HOMILY for the 12th Sunday per annum (B)
Job 38:1. 8-11; Ps 106; 2 Cor 5:14-17; Mark 4:35-41
Last month I went to North Berwick and boarded a catamaran, hoping to see puffins on Craigleith island. It was a beautiful sunny day – even slightly warm – when we set out, but a squall came over us just as we approached the island, and the rain was so heavy I could barely see, let alone spot any puffins! So we sailed off for Bass Rock and when we got there it was sunny and bright again; the sudden storm and the dark clouds had passed.
It seems that the weather in Galilee must be as changeable as Edinburgh’s. Indeed, I’m told that sudden storms are quite common in the Sea of Galilee, just as they are in the Firth of Forth. Hence Christ and his apostles were caught in a squall as they were crossing the sea in a little flotilla of boats. But Jesus is “asleep at the stern” much to the consternation of his disciples who cry out: “Do you not care if we perish?” (Mk 4:38).
What disciple of Christ has not cried out like this? The suddenly-stormy sea reflects life and its vicissitudes; it reflects the storms in our heart and the disturbances in our faith journeys when we’re suddenly met with danger, disease, and disaster. In life, everything seems sunny one moment and the next moment a squall comes over us; we’re devastated. Christ is with us, but often God seems to be asleep, distant, and even, uncaring. “Do you not care if we perish?” we think, as the Tempter’s voice tells us that God doesn’t care or doesn’t even exist. In today’s readings we only have this snippet from the end of Job’s discourse with God but he, too, was faced with this temptation when all he knew and loved was suddenly devastated and lost. Where is God, we wonder? Why is he aloof from our troubles and worries (– and these seem to daily increase in our world)? Does Christ not care if we perish?
St John answers in his Gospel with these famous words: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (Jn 3:16). For God cares so much lest we perish that he suffers with us and for us on the Cross, and out of love for us he gives his Body and Blood to us in the Eucharist. Because of this life-giving food, we do not perish, no matter what happens to us now in this life, but we’re promised safe passage with Christ to the sunny shores of heaven, to the harbour of eternal life where we find shelter and rest in God’s Love. Hence, the Eucharist is viaticum, our Bread for the journey across the stormy seas of life.
But do you believe this? Do we have faith that Christ is here with us, always, as he promised? (cf Mt 28:20) It’s important, I think, that when the disciples address Jesus they call him ‘Teacher’. For we have much to learn. And what he teaches us through the Eucharist is to have faith in him. This doesn’t just mean that we believe the propositions he tells us but that we trust him. Discipleship means trusting in God’s Word, and so being willing to follow him, to journey with him, to go with him even to the Cross. Discipleship means knowing that God is with us always – this is God’s pledge to Mankind in the Incarnation, and again in the Eucharist. And so, there is nothing in our human life journeys that is undertaken without God. He is not aloof and distant but real and present and active to save us in the final reckoning.
However, God’s Presence in the Eucharist is humble and unassuming and veiled. And we can mistake this for a divine passivity or his being asleep. Like the apostles, we can panic or be fearful when the squall breaks, and we think Jesus is asleep and uncaring; the Eucharist, from a “human point of view” (2 Cor 5:16), without faith, becomes just an empty symbol, and we’re tempted to think that God is absent. How many, then, have been tempted to regard the Eucharist as just a ritual and this Blessed Sacrament as mere bread, something that we invest with meaning and value?
But the Eucharist is Christ’s Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity, quite objectively and independently of our subjective faith. At the words of consecration, God’s own Word is present and dwells among us under the appearance of bread, under the form of wine. For this reason, the Eucharist was called mysterium Fidei, the mystery of Faith, because it is only through faith, through trusting in Christ’s Word revealed in Scripture, that we know this to be true. The Eucharist teaches us to believe in Jesus and his promise to be with us always.
Hence, we also learn from adoring the Eucharist, from spending time in Christ’s presence and praying before Our Eucharistic Lord, to trust and believe in him. Then, when the storms suddenly arise in our hearts and in our lives, we need not fear nor be unduly anxious for he is with us. When we come with faith before Christ in the Eucharist he says to us: “Peace! Be still” (Mk 4:39). Thus before Holy Communion, with Christ present and active among us on the Altar, we pray: “graciously grant peace in our days” and keep us “safe from all distress”; in the Agnus Dei we sing “grant us peace”. For it is from Jesus, our God-with-us, that we have peace and freedom from anxiety; that we can pass over the trials and storms of this life and safely cross into the Promised Land of heaven.
Recently photos emerged on Facebook of the Syrian Catholics in Ma’loula celebrating the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, and they did so with a Eucharistic procession, a sign of their great faith and their understanding of what salvation is. So, when the storms arise, let us gather around the Eucharist for Christ is our peace; God stills the storm that rages about us; he is our Saviour.
Something that happened to me four summers ago taught me this. I was leading a group of 40 young people to the main papal Mass in a huge field outside Madrid; it was World Youth Day. We’d avoided the blistering heat of the sun by hiding out in a Dominican convent but now as we arrived later than the other millions and tried to make our way to the field, there was a sea of people to wade through. And suddenly, this tide of people turned around and they told us that they were being turned back because it was too full. At the same time, dark clouds loomed on the horizon and the wind began to rise. A sudden summer storm – apparently not unusual in Madrid – was coming. There was confusion and some fear of being caught in this storm and I, having little faith, wanted to turn back.
But the youth insisted we carry on. So we pressed on, fighting against the wind and trying to keep together until we found a spare spot on the field, miles from the papal platform, for our group. The sky was black with storm clouds by now and it was very windy but I had to go in search of food and water for my group. On my way back to the group, the storm broke, and the rain was so heavy I could barely find the others. But eventually I found them kneeling on the wet grass with a tarpaulin over their heads. For the vigil of prayer has begun just before the storm broke, and the Holy Father had exposed the Blessed Sacrament. And there, in the middle of the wind and rain, 3 million young Catholics adored the Lord present in the Eucharist. When the storm passed, all was silent and still… There was peace, for Christ was with us.
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