Obviously storms, especially severe ones, fit nobody’s definition of perfect. The phrase “a perfect storm” compares to the familiar expression “a perfect stranger”. Perfect here means absolute or complete, not excellent.
The Church has endured a perfect storm during these past few weeks and many of us have felt tossed about by the winds and waves.
So, today’s Gospel is timely. Preachers and commentators have said for centuries that the terrible storm in today’s Gospel stands for the storms that the Church faces inside and out.
But I’ve talked about this the last two Sundays, so in today’s homily, I’d like to focus on the personal storms we face in our own lives.
Those, too, can be perfect storms where we feel no hope of calmer seas. They can be on the outside, with unemployment, financial fears, family troubles or illness threatening to swamp our boats.
But there are also storms on the inside – storms of anxiety, depression, or loss. Msgr. Joseph Krempa, one of my favorite homilists, says those “are really the more dangerous kinds of storms… turmoil within can make everything we do seem pointless.”
But Msgr. Krempa, on whose splendid book I have relied very heavily this week, calls today’s readings guidelines for handling our personal storms.
The First Reading from the book of Job reminds us that storms have limits. However intense it might be, the storm will pass. The Lord says to any storm what he says in Job, “thus far shall you come and no farther”. Sometimes we just have to wait out the storm.
When the sea gets rough, we are tempted to stop praying. We figure prayer doesn’t work anyway so we try to calm the storm by our own efforts according to our own plan. The Lord’s words to Job tell us that’s not a good idea. He’s God and we’re not.
I’m not the world’s best pray-er, but this week I spent a fair bit of time worrying about something that was really bothering me. Most of the time when I should have been praying, I was trying to figure out what I should do about it. But Thursday morning, I sat with it for a while in my prayer time.
Ninety minutes later, my worry was over. But what was really surprising was that the problem was completely solved in a way I could never have thought of myself. Never.
We don’t find storms in the second reading, but St. Paul points out that looking at things from a human point of view is a very poor substitute for seeing them as God does.
Sometimes a storm – something tough in our lives – has good consequences. I was studying in Rome when the great Stanley Park windstorm hit in 2006. It sure seemed devastating at the time, but ten years later an environmental expert said, “The destruction was shocking and impactful... but the wind opened up sections of the forest and allowed for growth of plants that needed the new open, sun-lit areas and that, in turn, allowed for greater biodiversity.”
Views improved, the damage allowed new trees and a lot more shrubbery into the area, which meant new kinds of insects and songbirds arrived.
So, too, with life’s storms. Personal tragedies can lead to new life with God, physical loss can be a time of spiritual gain, illness can lead to spiritual renewal.
St. Paul is not calling us to pretend that our difficulties aren’t real but to see them with the eyes of Christ. Just as a landscape is not the same after a storm as it was before, so we are changed by the storms of our life.
The Gospel is the high point of all three readings. It tells us that Christ is in the boat with us. Even better, he’s not just beside us in the boat but within us. He makes us a new creation which no external force can overwhelm or destroy.
Many great saints, such as Ignatius of Loyola, John of the Cross, and Mother Theresa of Calcutta, experienced the dark nights of inner storms. But Christ brought them to a new day, closer to Him than ever.
No saint is a better model for trust in God than St. Joseph. Just the other day one of our parishioners described him as the Swiss army knife of saints! St. Joseph as patron of fathers is the title we think of first today, Father’s Day, but he’s also the patron of the Universal Church, of workers, and of a blessed death. You can add expectant mothers, pilgrims, and immigrants to the list.
Most of all, he can be a wonderful help when we feel we are sinking beneath the waves of fear, uncertainty and worry. In his letter announcing the year of St. Joseph, Pope Francis points out that “even through Joseph’s fears, God’s will, his history and his plan were at work.”
“Joseph, then, teaches us that faith in God includes believing that he can work even through our fears, our frailties and our weaknesses. He also teaches us that amid the tempests of life, we must never be afraid to let the Lord steer our course.”
“At times,” Pope Francis writes, “we want to be in complete control, yet God always sees the bigger picture.”
We’ve had a lot on our plate during the year of St. Joseph but already we are paying more attention to him, which is long overdue. I tended to pray to St. Joseph with a laundry list of concerns whenever I visited the Oratory in Montreal. Now, I’m trying to be more aware every day of this great patron, who has been “hidden in plain sight” in the heart of our Church.
Pope Francis says, “God always finds a way to save us, provided we show the same creative courage as the carpenter of Nazareth, who was able to turn a problem into a possibility by trusting always in divine providence.” (Patris Corde)
Sometimes God will command the wind and the waves to obey him, bringing immediate calm. Other times, he will ask “where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” insisting that we trust in what we do not understand.
But in every circumstance, let us turn to the Lord in our trouble and distress, trusting in his steadfast love. God will find a way to save us and to turn our problems into possibilities if we trust in him.
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