When it comes to dying to self. . . too many people panic. . .
Jesus has just been proclaimed to be the Messiah by Peter, and Jesus follows this amazing proclamation by teaching them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. Talk about a spoiler alert!
Peter takes Jesus aside, and in effect says, Are you kidding me?
You know, I really feel sorry for old Peter. So much of the time, he really does come off looking less sharp than a marble, but it’s only because he dares to be so human. My heart goes out to him because at times like this, he is so much like me; it’s almost pathetic! When it comes to death, I’m a card-carrying member and past president of C.A.D. (Citizens for the Avoidance of Death).
I’m not speaking of my physical death and its inevitability. I’m talking about the kind of self-death that Jesus is really talking about in our Gospel this week, assuming he doesn’t really want us all to become martyrs. It’s those daily deaths that give us passage into a new realm of living that scare the heck out of most of us. I don’t like it at all when Jesus says things like, for what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?
I don’t know about you, but I spend a whole lot of time trying to make gains in this world. Why doesn’t Jesus just stick to saving souls and stop this meddling into my personal affairs? But you see, that is exactly what this Gospel is all about. It’s about REAL salvation . . . REAL wholeness . . . REAL healing. They won’t happen unless we let the old scab fall to the ground and die a dignified, yet quick death.
Kathy and I had the incredible opportunity to stand in the ruins of Caesarea Philippi on two different occasions. It is a positively beautiful place. It is at the very foot of Mt. Hermon, a 9,000-foot, towering, snow-capped peak. In the side of the base of the mountain at Caesarea Philippi, there is a deep and dark cave which once held a statue of the Greek god, Pan, and far inside, the water deepens, for there is the source of the springs of Mt. Hermon that make up one of the main arteries that feed the Jordan river.
Greek Mythology holds that the god Hermes (for whom Mt. Hermon is named) had the job of ushering people through the cave, which was considered the passage of death into the world beyond. Pan was Hermes’ son. His job was to frighten you as you entered the cave, so you would run away from death and never make the passage. Pan met with great success. He managed to frighten a whole lot of people because people don’t generally like passageways. You see, passageways usually mean change. As a side note, this is where we get our word Panic. It has to do with being terrified by the Greek God Pan, especially of death.
Sometimes I think we give the Gospel writers more credit than they ever deserve, and at other times, I don’t think we give them nearly credit enough for their creativity and genius. I would never say anything as presumptuous as I’m absolutely positive that St. Mark knew about the myth of Hermes and Pan, so that’s why he bothered to tell us that the location of our Gospel today takes place at the Shrine of Pan, in Caesarea Philippi, a Gospel that just happens to be about the passage through death. No, I could not ever say that with any certainty. But I will say this, if Mark didn’t, then the Holy Spirit did a lot of extra brooding over this one, because it’s just too good to be coincidental.
Do you see the connection here? Do you see the obvious parallel? Jesus has his hand out saying, Come, die that death; let go; deny that part of you that is keeping you from knowing the true love of God. Take up the cross of forgiveness and unconditional love; let me help you through the passage.
Therefore, a good Lenten question after reading this Gospel would be: how often do we let panic overtake us when the Risen Christ reaches out and says, Come and die to self and follow me more fully.? As it turns out, this is really the precious invitation to become fully alive!
It’s one of the mysteries of our faith . . . one of the wonderful mysteries.
Jesus never promised to remove death from our life. To think so is a gross misinterpretation of the Gospel. Jesus promised to take us by the hand as we make the passage. He didn’t do away with the cross; he promised to help us bear ours.
What death do we need to die, to become fully alive?
Is there some bitterness or hatred that we just can’t release because it’s so much a part of us that the thought of letting it go causes us to panic?
Is there a need to always rescue our image, even if it means maligning another, so we can look a little better?
Is there a person out there who really deserves more than we’re willing to give them?
Is it easier for us to lecture people on the necessity of wearing good shoes, rather than getting down on one knee to wash their feet?
Do we always need to plead our case before the Pilates of this world rather than to rest in the silent assurance that God is with us?
Is a God of worldly justice more comfortable for us than a God who forgives even people that the world declares unforgivable?
Now these are just a few possibilities, and be assured, I list them because they are struggles for me. I have panicked one too many times and avoided far too many deaths. I just praise God who is so forgiving. I thank God for working out my salvation despite me.
Remember the questions we heard on television some time back, ad nauseam?Who wants to be a millionaire? Or worse yet, Who wants to marry a millionaire? What if we asked the question on a sign in front of our churches: Who wants to experience death? Who wants to take up their cross? Or how about this one: Come on in and deny yourself.
A few years ago, a representative from Teach America visited the campus of the prestigious Duke University.
Teach America tries to recruit this nation’s most talented college graduates to go into some of the nation’s worst public schools. It is their means of transforming our schools into something better.
This representative stood up in front of a large group of Duke students, a larger group than one would suppose would come out to this sort of thing, and she said to them, I can tell by looking at you that I have probably come to the wrong place. Somebody told me this was a BMW campus, and I can believe it looking at you. I can tell that all of you are successes. Why would you all be on this campus if you were not successful, if you were not going on to successful careers on Madison Avenue or Wall Street?
And yet, here I stand, hoping to talk one of you into giving away your life in the toughest job you will ever have. I am looking for people to go into the hollows of West Virginia, into the ghettos of South Los Angeles and teach in some of the most difficult schools in the world. Last year, two of our teachers were killed while on the job.
But I can tell, just by looking at you, that none of you are interested in that. So go on to whatever successful thing you are planning on doing.
But if by chance, some of you just happen to be interested, I’ve got these brochures here for you which tell about Teach America. Meeting’s over.
With that, the whole group stood up, pushed into the aisles, shoved each other aside, ran down to the front, and fought over those brochures.
The chaplain of Duke University said that evening I learned an important insight: People want something more out of life, even more than happiness. People want to be part of an adventure. People want to be part of a something greater than their lives.
When we walk in the desert of death, it’s always a passage to something better, and Jesus holds our hand through the passage… so there is no need to panic. Death isn’t the absence of reward, it’s the doorway to reward.
Death isn’t the absence of life, it’s just a stone’s throw to a better life. Death isn’t darkness, it’s the hallway to the light! Death isn’t bad news, it’s part of the thrilling quest!
Death is what happens just before the light of the new dawn.
I’d like to close with this story from Jacob the Baker, Gentle Wisdom for a Complicated World.
Once there was a student who was with a teacher for many years. And, when the teacher felt he was going to die, he wanted to make even his death a lesson.
That night, the teacher took a torch, called his student, and set off with him through the forest. Soon they reached the middle of the woods where the teacher extinguished the torch, without explanation.
‘What is the matter?’ Asked the student.
‘This torch has gone out,’ the teacher answered as he walked on.
‘But,’ shouted the student, his voice quivering with fear, ‘will you leave me here in the dark?’
‘No! I will not leave you in the dark,’ returned his teacher’s voice from the surrounding blackness. ‘I will leave you searching for the light.’
Never Panic, just move toward the light.
Amazing. Wow. Thank you Father Bill.