The Cross Roads

My fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Lotka, was one tough lady. How dare she make me give-up my lunch recess for almost an entire year (minus Fridays) so that I could learn long division? I mean, who the heck will ever use long-division in life?

For much of that year, I probably would have said I hated her.  I know, “hate” is such a strong word. But when you are a 10-year-old boy being disciplined for not doing something well, what other word would you use?

I think of Mrs. Lotka’s lunch-time “math prison” whenever I hear the advice in the letter to the Hebrews: “Do not disdain the discipline.”

Deep down, we know it: if we want to grow, we must be pushed in the right direction. If we want to succeed, we must be willing to be directed by one who knows how to reach the goal. If we want to win, we must be willing to sweat, stumble and sometimes even suffer along the way.

And make no mistake, just like Mrs. Lotka, the Lord wants us to succeed in something much more important than long-division: He wants us to be saints, set-free from the chains of sin and selfishness that bind us. He wants us to become completely His, and in order to be His, we must be open to the ways He shapes our hearts and lives to mirror His Son’s.

There is no other way than the Cross.

And I will be the first to say out loud: the Cross is a real drag.

And drag it, we often do. It comes in ways and times we least expect it. We often fight back against it; beg God to take it from us; try our best to ignore it or cover it over with the distractions of life that keep us numb. And yet, the Cross remains in our life.

The broken heart. The loved one on hospice. The dream job that seemed to crash-and-burn in mid-air. We all have moments when Calvary seems to appear out of nowhere, and we are left sad, angry, bitter, and wanting to turn away from God.

But listen again to the letter to the Hebrews:  it’s exactly at this time – when the “discipline” of the Cross seems a cause not for joy but for pain – that righteousness comes to us. Righteousness is holiness. Righteousness means we end up mirroring Christ.

The Cross allows the Father to see His Son in us. The Cross allows others to see Christ in us, too.

It’s such a fascinating challenge that Jesus uses to challenge us in today’s Gospel: Strive to enter the narrow gate; many will try but few will succeed. That gives me some serious pause. What does that mean on this journey of faith?

Apparently, during the time of Jesus, there was an actual entranceway into the city of Jerusalem that was built specifically tight and extremely narrow so that the enemy could not break through the protective walls. No invading army or gang of marauders could get through, but neither could any friendly salesman or city resident carrying heavy packs of wares and merchandise.

If, therefore, you wanted to enter Jerusalem via this entrance, one would have to take everything off his her back (or camel) and turn sideways, arms spread out in a T-shape form. Or, better yet, in the form of a Cross. To enter Jerusalem, then, you had to look like you were being crucified.

To enter the Heavenly Jerusalem, how could God expect anything less?

Now I realize what many think: How could an all-loving God and Father allow His beloved children to suffer? Why would He want us to carry a Cross in order to make our way back to Him? Wasn’t the sacrifice of Christ enough?

In short, yes: Jesus’ offering on the Cross was once for all. He doesn’t need our sacrifices and crosses to accomplish his work of salvation. His Death on Calvary saved the world for all time, and we don’t have to become secondary saviors.

However, here’s the incredible gift being offered to us: He invites us to share in that beautiful work of salvation. In His love, he invites us to Calvary, too, in whatever way our Crosses come to us, so that we can offer our pain and suffering to Him to use for others and ourselves. Thus, when you take the Cross you are carrying right now – whatever it may be – and offer it to Him, God will use it in ways we won’t always know this side of heaven.

He might use it to release a soul from purgatory. He may use your offered Cross to keep Gaza or Ukraine from erupting like a powder-keg under pressure. He might use what you offer Him to help another person carrying their own Cross not to give-up. Our own cross united to His can become the gift He uses for the world, for when all is said and done, it’s all His doing in the first place.

I’ve been pondering a lot this past week the line that Jesus’ offers to those who say to Him: “Open the door for us,” and he says in reply: “I don’t know you.” Notice, he says that statement twice to those who claim to be his friends. If I were honest, I have spent much of my life presuming God’s mercy and friendship. How could he not know me, I think to myself? I am baptized; I have gone to Mass; I have tried to keep the Commandments; I’m a nice person.

But, is that enough? Is doing the bare minimum enough? Will claiming “I am saved in Christ” be enough to open the door and let me through the narrow gate? Some say so.

And yet, this sobering thought: I don’t want to stand before Him in judgment one day and hear the words: “I do not know you.” I want Christ to look at me, and see reflected in my heart and soul the crosses I willingly carried that shaped me to live and love like Him. I want Him to see the wounds of the cross in my own life that I united to Him for His use.

I want God to know me because He could see how the discipline He offered or allowed shaped me to become His beloved child. I may not have always loved carrying it – and I may have done so quite sloppily – but nevertheless I did so through Him, with Him and in Him. For Him. For others.

He will know us if we bear the discipline of the Cross on our hearts, willingly.

Many years ago now, I knew a neighbor who became a widow at a young age, her husband the victim of a shocking and still-unsolved murder. As her children grew, many of them drifted apart from each other, and one child stopped speaking to the family altogether. This woman was separated from grandchildren, and as she herself aged, carried the weight of deeply painful physical and mental anguish. There were many crosses along her Calvary road.

And yet, one thing was clear: this beautiful soul was being transformed by the discipline God offered to her in love. Her paths were being made straight, and she was reflecting Him through her selflessness, humility and prayerfulness. In her, one could see the Love of Christ burning brightly, especially as she prepared for the final journey back to Him.



She was entering the narrow gate. She knew to Whom she belonged and where she was from.

And she didn’t lead long division to get there!