Every now and again we hear a Gospel that makes us feel just a little uncomfortable. Today’s Gospel is one of those.
Jesus says: “Anyone who prefers father or mother to me is not worthy of me. Anyone who prefers son or daughter to me is not worthy of me.”
At first hearing, those words sound almost harsh. They seem so unlike the Jesus who welcomed little children, wept at the tomb of His friend Lazarus, and from the Cross entrusted His own Mother to the beloved disciple. So what is He asking of us?
Surely He is not asking us to love our families less. Nor is He asking us to neglect those whom He Himself has entrusted to our care. Rather, He is asking a far deeper question.
Who holds first place in our hearts?
Everything depends upon the answer to that question. In the Rule of Saint Benedict there is a beautiful phrase that has echoed through the centuries: “Prefer nothing whatever to Christ.”
Those words are not an invitation to despise the good things of this world. They are an invitation to discover their proper place. When Christ is first, everything else begins to find its right order.
Our love for family becomes purer.
Our friendships become more generous.
Our work becomes service rather than ambition.
Even our suffering begins to acquire meaning.
The Christian life is not about loving people less. It is about loving Christ first, so that we may love everyone else more deeply. This is something we spend a lifetime learning. It is certainly something the monastic life seeks to teach us.
People sometimes imagine that entering a monastery means leaving everything behind. In one sense, that is true. But what we discover over the years is that the heart was never made to live with a hundred competing loves. It longs for a single centre. When Christ becomes that centre, everything else is gathered into Him. Nothing of genuine love is lost. Instead, it is purified.
Perhaps each of us, whether monk or lay person, is invited from time to time to ask ourselves a very simple question. What occupies my heart?
What shapes my decisions? What quietly governs my life? For some, it may be success. For others, security.
For others still, reputation, comfort or the desire to remain in control. None of these things is evil in itself.
But whenever anything begins to take the place that belongs to Christ alone, our hearts gradually lose their freedom.
That is why Jesus speaks with such urgency. He knows that only God can carry the weight of being first in our lives. Everything else eventually disappoints us. Only Christ remains faithful.
Jesus then speaks about taking up the cross. Again, these words can sound daunting. Perhaps because we instinctively think of the cross as something extraordinary. Yet, for most Christians, and certainly for most monks, the cross is usually very ordinary.
It is the patience required to live with one another. It is the forgiveness offered when we would rather hold on to resentment. It is the perseverance to continue praying when prayer feels dry. It is remaining faithful to our vocation when enthusiasm has long since given way to quiet commitment. The cross is rarely dramatic. More often it is hidden. It consists in those countless little deaths to self that no one else ever sees.
Yet these hidden acts are precious in the eyes of God.
They slowly shape the heart into the likeness of Christ.
Then, almost unexpectedly, the Gospel changes its tone. After speaking of costly discipleship, Jesus finishes with one of the simplest images in all of Scripture. “If anyone gives so much as a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is a disciple, then I tell you solemnly, he will most certainly not lose his reward.”
A cup of cold water. How wonderfully ordinary. Jesus does not finish with great acts of heroism. He does not speak of miracles or extraordinary achievements. He speaks of kindness. Of hospitality. Of noticing another person’s need. The Kingdom of God so often grows through these unnoticed acts of love.
A listening ear. A gentle word. A visit to someone who is lonely. A letter written. A meal prepared. A quiet act of forgiveness. A prayer offered for someone who will never know.
These are the cups of cold water that sustain the Church far more than we often realise. Perhaps there is something deeply consoling about that. Most of us will never be called to do remarkable things.
But every one of us will have opportunities today, tomorrow and throughout the coming week to offer someone a cup of cold water. And if those small acts flow from hearts that have learned to prefer Christ above all things, then they become far more than simple gestures of kindness. They become signs of the Kingdom.
As we gather around this altar, Christ once again gives Himself completely to us. He asks for nothing less than our own hearts in return. Not because He wishes to take anything from us, but because He alone can give every other love its proper place.
May we have the courage, day by day, to prefer nothing whatever to Christ. And in doing so, may we discover that the smallest acts of love, offered in His name, have an eternal value beyond anything we can imagine.
Amen.