After one Mass, someone said, "Father, don't leave. We need you!" After the next Mass someone else said, "If you go, could please you take me with you?"
Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time A
Fr. Tom knew things weren’t going well
whenever
he heard me say,
“That’s
it! I’m leaving for the
monastery!”
In
fact, it always made him a little nervous
because,
deep down,
he suspected that—one of these days—
I
just might do it.
(And
for that very reason
I
haven’t yet said it to Fr. Justin…)
I
can pretty safely say
that
anyone who takes their faith seriously
has,
at least once,
been likewise tempted to turn tail.
been likewise tempted to turn tail.
That’s
certainly the case with the prophet Elijah,
whom
we find perched atop Mount Horeb.
In
the face of much opposition,
he’d
stuck to his guns and done what was right—
all
at God’s instigation.
But
his actions, while good and true, were anything but popular,
and
he now finds himself a hated and hunted man.
Desperate
and discouraged,
Elijah
climbs the Lord’s mountain to hide out in a cave.
And
it’s there—
not
in the powerful displays of hurricane, earthquake, or raging fire,
but
in the quiet whisper of a gentle breeze—
that
Elijah rediscovers what he most certainly already knew:
that
he could not out run his problems,
and
he certainly couldn’t run away from God.
In
the still silence,
Elijah
is reminded that he should be much more frightened
of
being unfaithful to God than of anything his enemies could dish out.
And
so he heads back down the mountain
to face again all he had earlier attempted to flee.
to face again all he had earlier attempted to flee.
Some
recent spiritual reading reminded me
that
God does not speak or work except in peace—
not
in trouble and agitation.
And
yet there are so many things which disturb us,
so
many things which could send us running for cover:
the
struggles of life and fear of suffering;
our
own faults and the shortcomings of others;
fretting
over tough decisions and adapting to change.
We’re
even rather capable of agitating ourselves.
So
many causes for unrest!
So
many storms to toss our boats about!
After
St. Teresa of Avila died in 1582,
following
a life marked by much grace
but
also many reasons for great distress,
a
short poem was found written
on
a scrap of paper tucked inside her breviary;
it
reads:
Let
nothing disturb you, nothing frighten you.
All
things are passing, but God never changes.
Patient
endurance obtains all things.
Whoever
has God wants for nothing.
God
alone suffices.
Elijah
ran away for precisely the same reason
that
Peter sank when walking to Jesus on the sea—
and
why I sometimes threaten to become a monk:
his
faith was shaken;
he
looked down toward his difficulties
instead
of looking up toward God—and therefore lost heart.
Listen again to what Jesus whispers through the wind and waves:
Take courage. Be at peace.
It is I. Do not be afraid.
No, you cannot run away from your troubles.
But—thankfully—neither
can you run away from God.
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