Even though I was raised in the Catholic Church, I was lured into the world of imitation love, beauty, and success. With one sin after another, I found myself following a set of “rules,” so to speak, that promised everything: happiness, love, success, beauty, and wealth.
By the time I was in my early twenties, I was on the hit reality TV show America’s Next Top Model, living in New York City, and on my way to a promising career in the fashion and beauty industries as a professional model. My walk to work included passing pictures of myself on billboards in Times Square and on the sides of the subway trains. All of this fooled me into believing that I was right. I was right to abandon my faith, to abandon the way of Christ.
I was imitating the world and believed it was working to my benefit. However, in those quiet moments right before bed, when silence would creep into my conscience leaving me to think and reflect on whether I was really happy, Truth came knocking on my heart. The silent and interior ache of wanting more in life was unbearable. I would lie in bed with uncontrollable tears, admitting quietly to myself that I was not at peace with my life. It was during these moments that fear soothed me into believing I was too far gone to do anything about it. Hope and reconciliation were lost. I believed the lie that following Christ was not just too hard, but was a path I wasn’t allowed on anymore.
Many of us weigh the options and benefits before we commit to following Christ. It’s all too clear that following Jesus is not the path of least resistance; but in all fairness, Jesus never offered worldly fairness, ease, or comfort. In fact, he plainly spelled out for anyone who wishes to follow him that it will not be easy: it involves taking up our cross and following him every day, and the road is narrow, and the world will hate us because of him. Christ has no hidden agenda. He puts it all out there for us to make an informed decision. Yes, it can get pretty tough for us in this life, but we also know exactly what awaits us if we do choose to follow and imitate Christ: eternal life with him.
For the Christian, this idea of following Christ is no surprise. Imitating him, however, is much harder. To imitate perfection is quite the task — one that keeps many of us from even getting started. It can seem like we are being set up for failure when the task is to imitate perfection. But imitation isn’t just the sincerest form of flattery; especially when we’re talking about Christ, imitation is the sincerest form of relationship. That’s what Christ came to earth for in the first place. He came to offer us redemption and to draw us into a relationship with himself.
Trying to imitate Christ means we will fall, we will fail. He knows that. He is God. Yet he loves us too much to lower the bar for us.
I accepted the lie that I had failed and missed my chance to follow Christ, so I chose to make the best of it with my worldly aspirations as a professional model. But when I was in the middle of a fashion photo shoot for an international magazine in New York City, Christ encountered me and offered me something more. This photo shoot was supposed to bolster my career, placing me on the international modeling front for the first time. This was my debut.
I reported to the stylist for hair, makeup, and wardrobe, and the photo shoot began. We took picture after picture, and we only stopped to change sets and wardrobe. As we started back up again, I inadvertently looked into the flash when the first shot was taken. Needing to regain my sight and concentration, I held up a finger and looked away blinking quickly. Then something happened I did not anticipate. As I was trying to regain my focus, I saw a vision of myself, wearing the outfit I was modeling, like a little movie was playing. I noticed my hands were cupped and held together at my waist, and then I raised them upward to the level of my head. Then I saw the shadowy profile of a man’s face; he looked at my hands and then bowed his head sadly. In response, a strong feeling of disappointment covered me. I quickly brought my hands back down to see what was so disappointing. That’s when I saw it. The reason for so many of my problems was in my hands: my hands were empty. At that exact moment, I heard five words spoken to my heart, undeniable and strong: “I made you for more.” Again and again I heard them, “I made you for more.” It was strong, emphatic, but gentle. I knew it was true. It was Truth.
All this happened in a matter of seconds, and I was startled when the photographer began snapping his fingers, trying to get me back into position to restart the shoot. But I couldn’t. I could not ignore what had just happened to my heart. So I told him I had to go. I did not know exactly what I would do next, but I was certain something needed to change, and it needed to happen right then. I walked out of the photo shoot, leaving behind my so-called promising career, wealth, and potential fame. What Christ was offering was more than all of that, and I desperately desired to live a life with meaning. While I had been busy imitating the world, Christ was busy seeking me, literally knocking on the door to my heart to remind me of my identity in him, and offering me a new way of life.
Later, I found a copy of The Imitation of Christ outside an adoration chapel. I knew I should know what was inside the pages. I was attracted to the simplicity of the title of the book and its manageable length. As a revert back to my Catholic faith, I needed to start small in my journey to following Jesus. But the size of this book fooled me. In my struggles to follow and imitate Christ, I found myself in tears as I read this book with its raw and cutting truths about human weaknesses — ones that I knew all too well. But I also felt uplifted and renewed by the book’s emphasis on the power of God’s mercy through Christ. God had clearly given me a grace to walk out of the photo shoot so that I would leave the world and follow him. But how? As Thomas à Kempis mentions multiple times in this book, it first begins with reconciliation, and then leads to the path of Divine imitation.
In my struggle to leave the world and follow Christ, I needed encouragement and the proper spiritual direction to keep me going. Thomas à Kempis became a friend to me, speaking to my heart the truths of Christ’s love and mercy for me, but also never allowing me to give up or give in to the ways of the world I had previously pursued. He was practical and to the point. I needed that. I still need that. Years later, as a committed follower of Christ, Thomas is still a faithful friend, encouraging me in my morning readings and reminding me in the evenings of ways to imitate Christ even better the next day. The Imitation of Christ is not a book one finishes, but as I have found, it’s a book one rereads over and over again, unearthing new spiritual gems as Christ continues to work in us for our good.
But as much as we know we should imitate Christ, the world still tries to recruit us with its empty and vain promises. They come as whispers of freedom, bellowing opportunities that can’t be missed, or even the cheering of a crowd. Do not be afraid: Jesus understands our dilemma. Just think about that moment when he stood before Pontius Pilate and saw the struggle on the Roman governor’s face. Would Pilate follow Truth, literally standing before him, or would he follow the jeering crowd demanding the death of Jesus? Pilate followed the crowd. Make no mistake about it, whom we choose to follow, whom we choose to imitate, will be made known and remembered. Just think about it: each Sunday when we profess our faith in the Nicene Creed, we remember and utter the name of the man who chose the crowd over Truth, “For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate.” Pilate’s refusal should make us all pause to see where there may be occasions when we have consciously chosen not to imitate Christ, but have taken the easy way out and followed the crowd.
There is a desperate need for Christians today to imitate Christ with courage and fervor in our personal and public lives. Committing to a life of imitation of Christ is no promise of comfort or ease. The only guarantee Christ offers is that he will never leave us, he will never abandon us, and he will always give us the grace to do the will of the Father. If we do this throughout our lives, always getting back up when we fall, he promises us eternal happiness in heaven with him. Shouldn’t this be enough?
Imitating Christ should not be viewed as a checklist, but a fluid adventure. Nothing in our life is spared to draw us closer to Incarnate Love. We are constantly called to recalibrate, to stand up again after we fall, and to keep going. Death itself provides us with the final earthly opportunity
