Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B
Reflecting on Mk. 4:35-41
Some of my happiest moments in recent memory have been during the extravagant rains and thunderstorms in Colorado these past many weeks. Is there anything as heavenly as being snug in bed when the skies open, and thunder roars, and lightning turns the dark sky to mid-day, then back again?
It’s thrilling to stand out on the porch and watch gallons of water pour down on our green, green lawn. The neighbors all wave and point to the skies. Nature is so cool, isn’t it?
Except when it isn’t. Except when floods roar through narrow mountain canyons, or hurricanes break levees, or tropical storms cause biblical mudslides, or earthquakes trigger tsunamis that drown tens of thousands of people.
The ancients had it right. The sea isn’t that charmingly domesticated lake where we take the family vacation. The sea is chaos, and rage, and is stunningly indifferent to the terrors one might feel, say, on a boat on the Galilee when a violent squall sends waves crashing over the side.
We can stand in the safety of our covered porches and glory in the wildness of creation, but one day our own sufferings will send the raging sea straight at us. When the tsunamis of uncontrolled pain, or heartbreaking loss, or the indignities of lonely old age sweep over us like a bitter wave over the sides of our boats, we’ll do what the disciples did.
We’ll call out to the One who knows our pain. He who participated in our suffering by experiencing the chaos of the cross, and through it became our safe port in the storm, is the reason we know for sure that nothing can separate us from God’s love.
In what ways do you sense the nearness of God in the midst of fear?
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