19th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A
Watching the Wind
Rev. James A. Wickersham

Elijah should have been celebrating. He had just experienced an extraordinary victory on Mount Carmel. The prophets of Baal had been defeated. The people had cried out, “The Lord is God! The Lord is God!” After years of drought, the rain had finally come. You would think Elijah could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, things got worse. Queen Jezebel wanted him dead, and Elijah had to run for his life.

There is something important for us in that. We can sometimes believe that if we are faithful to God, things should work out. If we do what is right, surely God will make the road easier. But that is not always how the Christian life works. Sometimes fidelity to God actually makes the road harder. Elijah could have kept his head down. He could have gone along to get along. Instead, he remained faithful, and fidelity cost him something.

Eventually Elijah arrives at Horeb, the mountain of God. There is a strong wind, an earthquake, and fire. But God is not in any of them. Then comes that tiny whispering sound. Elijah has to learn that God's work is not always found in what is loud, spectacular, or obvious. Sometimes God is doing his greatest work quietly, almost hidden from our sight.

The people of Israel knew that experience. We hear their longing in our psalm today: “Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss.” Those are beautiful words. The Church has a very old understanding of what they mean. Justice means giving to God and to our neighbor what is due. St. Augustine described peace as “the tranquility of order.” Peace is not simply the absence of conflict. It comes when our lives are rightly ordered toward God and toward one another. Israel is longing for a world put back together again, a world in which justice and peace finally kiss.

St. Paul knows that longing too. In our second reading, he speaks of his “great sorrow and constant anguish” because so many of his own people have not accepted Christ. Many of us understand something of Paul's sorrow. We know people we love who once practiced the faith and no longer do. Some of us have paid a price ourselves for embracing the Catholic faith. Relationships have changed. Family members have not understood. I am always impressed by those who become Catholic despite the objections of family or friends. They have discovered the pearl of great price, and they are willing to pay a price to possess it. Soon we will begin the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults again, and once more people will begin that journey toward the fullness of the Easter Sacraments and union with the Catholic Church. Even while some are walking away, others are quietly walking toward Christ.

Then we come to the Gospel. The disciples are in a boat being tossed about by the waves. Jesus comes walking toward them on the water and says, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Notice what he does not say. He does not say, “Take courage in yourselves.” He does not say, “Take courage in each other.” He certainly does not say, “Take courage because somebody built a really good boat.” He says, “Take courage, it is I.”

Peter understands for a moment. He gets out of the boat. And he actually walks on the water. Then something happens. Matthew tells us, “When he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened.” What changed? Jesus didn't change. The storm was already there. What changed was Peter's attention. He began watching the wind instead of looking toward Christ.

Maybe that should become an examination of conscience for us. What am I watching? What has captured my attention? What storm has become so large in my mind that I have begun to lose confidence in the Lord?

It is strange when you think about it. Just over there behind me in the tabernacle is the Lord Jesus Christ, truly present in the Most Holy Eucharist. We believe that. And yet we still become afraid. We still doubt. We still wonder whether everything is going to be okay.

Perhaps that is because believing that Jesus is present and entrusting ourselves to him are not quite the same thing. Peter knew Jesus was there. His struggle was trusting him when the wind became strong.

Human courage based upon our own strength will only get us so far. Eventually we discover our limits. Christian courage comes from somewhere else. It comes from the Lord himself.

The storms will come. There will be disappointments. There will be moments when fidelity costs us something. There will even be times when, like Elijah, it seems that things are getting worse rather than better. But the Lord has not abandoned us.

The same Lord who came to Elijah in the tiny whispering sound comes to us today. The same Lord who reached out his hand when Peter began to sink comes to us in the Eucharist. And he still says to his Church, and to each one of us: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”