Fr. Saverio Cannistra, OCD
Crossing Boundaries
I think that if we had to say what mission is,1 conveying not only its theological dimension but also its existential impact, we would say that mission is always about facing a challenge to “cross boundaries.” We unconsciously associate mission with the experience of journey and adventure. In reality, however, mission is characterized by a transition from territory that belongs to us to territory that is foreign to us and for which we strive. In this sense, there are not only geographical boundaries to be overcome but also socio-economic, cultural, ethnic, and increasingly generational boundaries. We fear crossing these boundaries. This act requires the courage to overcome the resistance of the environment, an inner strength to let go of what provides us security and protection, and above all, it requires the desire to reach out to the other person, to make ourselves a neighbor.2
But first and foremost, mission is a theological undertaking carried out not by those who are strong and virtuous in a human sense, but rather by the poor who believe, that is, entrust their lives to the hands of God, who they know loves and guides them.
I would like to emphasize this theological root of mission. A Christian or a religious is not a missionary because they want to be; they are not a missionary merely because they are sensitive to social issues, because they wish to live a poorer and more radical life, or because they enjoy adventure, or need to escape the difficulties they face in their surroundings. Surely, in the decision for mission, motivations of this type often play a role and have their value, but – like all other “human” reasons – they need to be purified and matured. The most authentic and radical understanding of mission does not come from the flesh but from the Spirit, meaning from the bond that unites us with Christ. And therefore, it is impossible to be true Christians and not be missionaries. I am a missionary to the extent that I no longer belong to myself; I am no longer the master of my life, but I receive it from Him, renewed in its meaning and in how I understand myself. My mission is an extension of the mission of Jesus Christ, which he accomplished towards me when he came to me, encountered me, and through the covenant that alters the course of my existence, made me his own. If I no longer live my life as an individual, but rather the only purpose of my existence is to be "life in Christ," as St. Paul says,3 it is inconceivable that such a life would not be regarded as mission, as sending. What von Balthasar says about Jesus: that his person coincides with his mission, that is, that his being is indeed being-sending, applies also to every person who lives in Christ, to everyone who is a new creation, newly born as a member of the body of Christ.
These Christological and anthropological reflections are not mere speculation. They serve us to lay the foundation of mission once again on belonging to Jesus Christ, on covenant with Him, on obedience to His will. Just as a calling does not mean choosing, but being chosen, so mission is not our decision where we set out armed with courage and good will, but it is an obedient response to the one who sends us, unarmed with human certainties, unarmed with means or virtues, but firmly anchored in His promise: "I will be with you.”4
It is therefore easy to understand that mission must continually draw strength and motivation, light and discernment from the dialogue of the “missionary” with the Lord who sent him. Too often we think that mission is some work that we need to do and develop according to human standards, and do not make space for what the Lord wants to tell us, what He proposes to us in the silence of prayer, in the depths of our conscience, or also in the discernment of our community, gathered in His name, of which He promised to be present in its midst. If we proceed only according to our habitual schemes, we risk not seeing other possibilities of how to be present (in the contemporary world) and proclaim the gospel, possibilities that are likely more prophetic and more in accord with our Carmelite vocation.
Timid Mission
I admit that over the years (of my role as General Superior) while traveling around (the world), I encountered many brothers who work hard, striving selflessly to provide the faithful with the proclamation of the Word, catechesis, and sacraments, all in situations that are sometimes very challenging, with dozens of kilometers walked on foot, in heat or cold, despite illness and the hardships of a life devoid of the comforts of our Western world. For all of this, I thank God and my brothers. At the same time, I cannot hide the feeling that mission often has the character of pastoral work in parishes, which we help the local church with, when priests are few and the faithful are many. And it is unclear what is specific or new about what characterizes mission. The difference stemming from various socio-economic and cultural conditions is evident, but does mission only consist in that? Is it merely about transferring to other places what we do in our churches in the West? After all, in our old world, which has an ancient Christian tradition: is what we do in our churches and communities sufficient for us to regard it as mission? What boundaries are we to cross, if that is the defining characteristic of true mission?
You may find it a bit peculiar, but I cannot separate the idea of overcoming, crossing boundaries from the experiences of struggle. Boundaries are usually protected and cannot be crossed without entering into conflict with their guardians, those who hold us in separation. The difference between usual pastoral care, the peaceful administration of established church structures, and mission, in my opinion, lies in that very struggle. In this sense, mission actualizes Jesus' words: "I have not come to bring peace, but a sword" (Mt 10:34). Jesus’ sword evidently signifies a rebellion against the enemies of humanity and God’s intention. That Jesus brought a sword is true only to the extent that Jesus was killed. His mission/sending was understood as a real danger, something that undermined the existing order and therefore must be stopped at all costs. We also know that following Jesus to this point is only possible thanks to the gift of the Holy Spirit, who can transform defenseless and weak people into models of strength and courage.
When I say that the Christian mission always contains an aspect of struggle, a conflict with hostile forces, I am not making any theological or ideological option. I aim to place our Christian existence in history and to remind of the powerful impact that proclaiming or simply witnessing to the Kingdom of God and the gospel of Jesus Christ has in the world. When I think of the area that currently raises the greatest concerns in the world, the Middle East, I cannot forget the Christian witnesses who died here when they fought the peaceful fight of simple community that crosses boundaries (of individual) religions. Of course, I particularly think of the martyrs from Tibhirine, but not only them. In a certain way, everyone who truly loves takes risks. They enter into the territory that the other protects and approach the other “threateningly.” This approach is only possible on the condition that we separate the humanity of the other person from what binds them. In this sense, mission and the proclamation of the gospel cannot fail to also include the "liberation" of the person from what binds them and separates them from their own humanity.
It seems to me that in this sense our mission is somewhat “timid”, somewhat stagnant, ossified within the usual parish and sacramental pastoral care. As if it lacked the “fire” of Elijah or that of which Jesus speaks: the flame that enlightens and warms a person, but also burns everything that stands against God’s will. I ask myself whether we have this fire within us, whether it has become merely a small flame that smolders beneath a layer of ash. We must fan that fire, or better yet: let the Holy Spirit breathe into it. So that the flame in us may again blaze and be able to burst forth into our surroundings.
Pope Francis calls the entire Church to “come out of itself.” A Church that focuses on itself, gazing in the mirror, becomes ill, rusts. A living and healthy Church is one that reaches out to others in the dynamism of mission. Pope Francis said, when he was still Cardinal Bergoglio, that Jesus, who is inside the Church and inside every Christian, knocks not from the outside, but from within, so that we may open the doors and let him out, to allow him to continue his mission towards the world, towards the most remote peripheries. We need to rediscover the joy, strength, and courage to evangelize, to proclaim the good news, which does not represent, above all, some doctrine, but a person, as Pope Benedict reminded us many times. “To evangelize means to bring others the joyful message of salvation, and this joyful message is a person: Jesus Christ. When I meet Jesus and understand to what extent God loves me and He brings me salvation, a desire is born in me, but also a need, for others to know him.”5
Carmel, precisely because it focuses on the relationship with Jesus, with his risen humanity, can significantly contribute to the Church regarding its mission and new evangelization. Teresa of Jesus, Teresa of the Child Jesus, and many of our brothers and sisters show us this and call us to reach the heights of our vocation. It is easy to lose heart; it is a frequent temptation to lower the bar, to shrink our horizon to the domestic dimensions in which we find peace. But this is not why we came to Carmel. We came to love, and that cannot be achieved without giving our lives as a witness to how much this life is loved and worthy of love.
Translated from Italian by Martina Vintrová
