Author: admin

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Welcome to unchartered waters. It’s a Covid-19 world. Our lives, and society at large, have changed. 

We’ve entered a world of widespread infection, unemployment, social distancing, protests, panic buying, face masks, and gloves.

Classrooms have been replaced with chatrooms; graduations are taking place online; funerals viewed via FaceTime.

The ground has shifted beneath us. 

Which is why today’s Gospel couldn’t come at a better time. 

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“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” Jesus says. 

To be “troubled” in the sense that he used it meant to be, “overwhelmed by the fear of death or some other grave evil.” 

An evil like Covid. Or cancer.

In fact, these are the words I spoke to my mother as she lay dying of cancer in her hospice bed. 

The world as she knew it was over. The ground was shifting beneath her. A new, unfamiliar world was coming whether or not we were ready for it.

But Jesus said to her, as he says to his disciples and to us in today’s Gospel, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

Do not be overwhelmed by fear, uncertainty, or even death. “In my Father’s house,” he says, “there are many dwelling places.” 

Meaning: God is roomy. God is hospitable. God is with us. God is leading us home.

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Strangely enough, we’re reading this Gospel passage on the heels of Easter. We’ve backtracked a bit to the final night of Jesus’ life on earth. 

Yet consider how timely this passage is. The Coronavirus has rattled our world; it’s still here. It feels like the ground has shifted beneath us. 

But the same was true for the disciples. They were entering unchartered waters, too.

On this, his final night on earth, Jesus washes their feet and feeds them with himself in the Eucharist. Then Judas betrays him. Peter denies him three times. And hours later, Jesus is hanging from a tree.

The disciples awaken to a different world, a world where Jesus seems absent; gone. Where he was going, they could not follow for now.

But they’re not to be troubled.

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The disciples demand proof.

“How can we know the way (to where you’re going)?” Thomas asks. “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied,” Philip says. 

We could add, “Lord, tell me when my job will return; when this virus will end; when social distancing will be a thing of the past.”

“Give me a glimpse of a brighter future – and while you’re at it, a glimpse of heaven – and I’ll be satisfied. I won’t be troubled.”

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Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. 

Subconsciously, we want a God whom we can calculate, or even control. Lord, do this, this, and this, then I’ll be content. Then I’ll believe. Then I won’t be troubled.

But faith isn’t like that. Faith is based on trust. A trust rooted in the promise that Jesus is alive. And he is with us – ALWAYS.

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Perhaps one of the many lessons coming out of this Covid crisis is our need to consider where we find our deepest sense of security. 

It’s tempting to place all of our eggs in the basket of economics; good health; or a steady job. 

While these things can be reliable, they aren’t infallible.

Our deepest sense of security should come from God, who alone never changes. As it’s written in the Letter to the Hebrews, “Jesus Christ is the same; yesterday, today, and forever.”

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So what does Jesus offer us? 

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Peace. 

In Hebrew, Shalom.

Shalom is the first word the Risen Lord speaks to his disciples. It means inner stillness; harmony; wholeness; prosperity; health.

Think of Shalom like an anchor dropped into the depths of the sea. Though the surface shifts, the anchor never does.

Similarly, the circumstances in our lives may change, but the Lord’s peace remains deep within.

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In three weeks, we will celebrate the feast of Pentecost, the moment when the Holy Spirit descends upon the Apostles like tongues of fire. 

And with that fire, peace.

Shalom.

It’s what we need today.

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There’s a hymn that goes back a thousand years that Christians have sung through countless plagues, a hymn which we still sing today:

“Come, Holy Spirit…Far from us drive our deadly foe; true peace unto us bring; and through all perils lead us safe beneath thy sacred wing.”

Drive from us, Lord, the evil of this pandemic and all the chaos it has wrought, robbing so many of their jobs, their futures, and their lives.

To you we turn, seeking the peace – the Shalom – which only you can give.

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Wouldn’t life be easier if we had God figured out? If we could tell him what to do?

“Lord, do this, this, and this, and then I’ll believe.”

It seems part of our human code, this desire to calculate or control God. To pin him down underneath our thumb.

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In the Gospel, for example, Philip says, “Master, show us the Father, and that will be enough for us.”

And we could add, “Lord, tell me exactly when my job will return; when this virus will end; when social distancing will be a thing of the past.”

“Give me a glimpse of a brighter future – and while you’re at it, show me your face – then I’ll believe.”

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Unfortunately, that’s not how faith works. Faith is not built upon calculation or control; it’s built upon trust.

Think about it on these terms: When nursing, a child latches onto its mother, trusting it will be nourished.

It trusts. It’s nourished.

In a similar way, we must latch onto Christ – we must embrace him – before we can receive his blessings, blessings which can be as numerous as we are.

“Whatever you ask in my name, I will do,” Jesus says. But like a little child, we must learn to trust him first.

Only then will we have access to God.

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Saint Paul is an extraordinary role model for me as a priest. He was celibate, a zealous convert, and a man deeply in love with Jesus. 

But one aspect of his life is often overlooked. Though he traveled far and wide, Paul rarely traveled alone.

As the Risen Lord says to the disciples in our first reading, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Paul for the work to which I have called them.”

Paul and Barnabas are being commissioned to preach the Gospel in Greece, Cyprus, and modern-day Iraq. At times, their journey will be a dangerous. 

But they will never be alone; they have each other.

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I can only imagine how much harder Paul’s journey would’ve been if he didn’t have anyone by his side; if he had no community to write to while in prison; if he had no person to pray for him while he preached.

Perhaps his ministry would’ve been impossible.

Even for Paul, the celibate road was marked by more than one set of footprints; those of trustworthy friends.

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As it’s written in the Book of Sirach:

Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter; whoever finds one finds a treasure.

Faithful friends are beyond price, no amount can balance their worth.

Paul knew that. We know that.

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Looking back, we’ll see a variety of people who’ve crossed our path. True friends are the ones who’ve never left our side.

Even in this age of social distance and “virtual presence,” how might we reach out to a friend – or try to be such a friend – today?

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