Readings: Jer 26:11-16,24; Ps 69; Mt 14:1-12
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Today, in addition to our Saturday memorial for the Blessed Mother, we celebrate St. Peter Chrysologus, a fifth-century bishop and doctor of the Church also known as a gifted preacher. I’ve read a few of his homilies and suspect they likely lasted an hour or more. Aren’t you glad he’s not preaching here today…or maybe not.
Anyway,
as I read Psalm 69 yesterday, today’s responsorial psalm, I was reminded of
something that happened to me long ago. It was these words by the psalmist that
struck me:
Let not the abyss swallow me up…
Yes,
these words brought back an odd and old memory.
Many
years ago, when I was a young naval officer, one Sunday afternoon the captain
of our ship decided to give the crew a treat. He stopped the ship, right there
in the middle of the South Pacific, rigged up a ladder to a small floating
dock, lowered a boat with a rifleman to watch out for sharks, and had a swim
call. Most of the crew preferred to stay aboard ship and take advantage of the
flight deck barbeque, but I thought a dip in the ocean would be just the thing
on a steamy hot day.
Now
it’s one thing to travel over deep water in a ship or to fly over it, and it’s
something quite different to immerse oneself in it physically – to experience
it up close and personal, so to speak. I admit, when I dove off the dock into
crystal clear blue water, it was refreshingly wonderful. And then, after a few
minutes, I made the mistake of dunking my head under water looking straight down.
The
sun was almost directly above, so the sunlight formed a kind of funnel, a
vortex of light beneath me going down into the darkness with my legs dangling
there in the midst of it. It was a remarkable, almost breathtaking, experience,
looking down through that narrowing cone of light into the seemingly infinite
darkness of the ocean. As I hovered, almost paralyzed by the experience, I
recalled that the ocean there was a good four to five miles deep. For a moment
I felt completely alone, totally vulnerable, something that in my usual
arrogance and self-confidence I had never before experienced. With no reference
other than myself and the vastness of the ocean, for the first time in my life
I was aware of how small and fragile I really was.
How
long did I hover there staring down into that deep water? I don’t know, but
eventually I needed to breathe. I broke the surface and felt this tremendous
sense of relief to see others swimming around me with the huge bulk of the aircraft
carrier only fifty yards away. I swam back to the little dock and climbed up
that 70-foot ladder in record time. And, you know, in all the years since I’ve
never again felt the need to go swimming in mid-ocean, to enter that deep water,
a stare into the abyss.
I suppose the lives of the prophets –
John the Baptist, Jeremiah, and all the rest – were a constant reliving of that
experience that I had for just a moment. They stared down into the abyss, into
the abyss of hatred, not knowing if they’d even survive another day, all the
while struggling to trust that God would care for them. “Let not the abyss
swallow me up.”
Herod Antipas was not unlike the priests
and false prophets of Jeremiah’s time. The true prophets, men like Jeremiah, those
who spoke God’s Word…oh, they were easy to hate because the truth they spoke cut
to the very core. The world could ignore them only so long, because what they
said was so disturbing to all those well-planned lives.
And that call to repentance? To re-think
everything. To change. To set aside my comfortable life and look into the abyss?
To trust, to put my faith to the test. Yes, like Herod and the rest, too often you
and I fear and resist the change that God calls to us.
Ironically, sometimes it’s the very goodness
of our lives that keeps us from responding – family, friends, health, freedom,
safety…all just going so well. Being comfortable here, in a bright,
well-manicured community that we hope mirrors our own lives…yes, indeed, it can
keep us from listening to what God calls us to do.
We look outward at an unjust world,
shake our heads, and give thanks that we’re somewhat isolated from it all. It’s
the same kind of world that rejected Jesus. A world governed by pride, where
that same lack of humility leads so many to believe they don’t need the God who
created them out of love. And as we look at that world, you and I sense a
certain guilt because we are so blessed. Perhaps what we really need is a
deeper sense of humility, as St. Thérèse once wrote, "My task was simplified the moment I realized I could do nothing
by myself."
Perhaps we should just step into that
unjust world, put God’s light on the lampstand and let it shine into the lives
of those around us. Hard to believe, but you and I are called to be prophets, called
to be God’s messengers, to be His voice in the tiny slice of the world where He’s
placed us. We need fear nothing, not even the abyss; for when you and I respond
to God's word with faith and obedience, we are changed, and made "new
creations" in Christ.
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