Homilies

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time
June 25, 2006

In today’s readings for the Mass, we experience very quickly a lesson that was long in the making for our forefathers in the Faith. The lesson is this: God’s ways are not our ways—because God acts from the principle of pure love, we will never quite understand his action in our lives. We simply have to trust and follow his lead. We must say with Job, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord” (Jb. 1:21).

The first reading is from the Book of Job. The whole of the book is one long argument on the subject of suffering and sin. Job has lost everything—children, wealth, and health. Job’s friends are trying to convince him that he is suffering because he is a sinner, that God is punishing him for his sins. But Job argues that he is innocent and that his suffering is unjust.

When God finally enters the discussion, he makes his point very quickly with an onslaught of rhetorical questions. The point he makes is this: God’s ways are totally beyond small human reasoning. Because the friends of Job presume to know the ways of God, they are the primary recipients of God’s brutal series of questions. God asks them:

‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!’ (Jb. 38:4–5)

When we consider the reality of an all–powerful and all–loving God creating the world for our own good, we begin to realize how far beyond us he is. We begin to entertain the idea that perhaps we cannot completely understand why God does what he does. We even begin to admit that perhaps our minds are too small to presume to know the intentions of an infinite being.

Once we have attained this minimum level of humility, we can, with God’s grace, become more like Job. Like Job, we can have awe and respect for God. We can respond to God’s activity in our lives with acceptance and gratitude. We can truly say: “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

In the Epistle today, Paul is preaching about the same subject: the Christian perspective in not the human perspective. Because of the death and resurrection of Jesus, says Saint Paul, “we, therefore, regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

Everything is new because the Holy Spirit is indwelling in every Christian, making him like Christ. The all–powerful and all–loving God is now intimately united with each of us who have been baptized in Christ.

But if this is so, if there is an all–loving and all–powerful God dwelling in each of us, why is there pain and suffering? And why do we Christians sin against each other and against God? Why the storm in life?

The Gospel teaches us today that even the storm is part of God’s loving action, that we ought not to fear for, even amidst the apparent chaos, God is totally in control.

During this storm, as the boat is being swamped, Jesus is sleeping like a baby in the back of the boat. The Apostles, however, are all in a panic. They have much experience at sea and are certain that, humanly speaking, there is no way they are going to survive this storm.

So, they wake Jesus and ask him to intervene. He immediately puts the sea in a dead calm simply by saying to it: “Peace! Be still!”

But then Jesus rebukes the Apostles: “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

This question by Jesus seems somewhat surprising. It seems like he would have said something like: “Because you have asked for life in my name, the Father in Heaven has granted it unto you.” But instead he rebukes them with: “Have you still no faith?”

The point of the Master is obvious: true faith is total abandonment to the will of God.

If we are men of true faith, we will completely trust in the Lord, even amidst the most serious of storms. We will be certain that the Lord is with us and is calmly in control of the situation, acting for our good. Therefore, whatever happens—even if we perish during the storm—it is for our own good.

This is a hard lesson to learn, for each of us desires to maintain at least some modicum of control in his life. Be it from fear, pride, or stupidity, no one of us wants to completely abandon himself to another, becoming vulnerable.

But to fall in love is to lose control and become vulnerable to another. Romeo and Juliet lost control. And their love lead to death.

And perhaps this is what God is asking of us. He wants us to requite his love, to fall in love with him, to completely abandon ourselves to him the way Romeo and Juliet completely abandoned themselves to each other. Yes, this will be the death of us but only a seeming death. If we completely abandon ourselves to this person who happens to be all–powerful as well as all–loving, true life—true living—is sure to follow upon the apparent death.

But it gets even more complicated.

Saint Paul tells us in today’s Epistle the we must see Christ in each other: “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

It’s one thing to trust God in general, it’s another to trust God in our neighbor. But Saint Paul is saying that even amidst the storm in our neighbor’s soul, even amidst all his ugliness and meanness, we must respond to the Christ in him.

Are we the kind of people who are disgusted with the imperfection of our neighbor or are we more like some of the saints who were able to drink the vomit of their brothers in Christ?

Do we trust that Christ is in our neighbor and do we act accordingly? Saint Ephraim gives us a good litmus test to answer this question. It is this: what kind of true Christian fellowship do we have?

We all know people who fancy themselves as righteous, yet few can tolerate their company. And then know people who don’t seem like anything special, but their mere presence makes people smile.

Whom do we tend to more closely resemble?

Do we trust that Christ is at the core of our neighbor’s being? Do we see Christ through the storm of our neighbor’s soul?

What if somehow we could readily see Christ in our neighbor? And what if we responded with true love when this Christ came into our lives? We’d do crazy things, things only lovers do. We would invite a beggar into our home for a meal and a place to sleep. We would want to pray with him, perhaps praising the Father through Evening Prayer. Like the Apostles on the road to Emmaus, Christ (in this total stranger) would make our hearts burn with love.

But few of us ever have an experience like this. We miss out because we are afraid to love. We are afraid to lose control and abandon ourselves to God’s ways. Like the Apostles in the boat (before they learned the lesson of the Cross), we look to Christ to help us, but we haven’t matured enough yet to truly love.

With the Psalmist in today’s Mass, therefore, we ought to pray:

Then they were glad because they had quiet,
and he brought them to their desired haven.
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
for his wonderful works to the sons of men.

Homilies

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time June 25, 2006

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time
June 25, 2006