…I always wondered what I would have done in Peter’s place. I never quite accepted that he denied Christ. Having lived with Him and having seen the things he saw… it struck me that all this was not enough for him to identify completely with Him and trust in His Divinity.

– Yes, and yet the moment when one’s own life is at stake is always problematic, and even the boldest can lose heart. Not everyone has a vocation to martyrdom.

I have a simple way, a test you can do to measure yourself with regard to your faith in Jesus Christ. A simple thing which, without risking your life or anything extreme, will let you know whether you deny Him or affirm Him, in the present of your own life, today.

I did not come anywhere near suspecting at that moment that the simple test put to me then by the man I would later know as Father Vasily was going to transform my life completely.

We were sharing the hard seats of the tourist class on the train.

The twelve hours we spent together amid the discomfort and the noise were decisive for me, a real gift that I only became aware of later, with the passing of time.

But that will be the subject of another piece of writing; this one concerns the affirmation or denial of Christ, and the small test the monk suggested I carry out in daily life.

It consisted of beginning to wear a Cross around my neck at all times. That was the whole matter. It had to be a Cross a little larger than usual, somewhat bulkier than those that may be in fashion, almost like the ones bishops wear. The point was that it should be noticed, that it should not go unseen.

– And that’s all?

– Yes, that’s all; but you must wear it everywhere and in every circumstance, except when sleeping, of course. When you lie down you can hold it gently in one hand.

– That seems simple to me.

– Then you won’t find it hard to do, the monk told me cheerfully.

I had enormous difficulties. While I struggled in daily life not to break the promise, I imagined the hermit laughing, joyful, knowing what I was going to have to face.

The first thing was the fear of what people would say; the dread that they would think me “a religious madman”.

The first opportunity to deny Christ came with those closest to me. No one said anything, but you could tell they were looking at the Cross, sometimes out of the corner of their eye, and that it surprised them. Their faces said… what’s the matter with him? And I was then able to notice how much my ego cared about the gaze of others, about what they would think of me.

But I remembered the Apostle Peter denying the Lord to save his life, and I could not allow myself to do the same merely to keep up an opinion among acquaintances.

Some time later I was grateful for the situation, because I had the chance to say yes to Christ each time I held back the impulse to hide the cross under my coat, slipping it hurriedly inside my collar at the prospect of another encounter with this or that person.

The second enemy showed itself through fashion or, rather, through what is supposed to match or clash. I was never one to pay particular attention to clothing, but something in me always took care not to look ridiculous.

However, wearing the cross exposed over sportswear or work clothes was at times very out of place.

I then realised how harshly I myself judged people who dressed out of keeping, because in the fear I suffered of others’ judgement I could only see the projection of my own opinions.

I remembered “with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” and gave thanks for the teaching this new understanding offered me.

And this business of being out of keeping became very interesting, because the discordance was not only in relation to dress but also to situations.

Many times “logic” would come to beg me to hide the Cross, saying that the monk’s challenge did not include wearing it exposed in this or that situation, that I had already learned what I had to learn, and that I should be reasonable, lest I commit an excess, if not on the left, then on the right.

But a feeling that was gradually growing in me told me that Christ is the symbol of the meaning of life, and that this meaning should embrace every possible scenario or it would not be meaning at all. So either I took Christ with me into that circumstance as well, or there was no sense in going to it.

Some time later Father Vasily would say to me on the subject:

– The question is why you have to go to that place where it is not fitting to wear a Cross around your neck. What are you doing there? Is it not fitting for you to wear a Cross around your neck? Then it is not fitting for you to go there. Any justification that arises will be born of your lukewarmness or of your lack of faith that, by being consistent with the Lord, one can live perfectly well.

As always, Father Vasily was right. I was not to adapt my dress to circumstances, but my life to faith in Jesus Christ.

But also, although I concluded that from then on I would not go to certain places, I had to be careful not to cancel commitments out of fear.

So for quite some time I kept going, as planned, to the commitments I had made, lest, wearing the Cross around my neck, I should shut myself in so as not to expose it; that wasn’t the deal, was it? the image of the monk within me would sometimes say.

Wearing a large Cross hanging on my chest was also a help in avoiding behaviours and attitudes that would lead far from the spirit.

Amid the bustle of the city the instincts are stimulated at every step, and when greedy glances wanted to arise, the lustful one in me fell silent because I was wearing the Cross.

It was an effective reminder of the purpose of life. So either I put the Cross away, letting my senses be like a leaf carried by the wind, or I remained focused on prayer, recollecting my gaze.

Another very interesting challenge was meeting old acquaintances, those people we have not seen for years and who know us from another time, and by that I mean in another way, when one was different from what one is now, in beliefs, habits and attitudes.

Those really were “blows” to one’s self-image.

Because some of them could not suppress their expression of surprise… as if to say: “look at you now!”, and they were right to think so. Because whoever knew me cannot believe that I now go around with a Cross around my neck, attending Mass, associating with monks and visiting every monastery I can.

And there were also the others, who later told me: “We saw it coming”, meaning that they had already noticed my inclination towards Christianity and the monastic life at times when not even I would have believed my conversion possible.

On very rare occasions, wearing the Cross exposed prompted a reference to the subject, leading to conversations I would not otherwise have had.

And having to face the past through those encounters was very instructive; it taught me a great deal about how grace writes straight with crooked lines, and about the famous and true saying that “every cloud has a silver lining”.

I have come to see each moment and stage of life as the necessary step towards the understanding I now have, and to discover in that illusion or that hardship the indispensable teachers of my present learning, unthinkable at the time.

That is why, when questioned by old companions, I can only declare that I suffer an involuntary passion for Christ. And I say involuntary because I have done nothing to live it.

I do remember that I was reading a very erudite work by an Italian versed in ancient culture, though a chemist by profession, who knows why; and that this text spoke of the ancient monks and hermits. It tried to prove some hypothesis about the non-divine origin of Christ, and the writer’s whole background revealed an ideology at the antipodes of Christianity, an ideology to which he openly subscribed already in the title of the short essay.

Curiously, this reading rekindled in my heart certain embers that I had believed dead since early youth.

And so, a quotation here, a mention there, a reference in some other text, and I ended up with “The Way of a Pilgrim” in my hands.

This reading was decisive for the inner change that took place.

But, extraordinarily, it was the icon on the cover that called me irresistibly, through the beauty I perceived in it.

I had already read the little book several times and there it was in the drawer, and every time I looked for something I came across the icon on the cover; and I don’t know what it was exactly, whether the bare and frank gaze, or the calm and simple posture, or the colours so well combined, but I began to notice the desire to make that icon my banner and His Holy Name my refuge.

Twenty years of anthropocentric indoctrination fell away in a second, and in the next instant I was on my way, returning to the Father’s house, still a long way off, but with the direction I was following already changed.

“The ways of the Lord are unsearchable”… indeed, without a doubt.

I can affirm with certainty that something has changed me without my knowing how, and that this change is simply being calmer, satisfied with little, more trusting and surrendered to a strange and illogical love, full of nuances, which makes me go about content, proud to have Jesus Christ as my Lord.

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Published by Ed. Narcea in “Dios habla en la soledad”