Is Jesus an egomaniac?

The other day I was thinking about the martyrs. I'm not sure what it was- maybe Pope Francis talking about the persecution of Christians in the world today. Whatever it was, a thought occurred to me that I had never considered. When a martyr was dying for Christ, what was going through Christ's mind? Hmm... 

Was Christ there demanding that this person give their life for him? Was he there telling this almost-martyr, "ok, just a little more, I want you to prove to me that you love my by not giving in. Prove it to me!" Was Christ an egomaniac, going around looking for people who would give their lives for him? I certainly do not think so. On the contrary, I think that Christ would have said something more like, "I know you love me, you don't have to go through all this. I know your heart. I don't need this proof." Friends, people that love each other, do not want to see the other suffer.

So why would the martyr go through with it? I think that it has to be, quite simply, because of love. I think that the martyr loved Christ. The martyr did not want to leave any room for doubt in anyone's mind that he loved Jesus Christ. I think that the martyr tastes a freedom that few know exists. The martyr lives the zenith, the fullness, the absolute epitome of freedom! He squeezes it out to the last drop. He loves.

In the Catholic Church we celebrated last Sunday the solemnity of Christ the King. He is not an egomaniac but is entirely the opposite. He gave his life for us. He is the King who shows us how to love.

Some things seem strange, and are, but really are not

You know, sometimes people do things that seem strange, and are, but at the same time aren't.

 

We went to visit an elderly couple for the first time last week here in Sicily. They had never received seminarians like us but when I called she was open to meeting us. So we arrived, rang, and, as the Gospel says, the door was opened to us. The house was set back behind the gate about twenty yards and as we entered we saw Mr. and Mrs. near the house approaching us. We greeted them and immediately he positioned himself between myself and the other seminarian, took us each by the arm, and walked with us to the house. It was a first-time, unexpected, and rather uncomfortable experience, given that I just met this man. How could I have known at that moment their sufferings, their difficulties, their burdens? How could I have known about their daughter who, along with her husband and their grandkids, had totally abandoned them, moving away and cutting all communication? How could I have known the joy, in the midst of this their continual ache, that our simple visit could bring? They were so happy that, 45 minutes later as we departed, they insisted and insisted we come for lunch our next visit. In addition, they insisted that we take two bags full of fruit that they had gathered from their fields. They accompanied us to the gate, gave us five euro for a cafè along the way, and saw us off until we were out of sight.

Taking us both arm-in-arm seemed strange to me, and it was, but in the end it really wasn't.