Mercy and faithfulness have met;
Justice and peace have embraced.
Faithfulness shall spring from the earth
And justice look down from heaven. (Psalm 84)
Jesus went up into the hills by himself to pray. (Matthew 14.23)
‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.’ (Matthew 14.27)
It snowed in Kilmore last Tuesday. Despite the bitter cold and biting wind, the snow brought a moment of gentleness, peace and calm. And despite my 57 years, I was transported back to my childhood, walking for a moment in these swirling flakes, trying to catch some on my tongue. The world was transfigured. The buildings and surrounding gardens of Assumption College took on a different hue, like a dream image from a long forgotten faerytale.
The Marist theme for 2020 is ‘One Wild and Precious Life’. It comes from a poem by Mary Oliver titled ‘The Summer Day’. It too invites the reader to stop and take time to be immersed in the diversity and beauty of the natural world around us. The image that accompanies the theme similarly captures the smallness and fragility of humanity within the immense and wonder-full cosmos.
All invites contemplation…
… and the realisation that if we stop long enough, and look beyond the immediate, we will find the divine in the wild-ness and the preciousness of the untamed and untameable world around us.
The Gospel this weekend tells a similar, elemental story. Jesus, alone, in contemplative prayer. The disciples, battling the wind and waves in a boat upon the lake. Peter, invited by Jesus not to cower in the face of these natural forces but to step courageously out of the boat. Doubt and fear before such uncontrollable power. But Jesus’ gentle presence within, yet above the elements, revealing that which lies beyond the great tapestry that is the universe in all its diversity, immensity and complexity.
Elijah, in this weekend’s reading from the Book of Kings, has a similar elemental encounter. A night spent in prayer.Darkness, storms, earthquakes and fires the external tempest accompanying his troubled interior contemplation. But at his centre, Elijah discovers God’s presence in the peace, the simplicity, the quiet of a gentle breeze.
Jesus calms the storm, and the disciples acknowledge the divine as the wind drops and life’s storms give way to a precious peace.
Mary Oliver’s poem ends with a question. It’s the same one with which God challenged Elijah, and Jesus’ presence asked of the disciples. It’s the question I felt in that privileged moment surrounded by soft snowflakes that swirled, not so much in defiance of, but as a counter-perspective to the greater turmoil engulfing the wider world:
