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The learned teacher in question bucked the trend of scribal hostility toward Jesus for he genuinely wanted to establish the ground for righteous behaviour. To appreciate where this concern was coming from, note that the Jewish moral landscape is planted thick with laws, 613 (mitzvot) to be precise, consisting of 365 prohibitions (one for every day of the year) and 248 prescriptions (for the bones and significant organs in the body). For a devout Jew, relationship is best demarcated by legal language. Thus, they would constantly debate amongst themselves which of the laws would rank the highest. The genius of Jesus was to combine two strands of the traditions, the essential “Shema” from Deuteronomy (Dt 6:5) and the other taken from Leviticus (Lv 19:18). In other words, the fundamental prayer which every pious Jew will recite twice a day becomes the impetus for the love of one’s neighbour. Love God to love others.
The way of loving as prescribed by Jesus is best understood through the Cross. Note that while the Lord seemed to have placed on par the two commandments, still there is a hierarchy that we must never lose sight of. It is to love God first and to love our neighbour second. This ranking is central to the teaching of Christ because the love of God is the fertile soil for the love of others to sprout.
To love God without loving our neighbour is a form of “disincarnated” love. In essence, love is sacramental because it cannot exist in the abstract. Instead it should be concretised or “embodied” as illustrated by one of the Gospel passages dedicated to the Last Things. In Matthew’s Last Judgement, Jesus will judge our love for Him based on our love for our brothers and sisters. We cannot claim to love God without loving the broken, the rejected and the condemned.
To love neighbour without loving God is merely philanthropy. It is noble and good but it is not enough. We are accustomed to social justice activism, and as such, we have come to equate the good we should be with the good we should do. However, doing good does not guarantee us a place in heaven. Heaven is not an automatic reward. We find it difficult to wrap our heads around such an assertion because it runs counter to an unquestioned assumption that willy-nilly, we will get to heaven. If Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men are to be believed, “And I know eventually we’ll be together, one sweet day”. In fact, when the world tries hard to marginalise God, it has no choice but to believe that doing good is good enough.
Heaven is not a “place” we have been taught to go to. Instead, it is relational. “I believe in the Communion of Saints” aptly captures the relationship that we have been invited to. Sanctity or saintliness is not as stand-offish as being set apart seems to suggest so. On the contrary, holiness is profoundly relational. Only in this way does heaven become figuratively a “place” because the Saints are in communion with Him who is the Lord of heaven and of earth. Under this perspective, one may safely define hell as the absence of relationship with God. Hell is not God’s rejection of us but rather our rejection of relationship with God. Hell is the absence of God.
If love draws us into communion, then the Cross is where love as relational makes the most sense. It gives meaning to the 2nd Reading in which Christ the High Priest establishes the only Covenant that is binding on God for eternity through the sacrifice of Himself, out of love for His Father. He also died out of love for others, for us as there is no love greater than to lay down one’s life for others. Unlike the High Priests who have to offer the holocaust every year, the offering of Christ is for all eternity. His sacrifice is the basis for our discipleship of love.
To appreciate this communion, we must understand what constitutes the love we are called to. In the Vulgate edition of the Bible, the Latin word “caritas” is the translation for the Greek “agape”. However, the English equivalent of “charity” has a rather restrictive meaning, narrowly defining it as benevolence to the poor. But love is more than just kindness. “Caritas” goes beyond the fuzzy feelings associated with love. In fact, its moral character requires that “caritas” must always be love in truth. This we observe in the 1st Reading. The Shema is also expressed through keeping His Laws and Commandments. This is not being “judgemental” but it would mean at times disagreeing with those who go against God’s laws as expressed through the Commandments, through natural law and through the moral teachings of the Church. Love cares for both the material welfare as well as the spiritual well-being of the other. The genius is to disagree without hating. This is indeed an uphill task.
This moral component of love necessarily leads to Calvary first before it arrives at the Resurrection. Our world is polarised by the sin of hatred. There are chasms created by our politics, economics, psychology, and even spirituality which can only be bridged by a discipleship of love as expressed by St Teresa of Kolkata. She found the paradox “that if one loves until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love”. We are not alone in this enterprise. Despite the struggles, the great multitude of saints continues to bid us to join them in the life-giving communion of love. The great figure of St Therese possibly captures the two dimensions of the discipleship of love, both the vertical and the horizontal. She loved God right down to what some would consider to be absurd minutiae as she continually sought ways and means to please Her Saviour. “It is true, I suffer a great deal—but do I suffer well? That is the question”. Her love for God knows no boundary because for her, “When one loves, one does not calculate”. In fact, her love for God was that profound that it flowed horizontally into her mission that “I will spend my heaven doing good on earth”. As we glide and slide into the final weeks of the liturgical year, the scribe’s question, and St Therese heavenly mission on earth both direct our attention to the perennial truth that the love God and neighbour are two sides of a coin. As promised by the Lord, we will be near the Kingdom of Heaven when our love for the Lord overflows into our love for the neighbour.
This Sunday we delve deeper into the discipleship we are called to through Bartimaeus who enters the scene as the second blind man healed by Jesus on the journey to Jerusalem. What is ironical, and even the Gospel itself noted in brackets, is that while our present narratives are framed by identity politics, here we are presented with a disciple-to-be whose name we know not of except that he is the son of Timaeus.
The glaring absence of information surrounding the identity of Bartimaeus gives us two points for reflexion. Firstly, he stands as a beacon of faith. Jesus’ fame as a healer would have preceded Him but that is not the core issue here. Faith is. Bartimaeus repeatedly called out to the Son of David for help. Whether he realised it or not, here is a nonentity pointing out the Messiah to all and sundry. All the more, he was blind. This nameless son of Timaeus, more than having a desire to see, stands as a symbol of faith in the Lord.
“I want to see” expresses a persistent faith. Here, we recall the cure which took place earlier concerning the other man born blind. In the previous healing account, the cure was effected in two stages. Initially, when his sight was restored, the man could only see vaguely. Only upon further action by Jesus that he began to perceive more clearly. In a way, the partially sighted man is reminiscent of the Apostles. Even though they had been following Jesus, still they did not fully appreciate the full extent of His mission. If only they could be like Bartimaeus. His appeal “I want to see” articulates a desire to believe in the Lord and more. It conveys a full-hearted longing to be a part of the restoration and salvation that Christ will bring.
The second point is that Bartimaeus’ experience with the surrounding crowd clearly illustrates how subtly pervasive the “reign of the evil one” can be especially when we desire to follow Jesus. As the Lord passed by, Bartimaeus plaintive cry to the Son of David was shouted down by the retinue or entourage that happily trailed along. It may even include the Apostles themselves[1]. One may argue this silencing to be a natural response as many were desperately jostling for a cure.
Such a “naturalistic” or even “realistic” interpretation could possibly imply how unaccustomed we now are to the insidious but oppressive reality of evil. We have almost discounted the enemy of Christ as inconsequential. Instead our impression of evil or Satan is derived from the outlandish imagination of popular culture. If the Prayer to St Michael the Archangel at the end of Mass, which describes “Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls”, is to make sense, then the voices that shouted down at Bartimaeus may be considered “satanic”, for want of a better word, but not of the grotesque display that we have come to expect from our entertainment genre.
“I want to see” can be easily silenced by forces opposed to the Kingdom of God. The voices of discouragement are many because in a world at war with God, anyone who chooses to stand for, stand with and follow God will surely be considered an enemy. He or she has to be tamed. Picture a young person desiring to follow the Lord via a priestly or religious vocation. The voices against it are always going to be louder than the soft prompting of the Holy Spirit.
The experience of Bartimaeus is vital for anyone who claims discipleship in Christ, that is, to be keenly aware that the enemy of the Lord will always seek to divert or distract us from our sacred intention to follow Him. Coupled with this is also spiritual blindness. Blindness is not merely the lack of sight but rather a wilful lack of desire to see. Frequently, the Lord Himself would castigate the Pharisees that they see and see and yet not perceive. Spiritual blindness is the inability to recognise that something is lacking in us.
Complacency makes for spiritual blindness. If we have no need of anything because we are self-satisfied or self-fulfilled, which in itself is not a bad thing, then it begs the question why we need to be saved then. The restoration of physical sight in Bartimaeus suggests that there was something missing—mainly his vision—which would complete his life here on earth. But more than satisfaction or fulfilment, our lack or privation can be grace for it allows us to acknowledge our need for God and that only God can ever fully satisfy us. When Bartimaeus gained the faculty of sight, he also made a spiritual discovery that the Lord is the only One who can fully satisfy all his longings. This spiritual discovery makes for good discipleship.
Today is also Mission Sunday. We commonly conceive of mission in terms of involvement, meaning that we actively engage in missionary activities. Right now, the world is in such a deep peril. We seem to have synonymously equated saving the world with discipleship. Save the world and follow Christ. Such a slogan sounds sublime and altruistic that to insist on following Christ would in fact come across as selfish. But saving the world is not the same or even on par as following Christ. Our primary goal as a disciple is more than a utilitarian conception of ministration through our apostolates etc. It is rather spiritual and existential as the Saints have shown us. They follow Christ closely. They love Him so ardently. In that way, they participate in His mission to save the world. Even if this gives an impression of narcissism, the primary mission of a disciple is to go after Jesus in order that he or she be saved. Bartimaeus shook off his cloak, jumped up in order to follow the Lord. If everyone is a true disciple, would the Lord’s work of salvation have been done?
Therefore, “I want to see” should be every disciple’s cry. The sight granted by faith compels our response. It is fascinating that we are that visual and at the same time that impaired in our vision, for if we could spiritually perceive, can you imagine the quality of our ministration in the world? Bartimaeus is an antithetical reminder of the Rich Young Man who had everything but gave up nothing even though he expressed a desire to imitate the Lord. Bartimaeus, even though he had gained everything, that is, in receiving his prized vision, still he chose to forgo his newfound freedom so that he could follow Jesus Christ unreservedly. That is our mission. That is discipleship.
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[1] Note that our participation in evil is not always wilful or direct. As this quotation commonly misattributed to Edmund Burke reminds us. “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing”. Social media’s viralling feature is a good example. Frequently, unsubstantiated messages are innocuously re-sent or re-twitted and this viralling effect proves the adage that a lie told one time too many becomes the “truth”.
Armed with a greater understanding of human sciences, notably in sociology and psychology, we do have a better picture of human behaviour. Amongst the “nones” which we have pointed to, there is a category of people who have withdrawn their membership of organised religions based on the experience of “politics” in Church. Commonly heard is a disgust translated as “I have decided not to serve because there is too much politics involved”. Somehow there is an expectation that politics should not intrude into religious bodies. Also, there is a strong distaste of priests who preach too much “politics”.
One of the discomfitures in ecclesiastical history is the nepotistic behaviour of our popes. How can the papacy be otherwise? In today’s Gospel, the Apostles themselves witnessed a blatant political manoeuvring that jostled for places of power and honour. Better still that the Evangelists themselves were political pundits. How so, one might ask. Thankfully, the Gospel passage comes from Mark who reported this episode as it was, without gloss. Whereas, Matthew was embarrassed by the shameless audacity of James and John that he had to scrub and sanitised the political image of the brothers by putting the blame of their mother.
The Church is no stranger to politics. We are uncomfortable when the Church wades into politics because our experiences of expediency has left a rather bad taste in the mouth. The recent coup of the “backdoor” government validates the adage that there are no stranger bedfellows than in politics. For many, a divine institution like the Church should not be tainted by the unsavouriness of back-stabbing wheeling and double-dealing.
The experience of crafting a political dynasty in James and John, either themselves or through their mother should not prevent us from the task of rehabilitating politics. First, we should re-evaluate the assumption that politics is dirty. The truth is politics is not as dirty as we are. We are immoral. We are greedy. We are selfish. Sadly, self-interest thrives in the soil of expedient politics. Observe how “party frogs” seem to switch alliance with ease, contingent on whom has the strongest currency, that is, who has the wherewithal to pay more for loyalty.
Contrast this kind of political chicanery with its original or its etymological sense. The word “Politics” is related to the concept of “Civitas”. The former is grounded in the Greek experience. The latter arises from a Roman landscape. The science and art of governance of people, that is, politics, is derived from the Greek “polis”, meaning the city. This notion actually leads us to the Roman “civitas” or the Roman equivalent for citizens of the city. Inscribed into the “civitas” is the seed of civilisation, which is, to draw or bring people out of barbarism. We speak of civilising effects of introducing order into human relationships. Politics is fundamental to the building up of society because it tames the barbarian in us.
Here, we shall take a detour to understand what else should go into politics. It is the idea of “conviviality”. The concept gives us a clue as to where politics should be heading to. “Conviviality” is associated with Consecrated Life, that is, with the religious vocation. As the experience of the Desert Fathers morphed into a “Cenobitic” phase, what was introduced into community living was the idea of “conviviality”. It is the art and practice of living together. This “cenobitic” development in religious life did not arise merely from the need to overcome the isolation or loneliness of the “eremitical” inspiration. Instead, coming together, the arrangement was to mirror the “original holiness”[1] that God had intended for humanity. This evolution did have an effect on work, economy and most of all, governance.
Pope Francis in a General Audience described conviviality in the context of a family as “the attitude of sharing life’s goods and being happy to be able to do so”. Living alone is easier when it comes to idiosyncrasies. We only have to put up with ourselves. However, what happened in the “cenobitic” setting, the sharing at table becomes iconic. We not only share food but also affection and also events in stories. How often have our relationships been strengthened over a meal? Likewise, we are also aware how impoverished a meal can be when there are tensions amongst those who share the same table. Conviviality helps us measure the health of our relationships.
Therefore, “conviviality” teaches us what it means to harmonise, to collaborate and to integrate.
At the most basic level, the disposition of “conviviality” applies to everyone because baptism consecrates us by incorporating us into the Body of Christ. As such, it is not restricted to family or specifically to religious vocations. There was an era in the Iberian Peninsula when Islam was the ascendant religion that Catholics, Muslims and Jews were able to co-exist with each other despite their differences. The Spaniards called it “Convivencia”. It allowed them to live their differences without resorting to the kind of division which we currently faced in this age of cancel culture. In Latin, “Convivium” which denotes a feast is derived from “con” which means “with” and “vivium” pertaining to “life”. The meal teaches us how to live with each other. Imagine how central the Eucharistic setting is to a Christian life of politics.
Therefore, Jesus was not averse to politics. Politics, if we go by the definition of “conviviality”, is more than the science and art of living with each other. Even if we find it revolting because of our association of politics with dirt, the Eucharist is at heart, a political meal. In the Eucharist, we find no sense of self-preservation or self-interest. Thus, Jesus’ response was politically correct because He linked the power and prestige sought by the Zebedee Brothers to the service of martyrdom. Politics, apart from its civilising function, draws us into the arena of public service. But, more than that, if “conviviality” is a reflexion of original holiness that God had intended for us, then politics is but an image or the sacrament of the state of heaven.
The reality is that our global economic structures are governed by the elites who control the media and even have the resources to destabilise economies and countries. Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk cannot possibly used up their wealth in 10 lifetimes. This just shows how big the gap is between the few who are incredibly wealthy and the many who are marginalised. Here there is politics to be spoken about and we are not focussing on distributive justice but rather in the “conviviality” of living together. “Conviviality” is the basis for the Christian engagement in politics.
Thus, this is the rehabilitation that Christians and Catholics can give to the world of “selfish politics”. The failure of politics is the failure of trust and the collapse of expectation. Hence, when a Christian desires to serve as a politician, he or she must embrace what Jesus told the Zebedee Brothers. “Drink the cup that I drink”. Effectively it represent one thing—upholding the Catholic teaching without equivocation. It requires the one who holds power must also be the one who dares to lay down his or her life for others. Otherwise, the label “Catholic” is reduced to merely a tag emptied of its true content. Just for daring to be Catholic in practice, often the price will be paid with one’s political career or the cost will involve dying in defence of the faith. Every one of the Apostles lived and died for the politics of Jesus in which He linked power and authority to public service and not to the solidification of one’s personal selfishness. To follow Jesus, like James and John, is to drink fully the cup of service and self-sacrifice. It is to infuse the City of Man with the values of the City of God.
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[1] Preface of Holy Virgins and Religious: “For in the Saints who consecrated themselves to Christ for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven, it is right to celebrate the wonders of your providence by which you call human nature back to its original holiness and bring it to experience on this earth the gifts you promise in the new world to come”. Politics in religious life is supposed to reflect the state of heaven. Of course, we know that remains an ideal.
In this regard, an indicator might direct our thoughts on today’s Gospel. Firstly, wealth and blessing go together. Many still subscribe to this Jewish notion that wealth is a blessing from God. Fortunately, in this scenario, it is a young man blessedly wealthy eagerly searching for the more. In his own estimation, he has led a virtuous life by keeping the commandments. In the ensuing discussion, an in answer to the young man’s pursuit, Jesus proposes a move beyond the comfort of his status quo. If one adopts the Ignatian pædagogy, this movement follows the “magis” of the “ad maiorem Dei gloriam”—for the “greater” glory of God. The choices we make must always be for the greater glory of God. And, if we interpret the invitation to the young man through the lens of the Augustinian interiority, then Jesus is merely pointing out the “restlessness” that we all experience as matter of fact. The “restlessness” of dissatisfaction symbolises our search for the eternal.
This restlessness can help to contextualised and situate the securities that we all easily accumulate and hoard without realising it. Firstly, we should note that, in itself, wealth is a “bonum” and as St Teresa de Jesus wisely reminded us that even though, “Money may be the devil’s excreta, it is definitely a good fertiliser”. Wealth can definitely be used to further God’s kingdom. Historically, the Church has never been shy about the judicious use of wealth. However, she must remain vigilant as exemplified in the case of the rich young man. He naïvely thought that wealth could be of assistance in the service of God. Instead, it became an obstacle to radical discipleship.
This experience of the young man can easily lend itself to the demonisation of riches and possessions. The uneasy relationship between possessions and discipleship is made clearer if we consider the “higher calling”. The general Catholic sensibility still continues to display a deference for the priestly/religious vocation as a superior and pre-eminent path to heaven. Of course, presently, we stress on the universal call to holiness. However, the eremitical life is interesting because the desert is not desertion but rather engagement. The early Christians ran into the desert not to escape life but rather to actively combat the proclivities of the human heart. It is true that wealth can obscure our vision but it is not only wealth that prevents us from whole heartedly following the Lord. The early Desert Fathers went into the wilderness in order to face the beasts within that hampered their desire to follow the Lord more perfectly, more faithfully. Material possession is symbolic of the many securities we have and they come in different forms.
To wit, very simply, beauty is also type of security. Imagine a young woman giving that up in order to follow the Lord as a cloistered religious. Conventional wisdom would deem such a sacrifice as a waste of beauty. Where the metrics of relevance is media exposure, beauty should be seen and admired. Against this media-obsessed environment, radical discipleship will be a struggle against the multi-faceted industries of vanity—clothing and fashion, cosmetics and perfumes, hair and health services and etc.
Wealth is not merely material. It could be anything which we form a disordered attachment to. Take the case of personal autonomy. We are fiercely attached to our individual freedom and choice that obedience to another becomes next to impossible. Some of us are addicted to power when it is taken away, how quickly we descend into depression. Ask some prime ministers or even bishops or parish priests. Another area of our struggle is pleasure. We are insatiable to the point of forgetting that pleasure has a purpose. Today, there is barely any difference between a gourmand and a gourmet. Traditionally, one is greedy and the other is an aficionado. The difference is dissolved when a glutton is elevated to a connoisseur. St Luke reminds us that anything can be a millstone. “Take care to guard against all greed, for though one may be rich, one’s life does not consist of possessions.” (Lk 12:15).
Christ has never advocated detachment for its own sake. He invites each person to the conversion, that is, the letting go, which is necessary for one’s salvation. The struggle of the wealthy young man is a reminder that salvation is found in God alone and not want we own. If anything, our securities tend to insinuate themselves so as to become the basis for our salvation.
But the beauty of this account is how much the Lord loves us. In the conversation today, the Lord looked at the young man and loved him. It is within this context that the young man was asked to go beyond the good he has to the better he can become. We are used to systematic guilt-tripping that we think that God’s love is a result of our obedience. Such is the psychology of reward and punishment. But God’s love is not a reward for our “compliance”. Instead His love is an invitation which explains why Jesus did not reject the man’s rejection. This is an important difference. If we do not love God, He is not going to sulk and scheme His revenge.
When we demonise wealth and possessions, we may miss the point that God continually waits for our response in love. While discipleship is demanding, the basis for has never been a demand but a loving invitation. For this we need to look to the saints for their examples. Their so-called higher calling was never about them being better than others but an indication of their desire to follow Him more closely and more perfectly. It is not an honour but rather a privilege. In numerous instances this privilege extended by the Lord has led many to lay down their lives.
What is impossible humanly, the saints have proven that renunciation is possible because it comes from a freedom touched by the love of God. Otherwise, the “restlessness” described by St Augustine makes no sense. Anything that is short of God will always fail to satisfy us fully. No matter the accomplishment, no matter how much we have, we will always be longing for the more. The “magis” suggested by St Ignatius is possible because it is a response of a heart graced by love, touched by God and freed from the shackles of disorderly attachments. So, as the 1st Reading suggests, pray for the wisdom to differentiate between what is good and what is better and the courage and the determination to embrace the better.
We wrapped up last week with a note that the category of “none” is good for our souls. The non-religiously committed spurs us towards authenticity in our discipleship. This week, the journey continues in an area which is not only confusing but also challenging. Jesus touches on a provocative powder keg called marriage. For a “none”, one easily slides to a position that maintains the institution of marriage as basically unnecessary. Marriage belongs to organised religion and it is therefore a burden to be rid of.
If we take the First Reading, we may have come full circle especially when we consider the pervasiveness of broken marriages. Both the Sacraments of Matrimony and Holy Orders can be said to be complementary in a sense when one fails, the other fails too. These days, it is such a rarity to be able to celebrate a golden anniversary of a marriage. The same can be said also of a 50th anniversary of a priestly ordination. It could be that couples are getting hitched much older or that seminarians are taking the cloth at a more mature age. Closer to reality and more likely, the scarcity of anniversary celebrations may come from divorce and defection. The ease of divorce and the prevalence of failed relationships show how similar we are to the experience that Moses had with the Jewish community in his time.
Polygamy and divorce was common and since the Israelites were incapable of living up to the demands of conjugal life, Moses had to derogate from the initial mandate of God for marriage. In a way, Jesus reinstates the Father’s original intention for mankind. Our reflexion on discipleship takes us right into the heart of a political and cultural maelstrom.
The institution of marriage serves two purposes. God intended that marriage should provide companionship for man and woman and through their intimacy to ensure the survival of the human race. “It is not good for man to be alone and I will make him a helper suited to him”. The creation of Eve made possible the responsibility to “Go forth and multiply”.
However, the institution of marriage no longer rests on the foundation of who we are. Nature does not determine what shape marriage should take. Instead, by law, in some places we have begun to redefine marriage in terms of desire and consent. A plausible explanation for this fluidity comes from our ability to “manipulate” nature. Can one imagine the push for the redefinition of marriage, say, 40 years ago? The moment Dolly the Sheep skipped into pasture, a slew of other possibilities opened up. Surrogacy is a good example. The love between a man and a woman that is open to new life, now no longer requires the context of marriage to conceive.
In the process, we are “enabled” or “empowered” by “reproductive technologies”—contraception, in vitro fertilisation and surrogacy. Through the test-tube, man has found new methods of ensuring the continuity of the human race. With this latest development, the duo directive from God has been reduced to the sole or singular expression of intimacy. In other words, pleasure has been stripped of its purpose. Technology gives us the freedom even to determine how and what manner of our intimacy is to be like. Better still, “Rent-a-womb” makes it viable for mankind to conceive of new matrices of relationship. Two people in love should never be restricted to the hitherto accepted heteronormative worldview. In effect, we have removed “procreation” for the survival of our species and taken it out of the context of marriage.
This poses an enormous challenge for the disciple. In terms of discipleship, Marriage ranks together with Holy Orders as the two Sacraments of Service through which a Christian bears witness to the world. What happens to the institutions of Marriage (and Holy Orders) has far reaching consequences for the Church and for salvation. Sacraments save but not without our cooperation. Through living fully our vocations of Marriage and Holy Orders, we cooperate with God who saves us
What is happening to the institution of marriage that couples today appear to give up more easily? What are couples bringing into their partnership or more pertinently, what have they left out that only weakens it? A noticeable trend in marriage is how couples enter into it bringing with them an assumption that the other is a fulfilment one’s expectations. It is true that Adam was not complete until God created Eve. Nevertheless, this expectation can be better explained from the perspective of “self-actualisation”. What is it?
Broadly speaking, it refers to the need for the realisation of one’s potential or the full development of one’s abilities. So, when a man or a woman has unrealised expectations, then the need for self-actualisation will create rifts in relationships. The partner is expected to be the condition for the fulfilment of one’s potential. Cinematic art is replete with examples of how a person should look after “Nr 1”, suggesting that meaning in life is defined by self-fulfilment. It is not difficult to detect the plaintive cry of “What about me?”.
In itself self-actualisation is not a bad thing and this is not a criticism of self-fulfilment. However, in the context of marriage, when the concern is only focused on one’s self-realisation, then it begs the question where the element of self-transcendence is. Marriage thrives in self-sacrificing, a virtue easily forgotten. Meaning is derived not entirely from self-fulfilment but also in renunciation. The concept of “till death do us part” embraces the Christian epitome of “no greater love a man (a woman) has than to lay down his (her) life for his (her) friends”. To lay down one’s life for a friend is noble but in marriage, a spouse is more than just a friend. Love is most powerfully expressed by self-giving to the point of sacrificing one’s life. Jesus is the prime example. He loved the Church so much that He died for her.
We certainly have a standard to live up to. But we also have a reality to attend to. It is extremely challenging. On the one hand, it calls for compassion for those who may have tried and failed. On the other hand, the Church needs to uphold the teachings of her Lord and Saviour.
In this regard, the spirituality of the “nones”, in which they believe in a transcendence minus the baggage of organised religion is a good starting point for the disciples especially when we consider that the premium today is personal freedom, self-actualisation and self-fulfilment. It might be good to note that transcendence does not refer only to a “higher” supernatural authority. It could mean to go further or to venture beyond oneself. Here we dive into the domain of discipleship. Oblation belongs to the language of self-transcendence (and of the Eucharist too) which brings us right into the heart of what Christian marriage is about. Perhaps, we could fast a little from the honey-trap of self-actualisation and instead feed more on the milk of self-transcendence. What this means is that when a man or a woman enters into the partnership of marriage, then both must be ready for self-sacrifice.
If the institution of marriage is under siege today, the defence is less to be found in definition than in discipleship.[1] This correlates with the sentiment today that the authenticity sought by the “nones” is bound more to credibility than to truth. They are looking for “believability” more than for “dogmas”. St Paul VI stated in 1975 that “(m)odern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses” (Evangelii nuntiandi, 41). In a world craving for authenticity and meaning, the Christian disciple has his or her mission cut out. If he or she embraces the Sacrament of Matrimony, then the Christian ideal of marriage becomes more credible when it is live with love and self-sacrifice.
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[1] While the definition of what a marriage is, is important, nevertheless so too the living of it. The next statement is not a judgement of couples whose marriage has failed. But when a substantial percentage of our Christian couples divorce, how is marriage as a Sacrament not weakened? What is more when couples are not open to life, again the attack against marriage is not mounted from without but within. Poor Christian discipleship plays a prominent role in why marriage has come to mean nothing for secular society.
