Taking Up One's Cross

 A reflection for the Sunday of September 7th, being the 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time:

    In today's Gospel, Jesus presents us with one of His most challenging teachings: "Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple" (Luke 14:27). The cross He speaks of is not merely the wooden instrument of His passion, but the daily dying to self that authentic discipleship demands. To take up our cross means embracing the sacrifices, sufferings, and selfless love that come with truly following Christ. It is a call to move beyond casual interest in Jesus to a radical commitment that transforms every aspect of our lives.

    The first reading from Wisdom illuminates why such radical discipleship seems so daunting to human understanding. The sacred author acknowledges our fundamental limitation: "For the corruptible body burdens the soul and the earthly shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns" (Wisdom 9:15). Yet this same reading offers hope—just as God sent His Holy Spirit and wisdom from on high to make straight the paths of those on earth, so too does He provide us with the grace necessary to carry our cross. This divine     wisdom helps us understand that the cross is not merely a burden but a privilege through which we participate most intimately in Christ's redemptive work.

    Saint Paul's Letter to Philemon provides a concrete example of what cross-bearing discipleship looks like in practice. St. Paul,   writing as "an old man, and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus," speaks of Onesimus, the runaway slave who has become "my child, whom I have begotten in my imprisonment." Here we see the radical transformation that occurs when someone truly takes up their cross—Onesimus becomes a beloved brother in Christ, and Paul chooses the more difficult path of love and persuasion rather than apostolic command. This passage reveals that taking up our cross often means letting go of worldly power structures and embracing relationships based on sacrificial love rather than domination.

    Jesus' parables about the tower builder and the king going to war serve as sobering reminders that discipleship cannot be entered into lightly. The cost is indeed high: "Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple" (Luke 14:33). This renunciation doesn't necessarily mean literal poverty for everyone, but rather a fundamental reordering of our priorities. Our       possessions, relationships, and even our own lives must be held loosely, always secondary to our commitment to Christ and His kingdom. In our contemporary context, this might mean choosing integrity over profit, forgiveness over revenge, or standing up for the vulnerable even when it costs us socially or professionally.

    The profound paradox of Christian discipleship is that in losing our life, we find it. When we take up our cross daily, we participate in Christ's own death and resurrection—we die to selfishness and rise to love, die to fear and rise to courage. This is not a   one-time decision but a daily choice to embrace sacrifice over comfort and faithfulness over convenience. The cross we carry is both   universal in its call to selfless love and particular to our individual circumstances and calling.

    Ultimately, the call to take up our cross is not a call to joyless suffering, but to the deepest form of joy possible for human      beings. The saints throughout history found in their crosses not obstacles to happiness but pathways to sanctity. Their sufferings, united with Christ's, became sources of grace for the entire Body of Christ. The path of discipleship is demanding, but it is also the path to    authentic human fulfillment. When we take up our cross and follow Jesus, we discover that in losing our life for His sake, we truly find it—in this great paradox lies the heart of the Gospel and the secret of Christian joy.