Fr. Anit's Homily

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

August 20, 2023

This Sunday’s gospel is a perfect companion piece to the one we heard last week.  Each gospel manages to show us two sides of the same coin. Last week, you will remember, we found ourselves in the Sea of Galilee, and heard the account of Peter attempting to walk on water and sinking.  It was the story of an apostle – a man, and a Jew – challenged by the Lord and then failing that challenge because of his doubt or lack of faith.

But this week, it is the exact opposite.  We are back on dry land and hear the story of someone who was NOT an apostle – in fact; it is about a woman and a Canaanite, a group hated by the Jews.  Like Peter, she was also challenged.  But she confronted that challenge with tenacity and perseverance.  And she achieved a miracle because of the courage of her conviction. One episode is about the cost and the risk of doubt; the other, the transformative power of faith. But this passage we just heard offers us an even more startling lesson – an idea that some people today still find hard to accept. It is this: God doesn’t just love those who are like us.

His mercy extends to those who are different from us, to those whom we might even consider to be our enemy.  Sometimes, those enemies may even have a deeper faith than we do – the kind of conviction that can work miracles. Certainly, the Jews considered Canaanites an enemy – you can hear the scorn when the disciples tried to send the Canaanite woman away. It is important for us to remember here that Matthew was a Jew writing for other Jews – and that the words of Jesus and his apostles echoed the prevailing sentiment of Matthew’s audience.

So, that audience would have been surprised to learn that the Son of David worked a miracle for someone whom many of them had been taught to hate. More than surprised: they would have been stunned. But Jesus was constantly upsetting the status quo, and forcing people to think differently about themselves, and those around them.  And here he does it again.  Faith, we learn, can astonish us.  Miracles can happen.   God’s vision is so much greater than ours. As an old hymn puts it, “There is wideness in God’s mercy.”  It is available to all.

In the first reading, from Isaiah, we heard of how God embraces those “foreigners who join themselves to the Lord…” and the passage concludes with the beautiful words that are inscribed in the National Cathedral in Washington, DC: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” Then we sang the responsorial psalm and made that idea our own prayer: “Lord, let all the peoples praise you!” And then we heard from Paul, writing to the Romans, and he even celebrated the fact that he was an apostle to the Gentiles, one sent to those outside his own circle of belief.

You might have heard about, “Google-plus,” that is a social network on Google.  It allows you to create your own separate “circles” of friends and co-workers, sharing certain information with only certain circles of people. But these readings this Sunday remind us: Those who may seem to be outside our circle aren’t necessarily outside the circle of God.  His circle is limitless.  And there is always room for more.

What a comfort! All of us, at one time or another has been “outside the circle.”  All of us have felt like foreigners: isolated, uncomfortable, like we don’t belong.  Remember that first day at a new school?  The first hours in a new job?  Or even the first months in a new country? God never forgets it.  And He extends His hand to us, and to everyone seeking to be a part of His circle.  Are we willing to take what He has to offer?  Are we willing to “join ourselves to the Lord”?  Are we ready, like Peter and the Canaanite woman, to dare to believe what others would find unbelievable?

And: mindful of this gospel, are we willing to extend to others the same kind of mercy that God extends to us? Can we accept those who are different?  Are we willing to love those we have been taught to despise?  They may be more like us than we realize. And they are, like all of us, works in progress.  As a friend of mine likes to say about someone who is in leadership: “God isn’t finished with him yet.” The fact is, He isn’t finished with any of us yet.

Last week, we celebrated the feast of St. Teresa Benedicta, better known as Edith Stein.  Born Jewish, she became an atheist – completely rejecting God — before converting to Catholicism, joining a convent, and then losing her life in a Nazi death camp.  At any given moment, she would have been considered “outside the circle.”  Not a Christian, then not a Jew, then not a believer.  But she was never beyond God’s circle of grace. All it took was her own yearning, her seeking – her desire, like the Canaanite woman, to have God work a miracle in her life.

Today, as we gather around this table for communion – people from different race and color, speak different languages, different gender, different regions and even nationalities – we gather literally in communion, bound by our love of the Lord and our hunger for the Eucharist, our own yearning to be a part of this miracle. Pray for those who may not be here yet – but who may be on their way. Pray for those who are seeking to join this circle – as Isaiah wrote, to “join themselves to the Lord.” Pray that we may be as merciful to one another as God is to us — because God isn’t finished with any of us yet.

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

August 13, 2023

This gospel passage that we have just heard may be among the most haunting in all of scripture.  It has a lot to say about fear, about faith, about trust — about daring to do the impossible. I would like to look at just six words in the middle of this passage – six words that can change our lives.  They loom large in this gospel – and across everything we understand as Catholic Christians. It is one simple phrase: “Peter got out of the boat”. Faced with a storm, and a vision of something that was incredible, Peter didn’t cower.  He didn’t hide.  He did just the opposite – something seemingly counter-intuitive.  He asked Christ to summon him. “Come,” Jesus said. And so Peter, full of trust and obedience and courage, got out of the boat. For a few moments, he did something he didn’t think possible, until he lost heart and began to doubt. And he began to sink.  Jesus, as he always does, reached out to rescue him.  Christ understood that what he was asking of Peter was challenging.  But he was there for him.  And he is there for us, in all our uncertainties, and doubts, through all our storms. Well, whether we realize it or not, each of us is being called.  Each of us is being asked to leave our comfort zone for Christ. “Come,” he is saying.  “Do what you think you can’t.”If we keep our eyes on him, we may find ourselves doing something extraordinary. Put another way, as the title of a book once put it: “If you want to walk on water, you have to get out of the boat.” The fact is, like Peter, all of us are summoned to walk on water. This Gospel reminds us: we are here to answer the call of Christ, to follow in his footsteps, no matter how improbable or impossible it might seem. We are called to defy our human nature, to do what is risky; even if that means walking on water. How do we do that? How do we even begin? It begins by saying “Yes” to Christ when he calls — and then stepping out of the boat. It begins by leaving what is steady and secure and going into the unknown. To walk on water means to trust God totally and to follow his will for us. That means to love fearlessly–loving God and our neighbor. Praying faithfully, living thoughtfully, and giving selflessly. But that’s just the beginning. Walking on water is nothing less than facing the daily challenge of living the Gospel. It means defying the world and being, in every way, countercultural. To walk on water means to stand for the weak, the voiceless, the suffering. It means to stand for life, all life. To walk on water means to bear witness to mercy and justice in a merciless, unjust world, a world where the winds howl and the waters surge. How often do we feel the winds are against us? How often do we feel that answering the call of Christ, his invitation to “Come,” is just too hard? How often would we rather cling to what is safe and sure and just stay in the boat? The Gospel turns all those doubts on their head. Make no mistake: following Christ, answering his call, entails risk. Being faithful can be fraught with danger. Standing up to the winds of our age, or going against the tide, can be frightening. Look at what we are up against. At the time of turmoil and uncertainty, war and violence, no message could be more reassuring. We are facing the winds of pandemics. We are encountering winds of racism and hate. We are encountering winds of domestic violence and abuses at homes; we are encountering winds of various natural calamities. We are facing the storms of illness, death and destructions. Half a world away, our brothers and sisters are buffeted by winds of poverty and persecution and even martyrdom. To walk on water means doing what is hard; what may even seem hopeless. It means trusting enough to answer Jesus when he says “Come.” It means following the way of Christ, even when the world might think that’s foolish. But to walk on water also means discovering, as Peter did, that Jesus won’t let us sink. His hand is outstretched, waiting to catch us. Remember this: as we stretch out our hands for the Eucharist, Jesus stretches out his hand to us, just as he did to Peter. We reach for the Lord, and hold fast to him — our strength, our guide, our hope. And he holds fast to us. And we pray. We pray to have the courage to say “Yes” when Christ calls. We pray at this moment to be the kinds of disciples Christ wants us to be, the kind of Christians the world needs right now. We pray for God’s grace, so we can step out of the boat — and begin walking on water. Today Jesus calls out to us, just as he called out to Peter.  “Come. Have faith, have courage.  Leave what you know and dare to believe.” Trust in him.  Turn to him. Hope in him. We may feel the water around our ankles and the wind at our backs.  But fed by the Eucharist, and uplifted by God’s word, we can do what we never thought possible if we keep our eyes on Christ and, like Peter, have the courage to get out of the boat. Always remember we are not alone. Christ is with us.

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