannot understand our cross while we are carrying it. Only later do we begin to see how God was working through it.
The same truth appears powerfully in the story of Job. Job loses his possessions, his children and his health. His friends try to explain his suffering, but their explanations are inadequate. Job himself struggles to understand. Yet through the darkness he gradually comes to a deeper knowledge of God. There are moments when the most faithful prayer is not, "Lord, I understand," but simply, "Lord, I trust you." Faith does not mean that we understand every suffering. Faith means that we continue walking with God even when we do not understand.
Literature gives us another unforgettable picture of sacrificial love in Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. Sydney Carton is a broken and disappointed man who believes that his life has little value. Yet when he is given the opportunity to save the life of Charles Darnay by taking his place, he willingly sacrifices himself. His final act transforms the meaning of his entire life. The man who once thought his life was worthless discovers its greatest worth precisely when he gives it away. The message is remarkably close to Jesus' words: "Those who lose their life for my sake will find it."
This is the paradox of the Gospel: the person who lives only for himself slowly loses himself, while the person who gives himself in love discovers who he truly is. The selfish person asks, "What will I get?" The disciple asks, "What can I give?" The selfish person asks, "How can I protect myself?" Christ asks, "Whom can you serve?" The selfish person measures life by money, comfort, possessions and status. Jesus asks, "What will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?"
That question is especially important for the modern world. We live in a society that constantly tells us to gain more, own more, achieve more, display more and enjoy more. But Jesus asks a frightening question: Suppose you gain everything and lose your soul—what have you really gained? A person may gain a house but lose a family. A person may gain money but lose peace. A person may gain a position but lose integrity. A person may gain thousands of followers on social media but have nobody with whom to share his deepest pain. A person may gain the whole world and yet lose himself.
Therefore, "deny yourself" does not mean that Christianity teaches us to hate ourselves. It means that the self is no longer the centre. God becomes the centre. Love becomes the centre. The needs of others become important. The will of God becomes more important than my comfort. It means I can say, "Lord, not merely what I want, but what you want. Not merely my plan, but your plan."
A beautiful example of this is St. Frances Xavier Cabrini. From her childhood she dreamed of becoming a missionary in China. China was the mission she had imagined for herself. But when she went to Rome seeking permission for her missionary work, Pope Leo XIII told her, in effect, "Not to the East, Cabrini, but to the West." God was asking her to abandon the mission she had imagined and to accept a completely different one: to go to the United States and serve the poor Italian immigrants who were suffering there. Pope Francis later described this as an important lesson in her vocation: she had to open her eyes to see where God was sending her, "not where she had wanted to go, but where He had prepared the way."
And Jesus does not ask us to walk a road that he himself refused to walk. He goes first. Peter wants to remove the cross from Jesus' path, but Jesus knows that the cross is not the defeat of his mission; it is the fulfilment of his mission. The cross will look like failure on Good Friday, but Easter will reveal that it was the doorway to resurrection. The disciples will learn that suffering accepted in love is never wasted in God's hands.
So, when we hear today, "Take up your cross and follow me," let us not immediately think only of great heroic sacrifices. Begin with the cross that is already in your hands. Perhaps your cross is forgiving someone who hurt you. Perhaps it is caring patiently for someone who cannot repay you. Perhaps it is speaking the truth when a lie would benefit you. Perhaps it is continuing to pray when God seems silent. Perhaps it is accepting a difficult responsibility without constant complaint.
The world says, "Save yourself." Jesus says, "Give yourself." The world says, "Protect your life at any cost." Jesus says, "Offer your life in love." The world says, "The cross is something to escape." Jesus says, "The cross can become the road to resurrection."
Peter eventually learned this lesson. The man who once said, "This must never happen to you," would later discover that following Jesus meant following him through suffering, sacrifice and finally glory. Peter's first response was to resist the cross; his later life would become an offering to Christ.
And this is the invitation before us today. We do not have to look for suffering. We do not have to create crosses for ourselves. But when love, duty, truth and faithfulness place a cross before us, we must not run away from it. We must pick it up and walk with Christ.
St. Damien of Molokai gives us a beautiful example. In 1873, when the Hawaiian authorities isolated people suffering from leprosy on the remote island of Molokai, the bishop needed priests to care for them. Damien volunteered. He knew that it was a dangerous mission, but he went. At first, he was expected to serve the people for a limited period, but the people themselves asked him to remain. Damien decided to stay. He did not simply preach to them from a safe distance. He lived among them, cared for their wounds, built houses and churches, dug graves and comforted those whom society had abandoned. He touched people whom others were afraid to touch. For years he shared their life. Eventually he contracted leprosy himself. At that moment he could have said, "I have done enough. Now I must protect myself." But he remained with his people until his death in 1889. The Vatican records that he had freely chosen to remain on Molokai and, after contracting leprosy, continued his ministry among those whom he served.
For the Christian, the final question is not, "How much did I possess?" It is not, "How famous was I?" It is not, "How comfortable was my life?" The final question is, "How much did I love? Whom did I serve? Did I give myself to God and to others?"
Because the strange and beautiful truth of the Gospel remains: when we spend ourselves in love, we are not losing our life. We are discovering it. When we surrender ourselves to God, we are not becoming less; we are becoming what God created us to be.
May we therefore have the courage to pray: "Lord Jesus, when I am tempted, like Peter, to choose the easier human way, give me the wisdom to set my mind on divine things."
Satish Selvarance