"Do Not Be Afraid!"

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  On 22 October 1978 in St. Peter’s Square in Vatican City, 58-year-old Pope John Paul II, proclaimed to all those who attended his Inauguration Mass as Supreme Pontiff: “Do not be afraid.  Open wide the doors for Christ.”  The same message applies today as it did 46 years ago this October: “Do not be afraid.  Open wide the doors for Christ.”
    I do not say this flippantly, especially given the concerns that weigh on all of our hearts this week.  I say this, as I’m sure the saintly pontiff did, with St. Paul’s epistle the Romans in mind, as we heard today: “You did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received a spirit of adoption, through which we cry, ‘Abba, Father!’”  We don’t know what the future holds, but we do not need to be afraid, anymore than St. Paul was afraid; anymore than Pope St. John Paul II was afraid.  
    This does not mean that things would go easily.  St. Paul would eventually go to Rome and would be beheaded there simply for his faith in Jesus Christ.  Before that he had people betray him, abandon him, and he would get shipwrecked on his way to Rome.  Pope St. John Paul II would face head-on the communist government of the USSR.  He would be shot by an assassin on the feast of our Lady of Fatima in 1981.  While his mind remained sharp, his body would betray him until he couldn’t walk on his own and his speech was slightly less than a mumble.  Both St. Paul and the Successor of St. Peter would experience suffering.  But in any suffering they would cry out to their heavenly Father who would sustain them and help them to be a martyr, a witness, whether by the shedding of their blood or by the witness of patient suffering.
    Do we trust God to carry us through whatever may come next?  Are we children who belong in the Father’s house?  Or are we simply hired servants who come and go as it suits us?  Do we have confidence that any suffering, especially that which is unjust, will lead to our glorification?  Or are we afraid of the unknown and afraid of where the Father may lead us to go.
    Pope St. John Paul II reflected on being led somewhere strange in that same Mass.  He said:
 

The Lord addressed [Peter] with these words: “…when you were young you put on your own belt and walked where you liked; but when you grow old you will stretch out your hands and somebody else will put a belt around you and take you where you would rather not go’.  
Peter came to Rome!
…Perhaps the fisherman of Galilee did not want to come here.  Perhaps he would have preferred to stay there, on the shores of the Lake of Genesareth, with his boats and his nets.  But guided by the Lord, obedient to his inspiration, he came here!
According to an ancient tradition…, Peter wanted to leave Rome during Nero’s persecution.  But the Lord intervened: he went to meet him.  Peter spoke to him and asked, “Quo vadis, Domine?”–“Where are you going, Lord?”  And the Lord answered him at once: “I am going to Rome to be crucified again.”  Peter went back to Rome and stayed here until his crucifixion.

No doubt, Peter had reasons for wanting to flee Rome.  Think of the great work that Peter could have done if he escaped the persecution and hid in Italy, or maybe traveled to Spain like some have guessed St. Paul did for a time.  People were healed merely by the shadow of St. Peter, the Acts of the Apostles tells us.  And thousands converted by his preaching at Pentecost.  But that was not how Christ called Peter.  Christ did not call Peter to fear, but to trust in the will of the Father, even though that will included his crucifixion.
    God will never abandon us.  He has pledged Himself to us as our Father, our Abba, through holy Baptism.  No matter what we do, He will be there for us.  But will we stay loyal to Him?  When the going gets tough, will we go away?  Will we let Christ be crucified a second time because we give into fear and into our own wisdom?  Or will we be like Peter and stay in Rome, even when it means persecution and suffering?
    I often don’t understand God’s ways.  I don’t know why Christ allows this, but stops that.  There are moments where I think I can see His hand and the trajectory He has, but more often I simply have to make an act of faith that, as St. Paul said, all things will work for the good of those who love God.  But when tempted to run for the hills because things have gotten too tough, or because it would be easier to do something else, the words of St. Peter in John chapter six always pop up in my mind: “‘Master, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.’”  There is nowhere else to go for eternal life.  Do not be afraid.  Stay with Christ.  And, in the words of Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Identifying with St. Peter

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  This Gospel passage that we heard today is one of my favorites.  I have always enjoyed hearing the stories about St. Peter from the Gospel, probably because I find myself like St. Peter at so many parts of my life: cynical, questioning, a leader, a spokesman, chastised, moments of greatness, moments of great weakness, redemption, and more.  In today’s Gospel we have a number of those moments.

    At the beginning we see our Lord simply commandeer, as it were, St. Peter’s boat.  Christ gets in, and Peter takes him to the water so that Christ can preach to the crowds.  In reflecting, this is the movement of grace in our own lives.  There are moments when we are open to God’s grace of which we’re not even aware.  But there is an openness, because the grace of God does not go where it’s not welcomed.  Still, it may be an implicit welcome, one of which we’re not fully aware.  One type of grace that exemplifies this is prevenient grace.  Prevenient grace is the grace that literally “comes before,” which draws us to God even when we don’t feel like we want to be close to God.  This is the grace that pushes us to confession when we have sinned.  This is the grace that opens us up so that other types of God’s grace can fill us and compel us to do great things for the Lord.  Nothing good happens simply by our willing it.  Anything good that we can do is a result of God’s grace.  Somehow, St. Peter was open to our Lord taking over at that moment, and so He did.
    But next, Christ asks something that seems contrary to our understanding.  In the case of our Gospel, even though Peter had been fishing all night, Christ tells him to put out into deep waters for a catch.  We hear a bit of the cynicism in Peter’s first words, saying that they had been fishing all night.  Our Lord was a carpenter and a rabbi.  He was not a fishing expert.  Peter was the fishing expert, being told what to do by someone who had no knowledge of the trade.  It would be as if I told an engineer, or auto mechanic how to do their job.  How many times in our life does our Lord ask something of us, something that we don’t feel makes any sense, or seems contrary to our experience, and we, at least at first, balk at His suggestion?
    But Peter does cast his nets, and he not only catches some fish, he catches so many fish he has to call other boats, and even with their help the boats almost sink, so laden are they with the plethora of fish.  You can imagine St. Peter’s draw dropping.  You can almost hear him say, “But…but…but…”.  We may sometimes think that God can do small stuff, can effect small changes, or changes that gradually occur over time.  But sometimes God wants to make big changes, to exhibit His omnipotence, His power over everything.  Think of your own life: when has God done something large and unexpected for you?
    And then, in that moment where God shows us what He can do, we are aware of that earlier cynicism, that earlier doubt that we expressed, maybe in our words, maybe only in our hearts.  And we recognize that we are sinners, unworthy of the presence of the Lord.  St. Peter said, “‘Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.’”  Maybe our version is, “Lord, you can find someone better for this.  I’m not the person you need or want.  There are others more qualified than I for what you’re seeking.”  
    Notice what Christ doesn’t say.  He doesn’t say, “You’re right, there are other people more qualified than you.”  He doesn’t say, “See?  You shouldn’t have doubted.”  Not even a “C’mon, man!”  Christ simply says, “Be not afraid,” and then tells Peter he will be catching men in the future, not fish.  As a side note, Christ’s words are quite prophetic, as St. Peter, in the rest of the Gospels from this point on, can never seem to catch a fish without Jesus making it happen.
    One of the treasures of the Gospels is that they so often mirror our life.  We read these passages, and then think of times in our own life that seem eerily familiar.  They’re not ever exactly the same, but there’s a similar theme or pattern.  And I’m sure this is true with this passage for more people here than just me.  How many times have we doubted God, then God does something great, and our response is to pull back, to try to shrink away because we are ashamed of our lack of faith?  But God doesn’t condemn us; He strengthens us and tells us to do something great ourselves.
    But again, Peter is one of those people who needs lessons to be taught again and again and again.  He has his moments of greatness, but usually they are followed by a quick fall afterwards.  Think of Matthew 16 where He proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.  Our Lord blesses Peter and gives him the keys to the kingdom of heaven, promising to build His Church upon Peter and making Peter the first pope.  And then, a few verses later, after our Lord announced His Passion, Peter tells Christ, “That’s not the plan,” to which Christ responds, “Get behind me, Satan.”  Later in the Gospels, the Pharisees will ask Peter if Christ pays the temple tax, and, without consulting, Peter says He does.  But Christ points out how this makes no sense, since He is the Lord of the temple.  But then He helps Peter catch a fish that will pay the temple tax for both Peter and Christ.  We are all aware of Peter swearing that He will never abandon the Lord, even if everyone else does, and hours later denying that he even knows Christ.  In John 21, to make up for the denial, our Lord asks Peter three times if he loves Him.  And then Peter is commanded to care for the Church, and is told that He will die by others dressing him and leading him where he does not want to go.  And even after that great dialogue, Peter starts to wonder about John and what will happen to him, and our Lord has to tell Peter not to worry, but simply to follow Him.  And lastly, even right before his martyrdom, St. Peter seeks to leave Rome as Nero’s persecution is intensifying.  But exiting Rome on the Appian Way, Peter sees Christ walking towards Rome, and asks, “Domine, quo vadis?”–“Lord, where are you going?”  The Lord tells Peter that He is going to be crucified a second time, and at that moment, Peter realizes that he cannot leave Rome, but must suffer for Christ, and ends up being crucified upside down.

From the Church Domine Quo Vadis in Rome

     

Do not be afraid if you don’t always understand the ways in which God works.  Do not be afraid if you sometimes wonder if the Lord can do great things in your life.  Do not be afraid when you realize He can, and you recognize your sinfulness.  If our Lord can work with Peter, He can work with you.  “Be not afraid” and follow our Lord’s invitation, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.  Amen.