I haven’t done one of these in quite a while, so please bear with me if need to knock a little rust off.
Today, September 14, is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. It’s not one of the better known feast days. It hearkens back to the fourth century, when the cross on which Christ was crucified was lifted above the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Sine then (if not before), the Cross has been an object of veneration and mystery. A number of miraculous cures have been ascribed to the sufferer having been touched by a fragment of the Cross.
But the significance of the Cross is far deeper than its healing powers. It was on the cross, when Jesus was flanked by condemned thieves Dismas and Hestas, that He promised eternal life in heaven to the repentant Dismas. The Cross thus speaks to us of Divine forgiveness, which opens the gates of heaven to those who sincerely repent of their sins.
These days, not a lot of priests talk much about sin. Funny thing, isn’t it? The Church exists specifically to guide men away from sin and toward God. But if we don’t strive to understand sin, how can we learn to steer away from it? Few of us travel with a priest at our elbow, ever ready to counsel us on the hazards we face. Wouldn’t do much good, anyway; sin is an individual matter, not something one can rely on a spiritual guide to avert.
Inasmuch as the Cross is also the overarching symbol of Mankind’s spiritual burdens and the suffering Jesus had to endure to relieve them, it evokes a question of fundamental import to the sincere Christian. We were told, by Christ Himself, that we must take up our own crosses if we wish to belong to Him. He said it well before He was crucified; the cross – the severest form of capital punishment the First Century knew – was already a symbol of immense gravity.
There’s a great deal of variation among Christians’ conceptions of sin. That variation gives weight to Christ’s command that we “Judge not, that ye be not judged. (Matthew 7:1) The Church recognizes this in its proclamation that, after the Ten Commandments and the Two Great Commandments from which they descend, the individual conscience is supreme in such matters. I’ve written about this many times, both here and in my novels, so I’ll resist the urge to expound on it yet again.
From the contemplation of sin, we come to the subject of temptation.
Temptation is a real thing. When it comes upon you, you can feel it at work. Quite simply, it’s the urging to disregard your conscience’s evaluation of some possible act. Your conscience, which is the mechanism you’ve been given with which to distinguish right from wrong, speaks softly, in whispers. The counter-whispers that exhort you to ignore your conscience are your temptations.
Some of our temptations arise from our appetites and our desire to indulge them. Those may be entirely innate to the human animal. But some temptations have nothing to do with such things. They speak to our fallen selves, our incompletely controlled urges to hurt and destroy. Those, I believe, have an external source. Whatever the case, he who feels temptation testing his conscience must recognize the symptoms.
I believe that when Christ told us to take up our crosses if we wish to follow Him, he was speaking of temptation. For our temporal burdens and sorrows are of this world. Everyone has some; no one gets a free ride. The temptations we face are our individual spiritual burdens – our crosses.
Few men are admitted to the knowledge of another man’s conscience or the temptations he faces. Few of us talk about them. I’m unsure whether that’s for the best or whether we who believe should be forthcoming about them. It would certainly be a trial for me.
Temptation usually aims at our personal weaknesses: unsatisfied currents of yearning and the sense of deprivation. Some key phrases to bear in mind are “I deserve,” “No one has to know,” and “Everybody is doing it.” He who finds himself contemplating one of those is in danger; he must look to his defenses. Whichever of his unfulfilled yearnings or resentments is front and center, he must back away from the urge to slake it. It’s seldom easy; ask Saint Paul.
Shouldering one’s cross at such times is the spiritual challenge.
Before I close, I want to mention one of the most emotionally wringing stories I’ve ever read. It was written by my friend F. James Dagg. It’s titled “The Bearer.” Imagine yourself in the protagonist’s role. Do you think you’d be equal to what was asked of him?
For in James’s tale there lurked a special kind of temptation: the desire to flee from one’s duty. James’s protagonist didn’t flee, didn’t shirk. He carried his cross, though it took much from him, possibly including many years of his life.
Each of us has a duty. Only you know yours.
May God bless and keep you all.
