|
Last year,
many of us watched television “News Alerts” reporting hurricane after
hurricane battering the Gulf region. Katrina and Wilma, perhaps the
most deadly on the long list of 2005-2006 hurricanes, demonstrated
before our very eyes Nature’s utterly destructive power.
As spectators, we
saw thousands upon thousands of people whose lives were literally turned
upside down and inside out. Think about it: all of the material
touchstones associated with normalcy disappeared from these peoples’
lives within the space of a few short hours. Now homeless, we saw
refugees slogging through sludge and surging water in search of
shelter. With little food and no potable water, we saw people
continuing to push on as they grew increasingly hungry and weary. And,
with no electricity, even the marvels of modern technology—like cell
phones and computers equipped with wifi—within a few short hours were
rendered inoperative and useless.
While one
television anchorman said—and we may have even thought to
ourselves—“This looks like a Third World country. It can’t be the
United States of America,” it was very hard to imagine the fear and
terror these people must certainly have experienced finding themselves
ensnared by Nature’s utterly destructive power.
There is much we
can learn from the experience of those refugees of last year’s
destructive and deadly hurricanes because we’re really not all that much
different from those refugees. Like them during the weeks preceding the
hurricanes, we’ve also grown quite comfortable with life as we know it.
The material touchstones of our daily lives provide the deceit of
assurance that everything is “normal” and that we’re “in full control.”
So, as long as we don’t venture too far away from that place and
unpredicted storms don’t arise, buffet us from all sides, and cause us
to have to trek through sludge and rising tides toward safety, we allow
ourselves to be seduced into believing that we’re invincible. We’re
“Masters of our destiny!”
We should heed
warnings about natural disasters. At times, however, we receive
warnings about the potential for disasters of a spiritual nature and
we’re told how important it is to prepare ourselves and be ready for
that potential. For example, we’ve been told that the world in which we
live—and our First World comfortable culture, in particular—is at war
with the values of our faith. “The culture of death” and the mentality
spawned by secularism, materialism, and consumerism, the late-Pope John
Paul II warned us more than one decade ago, seeks to destroy “the
culture of life.”
“So what?” we say
in response. “What’s that got to do with me? I’m pretty comfortable
with the way things are.”
We’ve been warned
that the institution of marriage is in trouble. “But,” we say, “what’s
that got to do with me because I’m pretty satisfied with my marriage.”
We’ve been warned that the institution of the family is in trouble.
“But,” we say, “What’s that got to do with me because my family seems to
be doing pretty good.” We’ve been warned that young people today are
facing incredible temptations their parents would never have imagined
just one generation ago when they were teenagers. “But,” we say,
“What’s that got to do with me because my kids are growing up. They
look pretty happy and healthy.”
Since there
aren’t any major disruptions interfering with the material touchstones
of daily life, who really cares about all of those warnings? Why heed
them?
Then, the clouds
darken on the horizon; the predicted storms arise with a tempest.
Suddenly, wind and rain buffet us from all sides. Any lull serves as an
ironic introduction to another violent squall. But now, the waves are
breaking over the bulkheads we’ve erected to protect ourselves. We’re
taking on water. In this dangerous situation, the material touchstones
of daily life slip like water through our fingers and we find ourselves
increasingly losing control. Then, with chaos swirling around us and
threatening life as we know it, fear is transformed into terror.
Oftentimes, our
first reaction to is to blame God for being asleep, at a minimum, or
completely absent, at a maximum. “Don’t you care that I am perishing?”
we demand indignantly in what is perhaps our first real prayer in a very
long time.
Unlike those
refugees from last year’s hurricanes who were warned to flee to higher
ground, tragedy oftentimes strikes in very big ways without any warning
or adequate notice. A spouse is diagnosed with cancer, dies of a
massive coronary, or announces that divorce papers are already filed.
The company goes belly up or is “rightsizing.” It doesn’t matter how,
what, or why because the job is gone and it will never come back. A
child contracts a deadly disease, dies of a drug overdose, or is killed
in a car accident.
Tragedy can also
strike in many small ways that grow into big tragedies. A wife becomes
concerned that her husband is gaining too much weight and not getting
exercise. An employee fears delivering bad news to a boss. A teenager
is increasingly secretive and deceitful. We all know a stinking
elephant is sitting in the middle of the marriage, the workplace, or the
family but rather than “upset the applecart” and lose contact with those
familiar material touchstones that make life comfortable, people
oftentimes do nothing in response to the signals warning of danger.
Whenever tragedy
strikes, no matter how many times we may have been warned, it hits us
like a raging storm. It buffets us from all sides, destroys everything
in its path, and leaves nothing but chaos in its wake. Surveying the
wreckage strewn around us, we wonder how God could allow such a thing to
happen to us. Bliss has been replaced by sleepless nights.
In today’s
gospel, Jesus told his disciples, “Let us cross to the other side.” In
effect, Jesus was saying, “Now that I have taught you everything you
need to know and warned you about everything that is to come, let’s
leave everything we’re familiar with and venture into unfamiliar
territory.” The challenge Jesus issued his disciples required that they
journey beyond the familiar and into a place where things would be
unfamiliar and the disciples could test themselves and their spiritual
mettle in light of Jesus’ teaching.
Setting out by
boat to this new place with nothing but Jesus alongside of them, the
shore the disciples left behind slipped ever so slowly beyond the
horizon. The distance increased between the disciples and life as they
knew it. The disciples’ fear also increased as it became manifestly
clear that they would not be going back any time soon to the place they
had left behind with all of the material touchstones that made their
lives so comfortable. Then, a storm suddenly rose up and buffeted the
disciples’ boat. Their fear metamorphosed into terror. With nowhere to
turn and their lives to lose, the disciples awoke Jesus from sleep. “Do
you not care that we are perishing?” they demanded indignantly.
When tempests
abound and confusion floods our minds, it is easy to appreciate how
naturally the disciples’ question flowed from their lips. Coming
face-to-face with a lack of control and, perhaps, our own mortality,
what causes our fear to morph into terror is the notion that God is
indifferent to our situation. “Don’t you care?”—in other words, “Don’t
you love me?”—is the first step in spiritual discouragement. The next
step is not to trust in Divine Providence to restore order in the chaos.
“When bad things
happen to good people”—like you and me—why do we wonder why God is
asleep, absent, or worse yet, the Author of the terror besetting us?
While it’s understandable that we do wonder about this, what is
problematic spiritually speaking is that we conclude that God must be
the Author of the chaos around us when scripture has taught us from its
very first pages that God is the One who instills order upon chaos.
“God is Love”
Pope Benedict XVI wrote in his first encyclical published a few months
back, “Deus caritas est.” When the storms surge around us and we
see evil for what it is, the power of evil wants us to focus upon the
storms, to let fear morph into terror, and to blame God for the one
thing that God cannot do: create evil.
That is why many
people don’t believe God can possibly be present in the storms of their
chaotic lives. So, like Job, they cry out, “Do you not care that we are
perishing? Do something about this!” And, then, when the storms
finally calm down, they go back to their lives, find new material
touchstones, and forget about God who stills the proud waves.
“Why are you
terrified?” Jesus asked his disciples and he asks us today. “Do you not
yet have faith?”
In his second
epistle to the Corinthians, St. Paul wrote: “…whoever is in Christ is a
new creation.” That’s you and me! So, what does it mean to be a “new
creation”? In light of today’s gospel, being a new creation means
nothing less than trusting in Divine Providence to restore order where
evil has spawned chaos.
During the summer
months, many of us take a break from the daily routine with its
attendant material touchstones. Last July 17, Pope Benedict XVI
spoke about the importance of taking a vacation when he said to the
people of Les Combes, Italy:
Vacation time offers the unique opportunity to pause before the
thought-provoking spectacles of nature, a wonderful “book” within reach
of everyone, adults and children. In contact with nature, a person
rediscovers his correct dimension, rediscovers himself as a creature,
small but at the same time unique, with a “capacity for God” because
interiorly he is open to the Infinite. Driven by his heartfelt
urgent search for meaning, he perceives in the surrounding world the
mark of goodness and Divine Providence and opens almost naturally to
praise and prayer.
Whether we go on vacation or just take
time to relax at home, the summer months provide an excellent
opportunity to examine our lives and to confront the chaos full of
confidence that Divine Providence will restore order to our souls, to
our marriages, and to our family lives, just as the Book of Genesis
teaches. This
“break”
from the ordinary opens us to praise and prayer of the Extraordinary
source of our lives.
As disciples, then,
we “Do this in memory of me” by using the break from the daily routine
to make Christ the spiritual touchstone of our daily lives once again.
I’ll be honest with you, however. Doing so will provide no guarantee
that our lives will be free from the assaults of evil or that we will
never experience storms and tempests. No, that’s part and parcel of
human existence. But, with Christ as the spiritual touchstone of our
lives, we can live in full confidence that the assaults of evil and
surging seas will never be powerful enough to pull us away from God in
whom we place our trust. |
HOMILY
