Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time
Fr. Ben Riley
You may have noticed that I wasn’t here last week. I was on a little vacation with a couple of friends out in Colorado, and the main purpose of the trip was to go rock climbing.
As you probably know, rock climbing is one of my favorite activities. I have been climbing since I was nine or ten years old, and it is by far my favorite sport.
To explain the point of today’s homily, I need to explain a little about how traditional rock climbing works.
Imagine that you are standing beneath a beautiful mountain in Colorado. Above you is a steep wall of rock, and you think, “I want to get to the top of that mountain.” But how do you do that safely?
In traditional climbing, the climber has a rope tied to his harness. As he climbs, he places pieces of metal gear into cracks in the rock and clips the rope into them.
It is a little like buttoning a shirt. You climb a little way, place a piece of protection, and button that button. Then you climb higher, place another piece, and button the next one. If you fall, your belayer—the person below you holding the rope—stops the rope, and that piece of gear catches you.
You might fall five or ten feet. It may not be pleasant, but the protection keeps you from falling all the way to the ground.
Now if you are having trouble imagining this, let me offer a visual aid. This is some of the protection used in traditional climbing. These pieces all have different names: cams, nuts, hexes, tri-cams, quickdraws, and carabiners.
The names are not especially important for today. What matters is that this gear, combined with knowing how to use it properly, allows a climber to ascend a mountain with a remarkable degree of safety.
And even if you have no interest in rock climbing, we all do something similar in our everyday lives.
Before going to bed, many of us check the front door to make sure the deadbolt is locked. Some of us turn on a security system. When we get into a car, we buckle our seatbelts. When we back out of a parking space, we look in the mirrors and check the backup camera.
We do all kinds of things to protect our homes, our bodies, our children, and the people we love.
But, my brothers and sisters, what are we doing to protect our souls?
In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”
Jesus is inviting us to follow him on an ascent—an ascent up the mountain of God toward the summit of heaven. That journey is beautiful, but it is not always easy. The path is difficult. There are places where we can lose our footing. There are temptations, sins, suffering, discouragement, and fear.
So what protection are we carrying with us?
What is interesting about climbing is that the more protection I bring, the more frequently I can place it. Instead of climbing twenty feet before placing another piece, I might place one every ten feet or even every five feet.
But there is a tradeoff: the more gear I bring, the heavier my harness becomes. Carrying that gear makes the climb more demanding.
The same paradox appears in the spiritual life. The practices that keep us close to God require something from us. Prayer requires time. Confession requires humility. Fasting requires us to surrender comfort. Forgiveness requires us to surrender pride. Works of mercy require us to sacrifice convenience.
That is part of what it means to take up our cross.
God’s grace is obviously not a burden. God’s grace is what holds us when we fall. It is what strengthens us when we are tired and enables us to continue climbing the mountain of God.
But cooperating with that grace costs us something. It requires discipline, sacrifice, and the willingness to carry the cross.
Sunday Mass is not merely one small devotion among many. The Eucharist is the greatest gift Christ has given to his Church. It is essential to our journey.
But imagine trying to make the entire ascent while doing nothing else to receive and cooperate with God’s grace.
Why would we intentionally limit ourselves?
Before I begin a serious climb, I plan. I study the route. I learn where it goes and what difficulties I am likely to encounter. I decide what protection I will need. The preparation and logistics are almost as important as the climbing itself.
Shouldn’t we approach the spiritual life with at least as much intentionality?
In addition to Sunday Mass, perhaps I should carry the grace of frequent confession.
Perhaps I need daily prayer—not simply praying whenever I happen to feel like it, but setting aside a definite time each day to be with the Lord.
Perhaps I need a weekly hour of Eucharistic adoration.
Perhaps I need to read Scripture, study the lives of the saints, or learn from their spiritual writings.
Perhaps the protection I most need is fasting, serving the poor, forgiving someone who has hurt me, or finally surrendering a particular sin.
The point is not to collect as many devotions as possible or to anxiously weigh ourselves down with religious activity. A wise climber does not bring every piece of gear he owns. He studies the route and brings the protection appropriate for the climb.
In the same way, we should ask the Lord: “What do I need for the path you have placed before me? Where am I most vulnerable? What practice will help me receive and cooperate more fully with your grace?”
The spiritual practices Christ gives us may sometimes feel like additional weight. But what appears to be a burden is often what gives us the freedom and confidence to keep climbing.
So ask yourself today: Am I seriously preparing for the ascent toward heaven? Or am I trying to make the climb with the barest possible preparation?
What is one spiritual practice Christ is asking me to add—or at least take more seriously—in my life?
Maybe it is daily prayer. Maybe it is monthly confession. Maybe it is a weekly hour of adoration. Maybe it is reading Scripture, fasting, serving someone in need, or forgiving someone you have resisted forgiving.
Whatever it is, do not be afraid of the weight.
Take up your cross. Follow Christ. Receive his grace through every means he gives you, and allow that grace to hold you when you fall, strengthen you when you grow tired, and carry you all the way to the summit of heaven.