Rest a while

In his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, Nelson Mandela recounts an occasion when he was called to the main office of the prison on Robben Island.

General Steyn was visiting the island and wanted to know from Mandela if the prisoners had any complaints.

Mandela had been chosen by the prisoners as their spokesman.

The officer in charge of the prison, a man named Colonel Piet Badenhorst, was also present. Badenhorst was equally feared and hated by the prisoners.

In a calm, but forceful and truthful manner, Mandela informed the visitor about the chief complaints of the prisoners. He did so without bitterness or recrimination.

The general duly took note of what Mandela had to say, which amounted to a damning indictment of Badenhorst’s regime.

The following day Badenhorst went to Mandela and said, “ I am leaving the island. I just want to wish you people good luck.“

The remark left Mandela dumbfounded, and he thought about the incident for a long time afterwards.

Badenhorst had perhaps been the most callous and barbaric commanding officer they had had on the island. But the incident showed that there was another side to his nature.

Mandela concludes, ‘it goes to show that even the most seemingly cold-blooded have a core of decency, and that if their hearts are touched, they are capable of changing.‘

‘ Am I my brother’s keeper ‘, Cain responded to God’s inquiry about Abel, and the same reasoning has been, and still is used to this day; we call it ‘turning a blind eye ‘. On such occasions, it is astounding how noisy silence is!

The Christian response is, as St Paul exclaims, “ to speak the truth in love “ (Eph. 4:15)

Or, with equal acclamation, St Paul says in our second reading, “love is the one thing that cannot hurt your neighbour.” (Rms. 13:10)

Jesus is even more dramatic, “ love one another as I have loved you “ (Jn. 13:34)

Nelson Mandela was a South African anti-apartheid activist and politician. He was the country’s first black head of state and the first elected in a fully representative democratic election.

Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in prison.

Before that he was on the run for several years.

Of the time he was on the run he wrote later,* ‘ I had to separate myself from my wife and children. I had to say goodbye to the good old days when, at the end of a strenuous day at the office, I could look forward to joining my family at the dinner table.

Instead, I had to take up the life of a man hunted continuously by the police, living separated from those who are closest to me, facing continually the hazards of detection and arrest. This was a life infinitely more difficult than serving a prison sentence.’

*(Long Walk to Freedom is an autobiography by South African President Nelson Mandela, and first published in 1994.)

What was it that drove Nelson Mandela to make such a sacrifice? It was his love for his country. This was the ‘cross’ he carried because of his love for his people.

For a number, religion is seen as a crutch, something to lean on in times of weakness and infirmity, however something to forget in times of well-being.

While it is true that religion is a support – like a crutch, perhaps also religion is like a pair of wings, encouraging and enabling us to fly – and of course flying necessitates a leaving behind the secure perch I am resident on.

Today’s Gospel, (Mt. 16: 21 -27) has the challenge from Jesus to “take up your cross.”

Have you considered that ‘taking up your cross ‘may not be about adding more weight, rather it is about growing wings and learning how to fly!

You may like to take some flying lessons from St. Joseph of Cupertino, the patron saint of aviators!

Ps. Feel quite free to take someone else with you!

This is not the first time in Matthew’s Gospel that Jesus is acknowledged as the “Son of God”. Earlier, after Jesus rescued Peter from the waters, quieted the sea, and the wind had ceased at his command, those on board the boat recognized who Jesus really is.

However, in today’s passage there is a pivotal dramatic moment in the relationship between Jesus and his closest friends.

Jesus first asks: ‘Who do people say that I am?’ Those around Jesus reach back into the history of the Jewish people and respond: John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, and other prophets.

Jesus then asks those whom he has lovingly invited into his community, patiently taught – those on whom the future of the mission depend: ‘Who do you say that I am?’

It is at this critical moment, in between the question and the answer that Jesus must wonder if all that he has shared with them has taken root.

The question Jesus puts to these first disciples, at some time in our own growing into spiritual maturity, he puts to each of us, “Who do you say I am?”

Do I, like those early disciples, reach back into my history and offer the answer provided by my parents, or caregivers; by my teachers; by a religious leader?

Or do I dare provide an answer from the depth of my own inner self.

This answer may well differ from those who first nurtured me into faith.

However, the answer will be mine, and my relationship with Jesus will be founded on my response.

To provide the answer, may I suggest we need to be still and silent, first to hear the question, and second, before responding, to hear the reply from that quiet voice, which resides deep within me!