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 direction one of your children has
taken in life? And do you sometimes wonder if God has turned his back on
our world as you look at the ongoing outrage that is the Russian
invasion of Ukraine; or at the scandalous racial divides and economic
disparities that convulse our nation; or at the callous disregard for
life in the womb and for migrants seeking asylum in our country; or at
the repeated shocking attacks on the very fabric of our democracy? 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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