Reflection by Carlos Escobar, Religious Education Leader & Campus Leadership Team Member, St Francis Xavier College

First Reading: Isaiah 50:5-9;

Second: Reading James 2:14-18;

Gospel: Mark 8:27-35

 

 

The confession at Caesarea Philippi is the turning point of Mark's Gospel. For eight chapters, Mark is repeating the same question on the lips of those who witness Jesus: “who then is this?” With his typical insight, Jesus brings the issue to a head by addressing his disciples directly: “who do you say that I am?” And with his identity revealed, Jesus must instruct his disciples, and us here today, on what this means: Jesus must suffer, die, and in doing so, allow for his raising three days later.

Jesus was very clear about the significance of his identity. Who he was would dictate what would happen to him, and Mark’s passion insists on depicting the brutality, and the cruel and indifferent violence that Jesus would face in Jerusalem. Despite this, Jesus is resolute on seeing this through. What could possibly justify such a course of action? For Mark, it was quite simple: the Resurrection is impossible without the Cross. Hope, it seems, must come at a price. For Christians, this has always been the embedded paradox of salvation history and it has played out across the centuries of our long, troubled, and yet celebrated story. If you are to create hope, you must be willing to pay the ultimate price.

This axiom is much older than the Church, or the person of Jesus. Isaiah, complains that his love of God will forever expose his ear to the cry of the poor, constantly place his tongue at the service of the weary, his back weighed down by the weight of his failing neighbour. This way of life invites criticism from an uncaring world. ‘Why do this to yourself?’ ‘Your charity is illogical.’ ‘Your charity is selfish.’ In response to this, Isaiah's lament carries a sense of pride; stubborn and resolute, because he understands that each deed of discipleship, whilst costly, gives hope.

At times, we know the burden of discipleship. The cross we bare takes many shapes. Long nights contemplating one’s affairs such as the family, the student, the nation, the world. We can be forgiven for thinking as Peter does, who clings to the moment and the person before him. You can hear him earnestly pleading to Jesus: 'Look! What we have here is perfect. We don't need to ruin it.' He may well have been right. But Peter lacked, as we do, God's perspective. Isaiah understood the principle of self-sacrifice, but it would take the Cross to show the world its true potential and scope.

I'm a first-generation migrant who has enjoyed nothing but a blessed and fruitful life in this prosperous country. The courageous journey of my parents would have been impossible without the teachings of St Oscar Romero and the incredible ministry of the Salesians of Don Bosco in El Salvador. The Salesians would never have made any presence in Latin America if St John Bosco's most precious disciple, Giovanni Cagliero, wasn't given up willingly to the missions. St John Bosco could never have saved countless youth without incredible physical and spiritual sacrifice, motivated and sustained by the personal presence of Christ. A presence only made possible by the Resurrection, the cost of which is absolute: the Cross. I would not have what I have, nor be who I am without the Cross. The same can be said of so many.

Jesus understood God's ultimate narrative: life-giving hope has a price, at times a costly one. To have faith in God is to understand this paradox, and its limitless potential. For the Christian willingly loses their life to save so much more. The work and deeds offered, at times with reckless abandon, are done so in full faith of Christ's promise. A faith that the cost of discipleship, a contradiction that baffles our contemporaries, will not only save ourselves but countless others. Jesus preached to Peter as he does to us now, reminding us that this transaction of hope is only possible by faith. And perhaps, after a lifetime of service, we too can stand proudly with Isaiah, the early Christians, the saints, our own mentors, and proudly claim: "It is by my deeds that I will show you my faith."