| Sunday’s Gospel passage (Matthew 14:22-34) continues the narrative of St. Matthew’s Gospel from where we left it on last Sunday. After the miracle of the multiplication of the five loaves, the evangelist is about to record another wondrous event, only this time, the miracle is restricted within the close circle of the Lord’s disciples. For whereas the multitudes were given bread, that is, that which appealed most immediately to their desires and needs, the disciples were given a sign of a different kind: to them Christ’s reveals the miracle by which miracles are made, that is, the miracle of faith. But first, notice the juxtaposition with which the passage opens. “When He had sent the multitudes away, He went up on the mountain by Himself to pray. Now when evening came, He was alone there. But the boat [where the disciples were] was now in the middle of the sea, tossed by the waves, for the wind was contrary” (Mt. 14:23-24). In this opening picture we have, on the one hand, the Lord alone praying in the stillness and the quietness of the mountain, while, on the other hand, the tempest in the middle of the sea to which the disciples are caught. This tension forms the context for the Gospel’s meaning today. The sea, especially a stormy sea, was always in the ancient literature an image, a symbol of the uncertainty of life, of a life lived tossed about by the cares of the world. It is so used by the allegorical reading of the poems of Homer, where Odysseus long journey through the angry sea to the safety of his Ithaca was interpreted as a parable for man’s journey through the travails of worldly life. So the sea, one time calm, another stormy, becomes a symbol of life’s troubles and struggles. In stark contrast, the solitude of the mountain represents a life devoted to contemplation, a life withdrawn from the cares of the word and dedicated to prayer. The surprising element in today’s Gospel is that the Lord, once has removed Himself from the multitudes and withdrawn to the mountain, does not remain there but returns—where?—precisely to the midst of the storm. The Lord descends once more into the middle of the worldly life, the middle of world’s noisiness and commotion in order to affirm them. The retreat to a life of contemplation cannot and should not despise the world—and the recluse must learn to come down from the mountain of his spiritual existence in order to meet again with care his own cares and those of others. “Now in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went to them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out for fear” (Mt.14:25-26). St. Symeon the New Theologian, in his work, “The Three Forms of Prayer”, describes In one of those three forms, the novice monk, told by his elder that he should go into his cell, sit on his stool, place his beard on his chest and look within. What will the novice see at first? Chaos, inner noise, and distraction. A cacophony of thoughts and emotions. St. Theophan the Recluse uses the image of buzzing flies to describe it. St. Symeon continues saying that at this point the monk must not be discouraged by what he sees and feels. As no feeling is final, no storm is forever. Rather the monk should continue to sit patiently and practice faithfully no matter what. The monk ought to keep his focus. After an indeterminate time a great space will open within – a place of peace and calm. Remember, that Peter failed at first to complete his walk to Jesus on the water. He lost focus. And yet he rose up again by returning his attention and focus on Jesus instead of his fear. That is how prayer happens; with persistence in practice, faith in God and in the knowledge that all matter of things will be well. The storm is no match for the Spirit and persistent prayer – as long as we are focused on the Lord, eye to eye, heart to heart, soul to soul. Notice also, that Jesus’ appearance was not comforting to the disciples, rater it added more fear to the fear they were already experiencing, being at risk to be drowned in the sea. Peter, though, said: “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water” (Mt. 14:28). This is the moment of the miracle and it is motivated, as you see, not from a desire to perform or to observe the extraordinary and the supernatural but from the desire to meet the Lord: “if it is You, command me to come to You”. Peter’s request should become our prayer at moments of our anxiety and fear like those the disciples experienced in today’s Gospel. “Lord, if it is You”—that is, if this course of events is from You, if it comes from You—“command me to come to You”—let it be for me an occasion that will draw me closer to You. So Peter is able to do what is for him impossible, that is, to walk on water. “And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!” And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Mt. 14:29-31). Even though he was able to do the impossible, he started sinking into the water. Why? The answer lies at the when. As the noted theologian Archimandrite John Panteleimon Manoussakis writes: “When did Peter start sinking into the water? At the moment when he withdrew his eyes from the Lord and start paying attention to the boisterous wind—marveling perhaps that he was able to do what he was doing, that his feet stepped into the sea as if on dry land. At that moment, the sea becomes again the sea and Peter is sinking. This cannot be happening, Peter is thinking, and indeed, as soon as he thinks that, that is, as soon as he doubt that it could happen, then it is not happening any more. For doubt is the opposite of faith.” We hear the Gospel passage and, like Peter, we doubt: how could such things really happen? They cannot happen if we do not believe that they could happen, and so this vicious circle of doubt comes full circle to its logical conclusion: nothing wonderful (quite literally, full of wonder) happens—because we have no eyes for what is wonderful. But for him who has eyes for the wonderful, nothing is without it: that Peter walked on the water is nothing any more wonderful than his boat could stay afloat. And if we doubt what is wonderful this is because we think that we ought to perform it. Again, Peter sinks at the moment he starts paying attention to himself, to what he is doing as if it was him that he was doing it. That is why the evangelist quite poignantly adds that “immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught him.” Learn by this whose doing this was. So, even when we succeed in something in our agitated lives, we are doom to fail as soon as we take it to be our own work and our own achievement, as soon as we take the credit for it. Rather, we should, like “those who were in the boat, [come] and worshiped Him, saying, “Truly You are the Son of God” (Mt. 14:33). The key is remaining focused on Jesus. We are presently being battered by the fierce storm of a global pandemic. It has changed our lives. It overshadows our every moment with confusion, uncertainty, and, for all too many, depression and despair. How like those billowing waves the disciples experienced! In other areas of our lives, we experience suffering as did the Righteous Job in the Old Testament. This climate of suffering and threat is palpable. What can we do? We can keep the eyes of our hearts and souls focused on Christ – not lose sight of Him, not shelf Him, thinking that we ourselves can master the current “waves.” It was St. Augustine who was indefatigable in insisting that we remain totally focused on the Lord in ties of peace and silence, but more, in times when the waves threaten, the wind batters us about. We must dive into God. We must turn our attention to Christ. And where is He? Within us. Where is his calm and peaceful kingdom? Inside us. To walk on water we must dive deep into ourselves and into the kingdom of stillness within us. St. Augustine knew about this. He wrote, “I entered into the innermost part of myself…I entered and saw with my soul’s eye…an unchangeable light shining above the eye of my soul and above my mind…He who knows truth knows that light, and he who knows that light knows eternity. Love knows it…I often do this. I find delight in it…” Be strong in prayer. Submerse yourself in God’s Word. Come to the Holy Mysteries as you are able, and never, ever lose your focus on the only One who can still the raging waters and enable us to walk bravely upon them. May the Calmer of waves still your hearts and amidst the billows of our day — bring you and those you love, great and lasting peace! Faithfully in the Lord, |
