Homily for Tuesday, 7 August 2018– Ferial

Tuesday of the 18th Week in Ordinary Time


Optional Memorial of Sts. Sixtus II and Companions and St. Cajetan

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 30:1-2, 12-15, 18-22; Psalm 102:16-18, 19-21, 22-23, 29; Matthew 14:22-36

This homily was given at the Kateri House Women's Residence Chapel at St. Joseph's College, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Could our readings today be the Biblical version of “Mission: Impossible”?

In the book of Jeremiah, God promises the people of Israel the impossible, in light of the social and political situation of Israel at the time. And in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus enables Peter, the other Apostles, and then all the people in the region of Lake Gennesaret to do what would have been impossible without Jesus’ stilling of the storm and healings: To have faith in him as the Son of God.

The book of Jeremiah raises a theological question, more than other Biblical prophetic books do, as to whether God is capable of abandoning his people completely if the sin of the people of Israel becomes great enough. Jeremiah, more than any other prophet, leans toward a “yes” answer to this question. Also, Jeremiah says to the people of Israel, they are already at the point at which their sin, their injustice and, worst of all, their worship of other gods has put them beyond redemption; beyond the ability even of God to save them from the consequences of their wrongdoing.

We might imagine how this message did not make Jeremiah a popular figure in Israel. To Israel’s people, Jeremiah’s message was as if to say that God’s unbreakable relationship, called a covenant, with his people, was in fact breakable; that God could be unfaithful to his own covenant. This contradicted what other prophets of Jeremiah’s time and before and after were saying.

Yet, amid Jeremiah’s harsh message, like any true prophet he offers his people hope. Indeed, the evil Israel was committing would entail consequences, finally exile to Babylon. Even God was not going to prevent due consequences for Israel’s sin. But out of the destruction and exile of Israel, God would do the almost impossible: God would bring Israel back to its homeland and rebuild Israel around social justice and right worship of the one true God. “I am going to restore the fortunes of the tents of Jacob, and have compassion on his dwellings,” God says through Jeremiah. In light of Israel’s sin and unfaithfulness to their covenant with God, this restoration of Israel would be like “Mission: Impossible,” except for God.

In Matthew’s Gospel, the storm on the lake is not because of anybody’s sin, but still it must have seemed to Jesus’ disciples in the boat that everybody and everything, including, as Matthew says, even “the wind was against them.” Amid this chaos, of which the Gospel writer may have thought as a parallel to God’s ordering the chaos in the first Genesis creation account, Jesus invites Peter to walk toward him on the water.

Peter almost makes “Mission: Impossible” possible, until his focus shifts from God’s presence, which alone makes possible the impossible, to his own fear. At this point, he recognizes how “little faith” he truly has; how much greater his fear is than his faith. But his “little faith” is enough, together with God’s great grace in Jesus Christ. God’s grace in Jesus Christ allows Peter’s “little faith” to multiply and spread. “Those in the boat,” and then the people in the region, worship Jesus. If only we “might touch even the fringe of his cloak,” the impossible might become possible for us, too: Healing; quelling chaos and fear; salvation.

Our “little faith,” too, upheld by God’s grace, is just enough to make possible the otherwise impossible. It is just enough to save us.

Homily for Sunday, 10 August 2014

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Kings 19:9a, 11-13a; Psalm 85:9, 10, 11-12, 13-14; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33

Who here has ever been awakened at three o’clock in the morning and then has tried in vain to get back to sleep? Perhaps except for those of us who are night shift workers, to be awake at three o’clock in the morning is not usually good. Three o’clock in the morning and those who are awakened at this hour have historically been associated with immoral behaviour, guilt, or (probably closer to the true diagnosis if someone is regularly awake at this time) simply insomnia. A phone call or knock at the door at three o’clock in the morning causes us to worry: Would this not rightly cause us to fear the worst? Often people who are wandering the streets at three o’clock in the morning are up to no good. And if illness or sadness is keeping us up at three o’clock in the morning, is not the illness or sadness usually made worse by not being able to sleep?

Why do I emphasize three o’clock in the morning? What is so remarkable about this time? In our Gospel reading, we hear that the boat in which Jesus’ disciples were encounters a strong headwind and high waves “during the fourth watch of the night,” or at about three o’clock in the morning.

I do not know what Jesus’ disciples were doing in a boat “a few miles offshore” at three o’clock in the morning! All we know from our Gospel reading is that Jesus had left them there while he went to pray alone. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, the disciples in the boat encounter bad weather, and it is at this point when Jesus comes walking toward them on the water…

Having been in the Holy Land; having stood on the shore of the Sea of Galilee just last summer, I can relate to the predicament in which Jesus’ disciples must have found themselves that night in the boat. For what is not a very large lake, the Sea of Galilee is renowned for rapid changes in weather. In seemingly just a few minutes, the wind can whip calm water up into white-capped waves, as I saw on the day I visited the Sea of Galilee. This Sea of Galilee brought life and a sufficient living from its abundant fish; it could also bring death and destruction if one were caught out on it when the weather changed as quickly as it does there. And so we can empathize with Jesus’ disciples fear when the sea turned stormy the night Jesus walked toward them on water at three o’clock in the morning.

What about the story of Elijah that we hear in our first reading? Elijah, too, was experiencing fear for his life. He had just killed the false prophets of the false gods worshipped by Jezebel, the wife of Israel’s King Ahab. Jezebel wants Elijah killed in turn, and so Elijah escapes to a cave on Mount Horeb where, in fear and despair for his life, he waits for God. And Elijah encounters God on Horeb, but not as Elijah would have expected to encounter God.

I ask if, in his fear and despair, Elijah might have thought: Maybe a rock-crushing wind would not be such a bad idea; or maybe an earthquake; or maybe a fire… “God, I am in such deep despair as not to want to live,” Elijah might have prayed. A few verses earlier in 1 Kings, Elijah makes precisely this prayer: “Enough, LORD! Take my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” Can we relate, perhaps if we have known anyone to be in such deep distress as to despair of life itself, or if some of us have experienced this despair or depression ourselves?

God, though, encourages Elijah; calls him forth from the cave: God calls Elijah forth not from a strong wind; not from an earthquake; not from a fire, but with “a tiny whispering sound.” In the depths of his despair and fear, perhaps at three o’clock in the morning when Elijah could not sleep (although we cannot know from our first reading at what time of day Elijah encountered God on Horeb), Elijah encounters the powerful gentleness of God. Elijah encounters God as a calm whisper, as if to say quietly, “I have a purpose for you yet. Entrust your life to me and be my prophet. All will be well.”

Parents with small children: Have you ever consoled your children when they could not sleep at night by cradling them in your arms and whispering into their ears? Often, when I am presiding at Mass, I look out and see parents whispering to their children to keep them calm. I see children whisper back to their parents, and then occasionally look up at me with a facial expression of, “Oops! Father sees me talking during Mass.” I have to smile at these moments. These whispered conversations between parents and children, whether at Mass or at three o’clock in the morning when the children cannot sleep: This is how God speaks with us, I am sure.

Our God is not in the wind, in the earthquake, or in the fire. Our God is in the silence; in the consoling whispered conversations between parents and children. Never is God more powerful than in God’s gentleness: “I have a purpose for you yet. Trust in me. All will be well.”

This is the gentleness with which God encounters Elijah. And this is the gentleness with which Jesus encounters his disciples at three o’clock in the morning, quietly walking toward them on water: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”

To his credit, Peter recognizes God’s gentle presence in Jesus walking on the water. Peter is open to being taught this way of gentleness; this way of trust in God: “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus says to Peter, “Come.” Jesus not only walks gently toward his disciples on water; not only calms our storms of weak faith; weak trust, but calls us to walk on water as he does, with whatever “little faith” we already have. Jesus calls us to encounter one another; to serve one another; to love one another; to encourage and to console one another with God-like gentleness. And when we fail; when we are sinking; when we sin, Jesus stretches out a hand to save us: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt”?

When we despair; when we are sad; when we are unsure of God’s presence in our lives; when we experience sometimes sudden storms in our lives or relationships; when it is three o’clock in the morning and we cannot sleep, God meets us in a calm whisper. God whispers to us, as a parent to a child: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” When we call back to God, in the words of St. Peter, “Lord, save me,” we can be sure that God hears us and whispers back: “I am not in the wind. I am not in the storm at sea. I am not in the earthquake. I am not in the fire. I am not in whatever is keeping you awake at three o’clock in the morning. I am in the ‘tiny whispering sound’ that you hear if you listen carefully. I have a purpose for you, my beloved. Trust in me. All will be well.”