Jesus said to his disciples: “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Most children go through a superhero phase. Whether it’s Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, or the Incredible Hulk, children are inspired by the creativity, bravery, and sense of justice that superheroes bring.
Batman protects the city of Gotham.
Wonder Woman fights for equality.
There’s something instinctively good about these heroes putting themselves on the line, fighting for what is right and true.
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Every so often, a child grows up, becoming like the superheroes of their youth. In the Catholic Church, we call these men and women Saints.
Not because they possess a superpower which the rest of humanity does not, or because they are from some other planet, but because they lean into grace and put their faith into action, often with great suffering or at the cost of their lives.
Using the imagery of today’s Gospel, the Saints are like grains of wheat, who fall to the ground and die, producing much fruit – thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold.
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Today we celebrate the Feast of Saint Lawrence, a deacon who lived in third-century Rome. Directly appointed by the pope, Lawrence was responsible for distributing the material wealth collected by the Church to the poor.
But in 258, the Roman Emperor Valerian issued a decree that all bishops, priests, and deacons were to be executed, and the riches of the Church confiscated for his own possession.
Before his execution, Lawrence asked for permission to collect the wealth of the Church. Seventy-two hours later, he presented a delegation of the city’s poor, blind, crippled, and sick to Valerian and said, “Here are the treasures of the Church!”
Enraged, Valerian ordered Lawrence to be seared to death on red-hot grill.
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The use of this man’s courage, faith, and creativity in the fight against evil are what make him a Saint. Or, you might say a superhero, capable of inspiring children and adults alike.
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Image credits: (1) Library of Congress (2) Instagram (3) The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence, Peter Paul Rubens
After he had fed the people, Jesus made the disciples get into a boat and precede him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. After doing so, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When it was evening he was there alone. Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore, was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. During the fourth watch of the night, he came toward them walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. “It is a ghost,” they said, and they cried out in fear. At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” After they got into the boat, the wind died down. Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying, “Truly, you are the Son of God.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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What enabled Peter to walk on water?
Imagine the wind whipping his hair into his eyes and beads of rain pelting his skin as he and the others fight for their lives in what must’ve felt like the storm of the century.
Wiping his face, Peter spots a luminous figure approaching him on the water, piercing the night. “Is it the ghost of death?” He might’ve wondered.
No, it’s the Lord, who summons him with the word, “Come.”
Swinging his legs over the side of the boat, Peter’s feet land on choppy waters as he draws a deep breath in and stands up straight.
Like a baby taking its first steps, Peter wobbles forward in joyful wonder, finding – if only for a moment – newfound freedom, allowing his feet to take him where his mind and heart yearned to be.
Out onto the open water, closer and closer to Jesus.
It’s only after Peter surveys the scene: white capped waves swelling around him, wind screaming in his ears, the other disciples watching, and Jesus staring at him that his mind begins to race and he sinks.
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Again, what enabled Peter to walk on water? How did he defy gravity? God’s grace had a lot to do with it. But also consider the movement of his body, which physically and spiritually speaking, unlocks the mystery.
Did Peter dive headfirst into the water? No. Did he get a running start, leaping over the edge, landing with a bellyflop? A backflip? Or a cannonball? No.
He stepped out onto the water feet first.
Gravity was not the cause of his downfall – nor is it the cause of our own.
It was that calculating, rationalizing, fear-inciting, Doubting Thomas part of his mind that convinced him that he was unable to walk any further, that he was unsafe, and that he was about to drown.
Ironically enough, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
How often are we like Peter? How often does fear cause us to sink, drawing us away from God?
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As the waters begin to swallow him whole, Jesus seizes Peter by the collar, sending him back into the boat and into the company of the disciples.
I’d imagine Peter gasping for air, traumatized, fidgeting like a fish out of water. And instead of offering an affirming word or a pat on his back, giving him an “A” for effort, Jesus rebukes Peter, saying, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”
The whole scene can leave us dumbfounded. Peter just did what no other human being has ever done! How is that not pleasing to the Lord?
I don’t think Jesus was upset. Perhaps a little disappointed, because Peter just discovered the pearl of great price, the difference it makes when the Lord is our focal point, not the wind or the waves enveloping us.
But then he let the pearl of faith go, allowing fear to overtake him.
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Could this story have turned out any other way?
Could Peter have flipped out of the boat and landed on his feet victoriously next to Jesus? Could his surprise landing have inspired the other disciples to follow suit?
Perhaps.
But such a story would have little to do with us. The truth is, we’re all like Peter. We do have faith in Jesus. We do make ourselves vulnerable, we do take risks, we do throw our legs over the boat at Christ’s command, trying our best to walk on water.
But every so often, we begin to sink and we cry out as Peter did, “Lord save me!” Not from a lack of effort, or because of watered-down faith, but because we’re merely human.
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For example, we lose our job and pray we’ll find another. We step out in faith as we start eating into our savings to keep the bills paid, patiently trusting that the right door will open. But when it doesn’t – at least not right away – we start to panic and sink.
Or we try stepping out onto the waters of sobriety, of forgiveness, of truth-telling, or goodwill. We get our feet wet, but the waves rise with every step, leaving us an uphill climb.
Or we receive bad news from the doctor and pray for a miracle. Our spirits start high, but as our health declines, so does our spirit.
The truth is, faith and fear often co-exist within us. We are lifted up by one, but weighed down by the other, like a buoy bobbing in the sea.
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But Peter teaches us the best way to follow the Lord is not with our mind, or even our heart, but our feet first as an act of genuine, uncalculating faith.
As we step out onto the water once again this week, may we keep our focus on Him, “whom even the wind and the seas obey.”
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Image credits: (1) The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, Rembrandt (2) Peter Walks on Water, Philip Otto Runge, 1806 (3) Altus Fine Art
Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? Or what can one give in exchange for his life? For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay each according to his conduct. Amen, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his Kingdom.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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When Robert Francis Prevost was elected pope in May of last year, he took the name of Leo. I was surprised to learn that he previously spent a good portion of his priestly ministry as a missionary in Peru.
Prevost arrived in Peru the same year I was born, in 1985, landing shortly after devastating El Niño rains washed away a number of locals and their poorly constructed homes. His first task was to minister in a disaster area.
Life for Prevost didn’t get much better, at least in terms of worldly comforts. Just a few years after the floods came, Peru endured a bloody civil war. Still, in spite of floods and violence, he stayed the path; he loved his flock.
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When we hear about stories about people who do heroic things with their lives, it’s easy to not only admire their courage, but also to wonder, “Why?”
Why be ordained a priest? Why leave the comforts of America to live among the poorest of the poor? Why stay in a flood zone or war-torn country when you have a way out?
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Such were the feelings of Saint Peter when Jesus told him that they were headed to Jerusalem where the Son of Man would suffer, die, and be raised. Focusing too much on suffering and death, Peter forgot the final part of that plan.
He wanted a safe Jesus; a comfortable Jesus; a way for Christ to be his Lord – and for Peter to be his disciple – without having to walk the road of suffering.
This initiates Christ’s response in today’s Gospel: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”
The Lord does not want us to die. He wants us to live!
But fear of death always turns into a fear of life.
Fear can freeze us into a comfortable existence whereby we can lose meaning and opportunities that God has in store for us – think no further than Pope Leo. Had he succumbed to fear, then he never would’ve become a priest, a missionary, or now the pope!
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Perhaps taking up our cross means letting go of our fears, too – the fear of losing control; the fear of suffering; the fear of death, so that God can strengthen us to truly live – not only in the here and now, but also in the life to come.
What might that look like today?
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Image credits: (1) Quo Vadis, Annibale Caracci, National Gallery, London (2) Pope Leo, America Magazine (3) Amazon, Shesinee
