Taking risks

 This is my homily for today, the 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A.  The readings for today (in a new USCCB website format!) are here.

Thank you for gathering here today.  The obligation to attend mass has been suspended, so legally, none of us had to be here today – and yet here we are.  There could be even more of us: St. Edna is permitted to have as many as 100 attendees at each mass.  But I don’t blame anyone who elects to stay away during this time of the pandemic.  There is a certain amount of danger, a certain amount of risk, in any group gathering these days.  I’m sure that each of us weighed the potential risks of being here before we registered to attend.  Of course, St. Edna is taking many measures to help mitigate the risk – the masks, the face shields, the Purell, the social distancing, the disinfecting of the church after mass. 

Most of us are risk-averse.  We’re taught to avoid unnecessary and foolish risks.  Still, most of the major life decisions we will make require that we take risks.  My asking Therese to marry me was a risk: there was a risk she would say no.  Fortunately for me, she said yes – which was risky on her part.  Any couple who agrees to get married is taking a leap into the unknown – none of us knows how our lives will turn out, so marriage is a risky proposition.   Other big decisions carry risk, too: picking a college, applying for a job, starting a business.  When Therese and I signed a mortgage, we committed to spend an amount of money that is a multiple of our annual income.  That’s risky.  My great-grandparents, who were poor European farmers a hundred years ago, chose to bring their family to this faraway country, America – a tremendous risk.

It turns out that having faith in Jesus, and leading a life of faithful discipleship, can be risky, too.  In fact, if we’re not taking risks when we follow Jesus, we’re probably not doing it right. 

We just heard a reading about some risk-taking.  The disciples were in trouble – they were stuck at sea, at night, several miles from shore.  These days, when we venture out in a boat, we have risk mitigation strategies: lifejackets, radios to call for help, a Coast Guard.  None of those things existed in those days.  Any voyage was risky.   In this difficult situation, undoubtedly they were praying, “Dear God, help us!”  

And here comes Jesus, walking across the water toward them.  Had the disciples been in a condition at that moment to stop and contemplate what was happening, they might have thought to themselves, “Huh - it’s almost as if he came in answer to our prayers.”  And that the elements of nature, so perilous to us, apparently were nothing for him to worry about.  As it is, by the end of the story, they were confessing that truly he is the Son of God.  God helps us when we need help.  When perils are besetting us and we are at risk, God listens, and God comes to our rescue.

Then Peter spoke up.  Good old Peter – how can you not love this guy?  Filled with good intentions, always the first one to speak up but not always one to carry through.  Haven’t all of us known Peters in our own lives?  Don’t all of us have a little bit of Peter inside ourselves: longing to be the hero, but falling short of actual heroism?

We’ve all heard of Doubting Thomas; this Gospel passage should get us thinking a bit about Doubting Peter. Because Peter doubts. He’s not certain it’s really Jesus.  Peter’s faith has not yet been perfected.  So Peter decides to put Jesus to the test: he says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”  That qualifying “if” – *if* it is you – that little word “if” is the quintessence of the frailty of human faith.  Sometimes it’s strong; sometimes it’s not so strong.  Had Peter possessed perfect faith, he wouldn’t have said “if”.  He would have said, “Lord, I *know* it is you, and I am going to come to you on the water.”  I don’t say this to criticize Peter.  Would any of us have done any better?  

And Peter may also have been the most surprised guy in the boat when Jesus took him up on his offer and said, “Come”.  And we know what happened next: Peter, either because he is courageous, or because he had said he’d do it, and knew everyone was watching him, and he couldn’t back out now, leaps over the side of the boat – and begins to walk on water himself!  But after a little of this, the “Hey, wait a minute” part of him kicked in – the part that says, “Hey, wait a minute: dude, you’re walking on water – are you crazy?  That’s impossible!”   And consequently, Peter begins to sink.   When his faith was strong, he could do amazing things.  But when his faith was weak, he reverted back to normal.  That “Hey, wait a minute” instinct, that little risk-management trip-alarm we all have built in, occasionally saves us from foolish risks and bad decisions, but it can also interfere with our faith.  Following Jesus doesn't mean staying in our normal life; it means allowing him to transform us.  If we’re really going to follow Jesus, at some point, we need to let go of the side of the boat and jump into the water. 

And so, what happens next?  If you take anything away from today’s Gospel passage, please take this with you:  Jesus, who really is divine, who really reads and understands our hearts, who knows darn well that we all want to be heroes but really aren’t heroes, and who loves us in spite of our frailties and imperfections – Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and helped him to safety.

If we’re going to be disciples, we’re going to have to take risks.  We’re going to have to deny ourselves, when every human instinct in our body tells us to protect ourselves.  We’re going to have to swallow our “Hey, wait a minute!” instincts, and grasp Jesus’ hand which is outstretched to us. 

There are people around us who do this already.  I heard recently from one of our parishioners, a nurse.  She is working with COVID patients, the sickest of the sick.  Every day at work, she is putting herself at risk of contracting this terrible and deadly disease.  My admiration for her knows no bounds.  What a wonderful example of Christian discipleship she is for us. 

Do you have the courage, and the appetite for risk, to do what she is doing?  Perhaps not.  Not all of us are called to serve others as she is.  I am certain, though, that God is calling us to serve others in some way.  And that will involve taking risks.  We can’t be disciples and lead risk-averse lives.  Being a follower of Jesus means that, from time to time, we need to leap over the side of the boat.  For my friend the nurse, that means treating COVID patients.  For someone else, leaping over the side of the boat might mean speaking up publicly against injustice – something which I suspect many of us have a difficult time doing.  For another, it might mean spending a great deal of one’s savings to help a family member in need – there are so many families in need during this time of high unemployment and economic slowdown.  All of us will encounter times and circumstances to jump out of the boat and into life’s stormy waters.  And that’s risky.  We might sink.  But we should take comfort, and take courage, in remembering that when Peter started to sink, Jesus stretched out a hand to help him.  I’m confident that Jesus will do the same for us.