Some time ago, a newspaper columnist shared a story about an important moment in his early life. Long before he became a writer, he served as a pilot in the Royal Air Force, bunking with 30 other men during his training. On his very first night, he faced a personal dilemma.
He had always knelt to pray before bed. But now, surrounded by strangers in a military setting, he asked himself, “Should I continue kneeling here? Will others judge me? Should I change just because I’m no longer at home?” After some thought, he decided: “No. I will remain true to who I am.”
So, he knelt and prayed as he always had. When he made the sign of the cross, he could feel the eyes of the room on him – and he realized he was the only Catholic in the bunk. But that did not discourage him. Night after night, he continued to kneel and pray.
He later wrote that those few minutes of nightly prayer led to hours of conversation with his fellow servicemen – discussions that might not have happened had he chosen to stay silent.
On the final day of boot camp, one man approached him and said, “You’re the finest Christian I’ve ever met.” He humbly replied, “I’m not sure I’m the finest. But I might be the most public. Still, I thank you for what you said.”
That story beautifully illustrates the message of today’s Gospel: commitment to Christ often requires us to take a stand – sometimes one that places us at opposition with others.
In today’s readings, we see this played out vividly. The prophet Jeremiah is persecuted for speaking the truth. St. Paul writes to the Hebrews about the hardships endured by those who remain faithful. And Jesus Himself warns us that our loyalty to Him may even cause conflict within our own families.
This was one reason the early Romans despised Christianity: it disrupted households. A son who embraced Christ could no longer worship pagan gods with his family, or join the crowds cheering as gladiators fought to the death. He could no longer join his friends in immoral activities, which defined much of Roman life.
Time and time again, early Christians had to choose: Do I love my friends and family more than I love Christ? And often, they chose Christ, despite the cost.
We see this inner conflict powerfully portrayed in the play “Fiddler on the Roof.” A poor Jewish father has five daughters. Two of the daughters marry men he doesn’t approve of. Another marries a non-Jew. In anguish, the father looks to Heaven and pleads, “How can I accept them? Can I deny my own children?” Ultimately, he disowns the daughter who marries outside the faith.
Jesus knew the weight of what He was asking when He said, “Follow Me.” For some, like the daughter in the play, it means leaving loved ones behind. But our commitment to Christ must come first. His call is still radical, still demanding. It cannot be compromised in any way.
To follow Christ is to walk a path that may involve sacrifice. But it leads to a peace the world cannot give, and a joy that no loss can ever take away.
In every age, including our own, the call remains: Follow Him, no matter the cost.
