I recently had the opportunity to spend some time celebrating the sacraments for high school seniors from Washington D.C. who were here on retreat at Sandy Cove, a beautiful spot right down 272 along the North East River. Many of the students were not Catholic, so when it came time for Confession, quite a few of them simply just wanted to talk.
That’s where I met Tobias.
“Sir,” he said with utmost respect as he sat down, “I have been holding onto something for a long time and I don’t know what to do with it.” He proceeded to open up about a childhood in which his first conscious memory was using a videogame controller to try to prevent his own father from attacking his mother in a fit of rage. Somehow, the reaction of a scared five-year-old probably saved his mom’s life.
However, to this day, Tobias blames himself for the fact that his Dad walked out that night and never came back. And in only the way that broken hearts seem to do, the high school senior now associates his videogame controller attack with his father’s abandonment. “He hates me,” Tobias said, sobbing. And then: “How could Jesus allow this to happen to me and my mom?”
The cry of a boy-on-the-cusp-of-manhood seeking his Father, in more ways than one.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus asks the question that each of us must answer, a question that could very well be the most important one we must spend our lives wrestling with: Who is Jesus to you?
We often throw around a lot of words, all good: Savior. Redeemer. Son of God. The Christ. Peter himself was inspired to proclaim Jesus as such. Others feel more comfortable naming Jesus a friend or brother. Both denote a relationship that seems intimate and filled with mercy.
But then I think about Tobias and so many others like him -- men and women and children who don’t necessarily use those titles when they think of their own relationship with the Lord.
For them, Jesus is the silent One. The Absent God. The One Who Didn’t Step In When I Needed Him Most.
And Jesus asked: “Who do you say that I am?”
Who is He to you at this point in your life’s journey?
I can’t help but think that the titles we use for God change over time, change as we ourselves change. Perhaps they should. Like Peter, our understanding of Christ grows as we respond to the grace that comes to us along the journey of life.
And quite frankly, that understanding of whom God is seems to become most clear to us when we walk the way of the Cross.
Nobody wants to, and yet everyone does. Often, the Cross comes to us in many ways – ways we wouldn’t have asked for; ways that we can’t imagine there ever being a good outcome.
When Jesus mentioned to Peter the Cross that he himself was going to carry for the salvation of the world, Peter does what anyone of us would have done, no doubt: told Him no. Don’t do it.
It was said out of misguided love, of course. But it was also proclaimed from a place of deep fear within Peter (who stands in place for all of us). “Lord, it doesn’t have to be this way. We’re not worthy of such sacrifice.”
And that’s where Christ steps in and shouts: “Get behind me, Satan. You’re not thinking as God does.”
Which then begs the question: how does God think?
He thinks (and knows) that we are, in fact, worth saving; that everything broken within us can be redeemed when offered to him; that nothing we unite to His Cross is wasted; that sacrificial love saves the world. THAT’S what God thinks.
He also thinks that we are also worthy to share in His Love, a Love that asks us the very same thing that He did: pick up your Cross and follow. Don’t run from it forever. Don’t allow it to make you bitter and resentful. Pick-up your Cross and let God bring resurrection from it.
Many years ago now, I remember reading a story of a woman returning from grocery shopping somewhere in Arkansas who had placed her packages in the back of the family station wagon where her husband had stored pool-cleaning supplies. Somehow, the pool chemicals leaked and made contact with something purchased at the supermarket, and the station wagon just erupted into flames. Exploded right on the interstate without warning.
The wife and mother of 4 was burned nearly beyond recognition. Countless facial reconstructions and skin-grafts. Rehab for years. Pain for a lifetime. Blessedly, her husband and children stayed at the foot of her cross, encouraging … praying … loving.
In time, this woman found the strength and the grace to get out of her own rehab bed and start to work with other burn victims … children who had been involved in house-fires; men who had work injuries. She walked into each hospital room, carrying her cross bravely but humbly, and gave others permission to lay theirs on top of hers. She let them scream. Cry. She gave them space to talk … or be silent. She understood, because her cross helped her love … to be selfless … to rise above the sorrow.
And here’s the quote I will never forget, because in a way, she captures everything this Gospel is trying to say: “I would never have asked for this,” she said, “and there are days when the weight of it all is nearly crushing. But I have come to see that my Cross is helping me give others life and hope. In a way, it has also been a blessing.”
One very brave Arkansas woman picked up her cross and followed in the footsteps of Love itself … a Love that pours itself out for others. It’s a Love that Satan always tries to stop. But He won’t, ever. That’s why Christ went to the Cross. In Him, we win.
After sitting with Tobias and holding his pain for a while during his class retreat, I watched him later that evening as we celebrated Mass. He wasn’t Catholic, of course, but I could see the respect he had for the Mystery that was unfolding before him, and I watched as he genuinely h honored his classmates who sat around him. For a while, Tobias simply gazed upon the Cross that was placed on the wall at Sandy Cove.
The Cross was transforming Tobias, making him the man God called him to be. He was choosing love over hate. Satan wasn’t winning in Tobias, and he never will in any of us – especially when we are willing to pick up our cross and follow after the One whose Love leads the way. THAT’S who Jesus is.