Today’s
gospel story of Jesus walking on the storm-tossed waters of the Sea of
Galilee appears in all but one of the four gospels, but Matthew’s is the
only version that puts Peter right at the center of the story. We
should be grateful for that because Peter gives the story a decidedly
human dimension. Peter makes room for us in the story.
If you know the Cathedral, you are aware that this
gospel story was captured in bronze years ago on the west façade of the
Cathedral – on one of the door handles, to be exact. Jesus is there
pulling the sinking, terrified Peter out of the water. The idea
for that door handle came from the sculptor of those wonderful bronze
doors, Ulrich Henn, who told me that he knew people would be coming to
the Cathedral whose faith wasn’t very strong, and he wanted them to know
that Peter’s faith wasn’t always very strong either. He also
wanted them to know that even with little or no faith they were welcome
in the Cathedral, welcome to take that handle, open that door, and come
in.
You see why I say that Peter makes room for us in the
story. Peter stands for each of us. We are believers but we sometimes
struggle to believe; we can be strong in faith at one moment, drowning
in doubt the next. The gospel prayer, “I believe, Lord, help my
unbelief!” is our prayer. Faith that knows no struggle or doubt is
probably not faith at all.
So this gospel story, like so many, is a kind of mirror
for viewing ourselves, and a source of encouragement – as if to say: if
Peter was nearly swamped in those waves, there’s hope for us – hope that
the Lord will be there reaching out his hand to us as he did to the
drowning Peter, calming our storms, climbing into our boat to sit
alongside, gently inviting us to deeper faith as he says, “Take courage.
It is I. Do not be afraid.”
It’s worth observing that those words, “Do not be
afraid,” are a thread that runs all through Matthew’s Gospel from
beginning to end. They were the words the angel spoke to the
bewildered Joseph when he found that his beloved Mary was pregnant; they
were the calming words Jesus spoke during the storm at sea; the
reassuring words he spoke to Peter, James and John on the Mount of
Transfiguration; the Easter words he spoke to the brave but frightened
women at the tomb; and they were his parting words to the disciples on a
hilltop in Galilee: “Do not be afraid.” From beginning to end,
Matthew’s gospel is a lifeline for fearful people trying to hold onto
faith.
But in today’s readings Matthew’s gospel doesn’t have
to carry this message by itself. It was also in the reading from the
Book of Kings. Elijah was in the midst of the greatest storm of
his stormy career. He was fleeing for his life from the fury of
the bloodthirsty Queen Jezebel, wondering all the while where the Lord
God was. His flight took him all the way to the very mountain
where Moses had met God long years before.
But it was different for Elijah. God didn’t speak
to him as he had to Moses -- in a show of awesome power, in thunder,
earthquake and fire. No, God spoke to Elijah in the tiniest wisp
of a breeze, in a “still, small voice” that caused him to hide his face
in his cloak. And that’s where the Elijah story connects with
today’s gospel story. The voice of Jesus to Peter and the terrified
apostles on the storm-tossed Lake of Galilee –- “Take courage. It is I.
Do not be afraid” - was an echo of that “still, small voice” Elijah once
heard. And, like Elijah of old, the troubled apostles bowed their heads
in silent wonder.
My friends, do you
sometimes wonder where the Lord is during your personal struggles?
I know I do. Do you question your faith because of things that are
happening or that have happened to you – things beyond your control - a
debilitating illness, perhaps, or the death of a loved one; the
unraveling of a relationship; the loss of a job; the direction one of
your children has chosen to take in life? And do you sometimes
wonder if God has turned his back on our world as you look at an
out-of-control and deadly pandemic; or at the scandalous racial divides
and economic disparities that convulse our nation; or at the callous
disregard for life in the womb or for migrants and asylum-seekers; or at
the wearying lack of leadership in the corridors of power? We all
wonder about such things, I think, and we are in good company. We are.
We are in the company of Elijah, the company of Peter and the apostles
on the stormy sea. Like them, we believe but sometimes we wonder where
God is, why God doesn’t do something.
With the fearful Peter we need to reach out for the
hand of Jesus; with the weary and discouraged Elijah, we need to listen
patiently and intently for that “still, small voice” of God.
Now I know this might sound simplistic. And it
doesn’t mean that we won’t have times of fear, doubt, or deep anxiety;
and, with regard to the world situation, it doesn’t absolve us from
exerting every possible effort - every ounce of energy we have - to work
for a better, more just world. But, in the end, with Peter and the
apostles on the Sea of Galilee, we need to scan the night sky for the
figure of Jesus who is always with us in our darkness. And when
with Peter we cry out, “Lord, save me!” his hand will be there to lift
us up, his voice to reassure us: “O you of little faith,” he will say as
he says to us now in this Eucharist, “why do you doubt? Take courage. It
is I. Do not be afraid!”
Father Michael G. Ryan
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