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The Truth About Walking On Water

I had a call today that irritated me. We were talking about various things and at one point the person made the comment, “Truth is relative.”

I wanted to scream, “No it isn’t!” but I am trying really hard not to interrupt people. Still, as the conversation went on, I could tell that the person on the other end of the call was serious. Truth, to my colleague, is what you believe it to be – and if my truth is different than your truth – then we just have to live and let live.

All I could think about was if this guy’s house was on fire and I told him, as the flames licked through the windows, “I don’t believe that’s fire.” I wonder how he would react. Having an opinion is fine in this house, even welcomed. You can tell me that you don’t like something or you would rather watch another show or play a different game. But there is also truth in this house. We believe in right and wrong. We live according to a creed. You are not allowed, in this house, to make up your own truth because you no longer want to live by the one that existed five minutes ago.

Oh, if I ruled the world….

Actually, that’s a really bad idea.

What does this have to do with walking on water? Well, in my irritation with my phone call, I went back to the readings for the day. I suppose it’s a good thing that a conversation about truth led me back to Scripture.

Looking at today’s Gospel readings had me searching through the archives of this blog when it appeared in another form. I love the reading about walking on water (Mt 14). It puts me in the mood for impossible things.

I can imagine the storm, the darkness, and the fear. I can imagine what it must have been like to feel alone, wondering if anyone would help as the waves got bigger and I feel smaller. It’s like that feeling you get when you are in bed and you swear you hear a noise…and you freeze. It gives me chills just thinking about it.

Then Jesus comes along – wait, is that Jesus? Sometimes I don’t recognize Him. Is He in a boat? Or are we that close to shore? No, wait. He is walking on the water. Holy cow. It’s like He is stepping on stones as he comes closer and closer.

Then Peter, that rock, that steady but sometimes dim witted leader, says something to Jesus and Jesus responds. What are they talking about? Then Pete hops out of the boat and starts walking on the water too. This is incredible. I forget about the storm. I forget about my fear. I am watching the impossible; or rather two men doing the impossible.

Suddenly Peter begins sinking. What did he say? He must have called out, because Jesus reached after him and brought him to safety, but he had that look on his face, Jesus did…that look that says, “Why do you persist in your unbelief? Why are you so hard hearted?” I’ve seen that look before.

Later Jesus is asleep and the others are giving Peter a hard time. He did, after all, lose faith and start to sink. If it weren’t for Jesus he probably would have drowned.

Peter takes it all in stride. He just listens for a bit and then starts to smile. It’s a smile that comes from knowing the Truth.

“Three steps,” he says, and the others are silent.

“Three steps,” he repeats. That is not just his truth, it is truth. He walked. He doubted. He was saved. Sometimes in life there are simple unarguable truths and just because we don’t like them doesn’t make them any less true.

The implication is clear: How many steps did you take on the water? I may have started sinking, but I took three more steps than the rest of you…

He is right. He speaks the truth. And the rest of us doubters are well-rebuked.

The Truth will be all around me this week and in many cases, I probably won’t recognize it. I am often distracted by life.

“Three steps,” I say to myself.

How many steps will you take this week? What truth will you live?

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Judge Not

This morning’s Gospel reading is a tough one.

“Stop judging and you will not be judged.”

Ouch.

But it gets worse.

“For as you judge, so will you be judged…”

Double ouch.

The Gospel writer goes on to quote Jesus about boards and splinters and eyes and beams. We’ve heard it before.

These days it is hard to not to judge. The media seems to encourage it. Politicians welcome it. Families suffer from it. Relationship are destroyed by it.

Judge not… what a concept.

It is appropriate, then, that today we also celebrate two great saints: St. John Fisher and St. Thomas More.

John Fisher was a bishop who refused to recognize the king of England, Henry VIII, as the supreme head of the church in England. He was executed on orders of the king, who could not stand being embarrassed by those whose reputations as a theologian and scholar were greater than his own reputation as ruler.

The other guy we commemorate is my favorite (beside Patrick, of course). Thomas More was also executed for his refusal to recognize the king over the pope as head of the church, More was the Lord Chancellor of England, whose final days are recounted in Robert Bolt’s play, A Man For All Seasons. I read that play every summer and taught it when I was a junior high teacher and, again, more recently, in a class I taught at a local university. At the end of the play, More stands on the dais, about to lose his head for following his conscience and says, (at least in the play), “I have been commanded by the king to be brief, so brief I will be. I die here the king’s good servant, but God’s first.”

More and Fisher served the king well. When the king didn’t get what he wanted, he simply made himself the head of the church, granted himself the divorce, and thus was free to marry the woman who would become one of many in a succession of wives. It was a declaration (think: executive order) that he wrote with his advisors that made him able to do these things and it turns out it was a declaration that went against his own coronation oath.

When I was teaching junior high, I gave a review that was more than thirty pages long. Students could use books, parents, other teachers, even each other to find the correct answers. After all, it was only a review, not the final exam.

The final exam, it turns out, was only one question. After all their study of the “facts of the faith,” their final to get out of middle school religion was simple:

“How are you God’s first?”

Perhaps if all of us – including me – asked that question more often, there would be a lot less judging going on.

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The Art of Distraction

I am distracted of late.

Distracted by not being at the office and confusing working from home with vacation, with a list of chores that never seems to get finished.

Distracted by children who have not been anywhere and want to go somewhere. One who is out of school (today is her first day of no school) and who announced her boredom to the world this morning. I offered to share the list of chores, but that was a nonstarter.

Distracted by the sheer volume of work on my plate. I love my job but sometimes I can feel the walls closing in on me. So much to do, so much we don’t know, so many people wanting answers.

Distracted by the unknown, the intensity of wanting to be finished with the pandemic, the virus, the masks that make me hot, and the lack of human interaction outside this domestic church.

Distracted by the cacophony of sounds in my head and around the house – the arguing, the laughing, the Alexa, the fan, the door chimes, the sounds of computers and television and keyboards and timers and endless emails and Zoom calls.

Distracted by the news of more protests and trying to see through lenses I can never wear. Trying to marry compassion and understanding with justice and order and wondering how to support a cause that is foreign to me as a white, middle class man who has never suffered because of his race and yet fully comprehending the privilege this brings.

So I turn to today’s readings. Matthew offers Jesus’ take on the constitution of our faith, the foundational principles of who we are as followers of Christ and who we ought to be with each other.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the land.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the clean of heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,
for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you
and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.
Rejoice and be glad,
for your reward will be great in heaven.
Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

I am not sure these words bring me the complete comfort I seek, but they help. They promise solace for the suffering – but with the assumption that someone hears their cry and addresses their pain. They promise mercy and compassion and justice and fairness and happiness and more. But these are not obtuse promises; these promises are rooted in a relationship that begins with everyone being part of one body.

Therein lies the problem, I think. One body. Do we grasp that? Do we honor that? Do we accept that? Do we live by that?

Do we really understand that no race is better, no color more superior, no person is more deserving of love than any other? Do we accept that there can be space in our togetherness, that we need not agree on politics or religion or which channel gives the best coverage? Can we first simply accept that we are all part of one body in this crazy upside down planet we call home?

Perhaps when we truly grasp that we are one body, we will understand how our lives can be a blessing to the merciful, the peacemakers, and those who long to be called children of God.

Perhaps when black lives matter, all life will matter.

Or are we too distracted by the noise that surrounds us?

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Springtime. Finally.

We turned a corner here in Connecticut this weekend. No, we are still quarantined and still going to school virtually. That will likely continue for some time. We stay safe by staying at home. Trips to the store are kept to a minimum and since online food delivery is backed up, we make a list, keep to it, and get in and out quickly. No more browsing for us.

The corner we turned is weather-related. Divine Mercy Sunday was gorgeous. The sun shone, the birds sang, and the tree house drew nearer to completion. The chill returned in the evening but it was still nice enough to grill outside. After a long, long Lent, lots of rain and chilly weather, it seems spring has finally arrived.

It was hard to celebrate Easter without springtime. It’s even harder to celebrate Sunday without Mass. Going to Mass via television is just not the same, but it has given the children (and parents) a better understanding of those older folks around us who are unable to go as often as the rest of us – at least when public Masses are not suspended.

In the readings during the Easter season, we read of Thomas, who doubted, Peter, who was reconciled, and the early followers who experienced the resurrected Jesus on the shore, in the upper room, and as they cared for one another.

I get Thomas. During these days of staying indoors, it is easy to doubt the reality of the world around us. It is easy to feel fine, see the sun shining, and wonder to ourselves why we can’t just go about our lives doing whatever it is we want. Then we see the numbers and realize how contagious this virus is and how staying away from friends and family can actually save lives. Yes, it’s boring, but I find hope in this fact: the Church canonized Thomas. He’s a saint, which means that after the doubting, there was belief. His confession of faith speaks to the hope we can all find when this pandemic is over and we breathe a sigh of relief and hug our neighbors. He doubted, but his experience of Jesus brought him through the darkness.

Then there is Peter, who saved his backside by denying he even knew Jesus. We’ll see in Sunday’s Gospel that he gets his chance to reconcile with Jesus. To weep, to repent, to choose to love again. That gives me hope too. I am forgiven. I can be reconciled. I can experience Jesus in the people around me and choose love over ignorance and self-serving behavior.

Finally, there are the early followers. The ones who ran to the tomb and yet still stayed locked in the upper room. The two who ran off to nowhere, only to find the risen Lord along the way. We are like all those people. We are scared. We are alone. But we know the end of the story. We know there is light after darkness, resurrection after crucifixion.

We know that we are Easter people and that Alleluia is our song.

And that makes all the difference in the world.

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God’s Law

We see throughout the Gospel readings this week that Jesus made a habit of recognizing God’s law over man’s law. No doubt this made the legal scholars of the day angry and even those who didn’t study the law but knew the law were irked.

We look at these situations with the benefit of hindsight. We know how the story ends. We commemorate the crucifixion and celebrate the resurrection. The winners write the history books and we know, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story.

Why, then, are we still putting man’s law over God’s law? God says, “Do not kill” and yet we create ways to take a life again and again and then try to justify our actions. God says, “Feed the poor” and we’d just assume leave that to the people who run the charities and soup kitchens. God says, “Keep holy the sabbath” and we fill our time with less important obligations and find excuses not to rest as we have been commanded. I could go on, but you get the picture.

God’s law. Man’s law. One gets you to heaven. One does not.

Where you begin is everything.

May your week be filled with God-like decisions.

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Please, I Want To See

This morning in Luke’s Gospel, we hear the story of the man born blind.  

There it is, the great and powerful question that Jesus asks us all: “What do you want me to do for you?”  

On behalf of all of us, the man replied, “Please, I want to see.”

This reading always makes me chuckle. The man was blind. The people on the side of the streets  knew it (they had to tell him what all the fuss along the road was about). My guess is the townspeople knew it. The man certainly knew he was blind. And Jesus likely knew it too.  

Still, he asked the question, “What do you want me to do for you?”

I always imagined Peter, who struggled to understand so many things, slapping himself on the forehead at the question and then leaning in to whisper to Jesus, “Dude, he’s blind. You really had to ask?”

But yes, Jesus has to ask – for two reasons, I think.

First, in Jesus’ time, the sick were the way they were because of sin – the sin of the lame or of their parents. That’s how sickness was explained. The person who was sick or those who brought them into the world, must have done something wrong to deserve such animosity from a God that was sometimes very distant.

Jesus restores not just his sight, but his dignity. By addressing the man directly, he raises him up as an equal, treats him with respect, and shows the crowd how we are all to treat the ill.

The other reason is more simple. Then – as now – the question demands an answer.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

Show you how to love? Check.

Show you how to forgive? Check.

Show you how to heal one another? Check.

Show you want it looks like to love hatred to death? Just watch.

The challenge for us is to answer the question Jesus poses so that in our blindness, we might come to see the presence of God in our midst.

 

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Mary in Luke

Since we celebrate the feast of St. Luke this week and since October is often one of those months (like May) where there is a strong focus on Our Lady, I thought I might combine the two.

Luke gives the fullest account of Mary both as the mother of Jesus and a symbol of humanity. She is a real mother and completely human. She is a Jewish girl who grows to womanhood in the company of a son who is as much a mystery to her as a child can be. Yet she is a woman of extraordinary faith, which is what sets her apart and makes her a model for the rest of us.

Although Luke does not give us a glorified and unrealistic portrait of Mary, neither does he give us an undoctored photograph. What we read in the first three chapters of his gospel, therefore, is not so much a historical account as a theological account. He is speaking not only about individuals but also about exemplary individuals. He is not so much describing particular events as much as he is portraying the universal meaning of those events.

We need to see Mary not just as a person, but also as an example for us all. She is a particular woman, but she is also a model of faith for all women and men. And the events which Luke describes are not simply events in one woman’s life; they portray the eternal meaning of every life of faith.

A few of my favorite Mary stories in Luke:

1:28-29

Rejoice because it is always good news when the Lord speaks to us. Since we’re never sure who is speaking, the angel goes on…

1:30

God is calling her to the way of faith, which is not a way of fear. When the Lord is present, there is no need to fear. When the Lord calls, the only need is to trust. The woman is not to doubt God’s ‘favor’ – in Greek charis or grace. So then this is an experience of grace.

Each of us has a calling. The call comes personally and individually. It speaks to where we are and to what we are capable of. And yet, God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.

1:35-37

Through Mary, Luke is opening up a new realm of possibility for us. He is saying to his readers that the way of faith is the way of unheard-of possibilities. The power of the Spirit is such that even the impossible is possible. Yet it does not happen to everyone. It does not happen automatically. It happens only to those who put their whole trust in the Lord.

1:42-45

Visitation – When Mary receives this word of the Lord, therefore, the woman does not turn in upon herself. Rather she goes out toward others.

1:46-49

In Mary’s hymn of praise, Luke sums us the combined wisdom of the Old Testament and the New Testament alike. Some call it the most succinct and perfect summary of biblical spirituality. The moral development of Israel leads up to this, and the spiritual growth of the Church takes off from this.

But this way of the Lord, this total surrender to the Spirit is a way of suffering. Jesus knew this and he lived it to the utmost. Here at the beginning of Luke’s gospel, the evangelist speaks the same word to every disciple by having it spoken to Mary, the perfect disciple.

8:19-21

Now she waits. Except for one further glimpse of Mary, we don’t see her again until Acts. She does not understand the meaning of this son of hers. Yet she never doubts. She has given over control. She makes no claims on reality or God or others.

For the next 18 years, Mary’s life is uneventful. She waited for the hour to come. She did not force it. She trusted that what God wanted to happen would happen. She needed only to be faithful, for she knew that God is faithful.

Discipleship is often like that. We do everything we think the Lord is calling us to do, but nothing happens. We pray, we read Scripture, but we do not feel any holier or smarter.

Luke’s reminder to all disciples, spoken through his silence about Mary, is this: Waiting in the silence is sometimes exactly what God is asking of us. God needs to do God’s work, but in the end, the work is God’s. God will bring it to fruition, not us.

‘Jesus growing into manhood…’ – while we wait, the Spirit moves and works.

Finally, the time arrives. When Jesus is about 30, he is baptized by John in the Jordan, and he receives the anointing by the Spirit which launches him into his public ministry.

Sometimes Jesus even draws large crowds. Luke’s last mention of Mary happens here.

In Matthew and Mark’s gospel, Jesus contrasts his family with the hearers of the word. In Luke’s interpretation, however, Jesus affirms that his mother and brothers are disciples, that is, they hear God’s word and practice it.

Of all these disciples in the early Church, Mary is the first and foremost. For 30 years she has said her yes to the word of the Lord, long before the others even heard it.

She is also foremost among the disciples because she has endured everything that any disciple could be called by God to endure for the sake of the kingdom. Day after day she said yes to her Lord, even though she did not know where she was being led. She was led to the meaningless of her son’s crucifixion, the absurdity of seeing him murdered by the very people she respected. Yet her faith did not falter and so, three days later, she witnessed the resurrection as well.

Mary has seen it all, from before the beginning until after the end. She is the unique witness to the whole life of Christ in the world, from before its conception in her until its transformation and continuation in the Church. She is the ultimate disciple, giving birth not only to Christ but also to the Church by being at the center of the earliest community.

Mary, Our Queen and Our Mother, Pray for us.

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Martha, Martha

This morning’s readings for the Memorial of Saint Martha offer two choices when it comes to the Gospel reading. They both include a story about a Martha and both include powerful lessons applicable to our daily lives.

In the first option, John 11:19-27, we hear the beginning of the story of the resurrection of Lazarus, the brother of Martha. I love that Martha tells Jesus, “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” How many of us wonder in the time of great loss if God is really present? And yet, she confesses her confidence that Jesus can still make things right, almost challenging him: “But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”

The conversation leads to that great line that conveys so much for you and I and for all faithful. Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and anyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

To this, Martha confesses, on behalf of all of us: “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

Martha speaks for all of us. Her confession must become our own. But how?

This takes us to the second optional reading, Luke 10:38-42, Jesus enters a village where Martha and her sister Mary greet him. Mary listens while Martha works. Then Martha complains that she’s doing all the work and Mary isn’t helping. “Tell her to help me,” Martha requests.

But Jesus chastises Martha, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.

There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”

Martha works. That is important. She serves our Lord. That is essential.

Mary spends time with Jesus. Equally important. Equally essential.

Two readings. Two lessons. There is no escaping the Good News: in one reading, we hear that believing in Jesus gets us life eternal. How do we get to this confession? Serving and spending time.

These are the two roles we can choose when it comes to Jesus – serving him by loving others in word and deed – or spending time with him in prayer, in listening, and in just being present. Or both?

Both are essential and both will lead to that moment of clarity: “Yes, Lord, I believe…”

Saint Martha, pray for us.

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Capernaum

I am in the Holy Land this week with a group of young adults. We have visited Nazareth and arrived today in Bethlehem. Our visit today to the house of St. Peter and the seaside town of Capernaum reminded me of the card in my wallet.

This card in my wallet tells a story and it started, like all good stories do, with a teacher who made a difference.

It was my junior year in high school and Sr. Judy Eby, RSM asked us to reflect on that great passage from the Gospel according to St. Luke.  You remember the story: Jesus is teaching at the house of Peter in Capernaum and some friends want to get their buddy, who is paralyzed and has spent the better part of his life flat on a mat, closer to Jesus. Unable to get through the crowd, they drag the poor fellow up a ladder and down through the roof.

Then, after we read the passage, we watched a scene of Franco Zeffirelli’s 1977 masterpiece, Jesus of Nazareth. The story unfolds just like it does in Luke’s Gospel: the crowds have gathered and there is no room for the men to bring their friend to Jesus. He cannot walk, so they carry him over the wall, through the thatched roof, and place him before the Teacher.

You know what happens next. The movie takes some editorial license, but after a brief conversation, the man is told his sins are forgiven. The movie version, while riveting, fails to follow Luke’s account. Jesus forgives the man’s sins because he is moved by the actions of the friends. But more on that later.

In both versions, the crowd goes nuts. “Only God can forgive sins,” they reproach Jesus. Putting yourself on the same plane as God is only going to cause trouble. To this, we get a classic Jesus response: “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’?”

Think about that. Surely forgiving sins is easier. Right? To show the crowd what he’s really capable of, Jesus tells the man to get up, pick up his mat, and go home. The man obliges. The crowd goes nuts for an entirely different reason and everyone learns an important lesson.

But back to the card in my wallet.

We wrap up the reading, the watching, and the discussion about the friends who carried the stretcher, and Sr. Judy hands us all an index card. “Now,” she tells us, “write down the names of those who carry you to Christ.”

Wait. What? This just got real.

I have repeated that exercise with youth and adults alike for years.  I even used it last night with my group here. Like Sr. Judy, I challenged them to think of those who, when we are paralyzed with fear, sinfulness, and selfishness, carry us to Christ. When you cannot move, who lifts you up? When you are sick or alone or unhappy or in serious need of a friend, who do you call?

I have edited my list throughout the years. Friends come and go. People die. But my list has been there since that spring day in 1987. I have moved it from wallet to wallet. It’s a thirty-two-year-old ratty piece of paper that I carry with me everywhere. On more than one occasion, the list has saved my life, my soul, my sanity.

Yes, there is a card in my wallet that tells a story. It tells a story of salvation.

Who’s on your list?

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Perspective

Reflecting on one of the Gospel stories we hear this week, you can see the stark differences between the way various groups react to the words and work of Jesus.

A demoniac who could not speak was brought to Jesus, and when the demon was driven out the mute man spoke. The crowds were amazed and said, “Nothing like this has ever been seen in Israel.” But the Pharisees said, “He drives out demons by the prince of demons.”  Matthew 9:32-34

The crowds – the everyday people – are overwhelmed with faith. The Pharisees – the so-called holy ones of Judaism – are overwhelmed with indignation.

One group sees light, wonder, amazement. The other sees jealousy, bitterness, even a connection to demons.

I thought of this the other day when we were riding our bikes as a family (well, almost all of us, as the last child’s bike had bad brakes and she nearly wiped out on the first hill). We are trying to increase our exercise so child number three can increase his carb intake. It makes for a healthier family altogether.

Child number one – the one who would almost always rather be online – loved it. She was off and riding on the trail, talking to strangers, interacting with others, and having a great time. Child number two was less thrilled, complained a bit more, and rode with less enthusiasm. Though I was told I look like a bear riding a tricycle, I kept up.

It’s the same at home when we try to pick a movie. One child wants animation. One wants a documentary. Another wants all things Marvel. And yet another wants to stay in her room and interact with others only online. When it comes times for chores, one child clearly understands the connection between helping out and personal responsibility while another sees only a parent stealing playtime.

Perspective matters. What we see matters. But what we see and what we say are often rooted in who we are as children of God – and our willingness to embrace that childhood. How we respond when someone takes our parking space or cuts us off or eats something that is ours in the refrigerator is rooted in our own happiness – or lack thereof. Do we approach others with humility, openness, and love? Or do we allow our responses to be rooted in jealousy, hypocrisy, and envy?

When we look out at the world, do we see stars or just darkness?

This week, may your world be filled with light – and may that light guide others home.