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» In Light of Faith
 
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C,
February 7, 2010
by Genevieve M. McQuade
Isaiah 6:1–2a, 3–8
Psalm 138:1–5, 7–8
1 Corinthians 15:1–11
Luke 5:1–11
Have you ever replied, “No thanks, I can do it myself” to an offer of help?
Nobody wants to be a “bother.”
We judge we’ll have better control of outcomes, meeting our standards and expectations. We refuse help so we can do things on our own terms — a solo act.
What happens when somebody calls on you but wants to do things differently than you would? You might figure that others would be happier to comply so you decline to help.
Something different happens when we are attentive to hearing God’s word.
Luke’s gospel passage tells us that Simon Peter acted immediately when Jesus beckoned him by name. (Simon Peter was not yet named simply Peter.) Jesus commanded him along with his fellow fishermen to lower their nets into the Lake of Gennesaret.
The men had already worked hard, fishing all night long, with no success whatsoever. Jesus’ order made absolutely no sense. Simon and the men did exactly as Jesus commanded anyhow.
How come Simon Peter acted so quickly, obeying such an unreasonable directive?
It appears that two things happened beforehand. Jesus had just spoken the word of God to the crowd and then, after boarding Simon’s boat, Jesus began to teach them all.
The authority and teaching charism of this new rabbi, Jesus, must have affected the fishermen rapidly. Simon heard God’s dynamic word spoken by the anointed master.
Then, Jesus addressed Simon by name. Simon’s call in this very first encounter between himself and Jesus netted Simon’s compliance.
Simon collaborated; the unexpected followed. The fishermen pulled up the once empty nets bursting with an astonishing catch of fish.
What happened? Why?
Simon heard and heeded God’s word. The lure of Jesus caught him. Spontaneously, the fishermen acted, trusting Jesus’ instruction.
Empowerment is what happened. Human efforts multiplied exponentially because they cooperated with God’s will.
On their own, they accomplished nothing. They met with success on Jesus’ terms by being co-workers with Jesus. Their needs were no bother to Jesus (not that they asked him) but they didn’t refuse to comply with Jesus’ command nor did they reject Jesus’ presence either.
On the contrary, as their nets brimmed over with the abundant catch, so did awe overflow in Simon’s heart.
Jesus had far greater aims in mind for them. The huge catch of fish was a prophetic sign. Jesus promised a “catch” of men and women who would become his followers through Simon Peter’s efforts, intensified with Jesus’ support.
If we, like Simon Peter, take the scriptures to heart, we will recognize Jesus’ call and respond without hesitation. Though sinful like Simon, we will get results, gathering a catch for the glory of God.
If you do not hear Jesus’ call, or do hear it but reply “no thanks,” refusing God’s empowerment, your efforts will be like empty boats bringing home nothing for a day’s work.
Fishing season is a year-round sport in the “waters” around us. Heed the call in our first reading from Isaiah: “Whom shall I send? Who will go for us? Here I am, send me!”
With Jesus, cast your nets willingly with our holy Skipper’s orders. We are all called and divinely empowered. Start fishin’.
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Parents forever find love without measure
by Mary Hood Hart
It starts even before they’re born. Prenatal visits measure growth. At birth, the first measurement is precise — inches, pounds, ounces.
Once they’re born, the scoring and measuring begin in full force. Doctor visits. Weight and height charts. Evaluations on physical and intellectual development.
We parents chart immunizations and fever, first words and favorite foods. Gradually, emphasis on charting milestones is replaced by emphasis on accomplishments.
Test scores. Batting averages. Team records. Competition statistics. Grade point averages.
Of course, we can’t measure our parenting by numbers, but we are tempted.
We take heart when temperatures are normal; test scores are high; development is on track.
Parenthood is full of surprises, unexpected twists. The charts, statistics, and scores provide a measure of security when so much else seems risky, uncharted.
Loving and caring for this child exposes our weaknesses, our strengths, our hearts. When faced with such vulnerability, theirs and ours, we seek reassurance in the outward signs that all is well.
And then they are grown. Long ago we stopped charting physical development. Gradually, the grades stopped coming home. The squares on the calendar are empty of ballgames, orthodontist appointments, teacher conferences.
We’ve lost our signposts, our charts, our measures. Our role as monitor has ended. The child has become an adult, with all the responsibility and maturity that word embodies.
Yet the paradox is expressed in the words we use to describe them — in the oxymoron “adult children.”
As it should be, we have surrendered control over the details of their lives. Yet because of this parent-child bond, we remain vulnerable.
We can’t maintain curfews or withhold car keys.
We can’t monitor their eating habits or daily exercise. Yet we still care deeply about their safety and health.
We can’t lead them in bedtime prayers or bring them to Mass. Yet we still care deeply about their spiritual nourishment.
We can’t drive them to play dates and birthday parties. Yet we still care deeply about their relationships.
We aren’t always there to calm their fears or ease their doubts, yet we still care deeply about their emotional well-being.
Whatever assurances we once sought in numbers and measurements and progress charts elude us now. Indeed, the twists and turns of parenthood still jolt us, but we have nothing tangible to hold on to.
We’re on a roller coaster without safety bars, a winding road without guard rails.
Our hearts are no longer with our children sleeping in their bedroom down the hall, they are with a single adult sleeping in an apartment miles away, or a soldier lying on a cot in the Middle East, or a young woman checking into a hospital to give birth to a child of her own.
Our children are grown, and we are still vulnerable. Our hearts are no longer our own. We surrendered them early on, without any real understanding of what we were doing.
The reassurances we sought in charts, measurements, grades and numbers were an illusion.
Without them, we rediscover what was real and true all along. After we’ve surrendered all control, after we’ve acknowledged our powerlessness, after we emptied our hearts in self-giving, we discover all we need in what remains — love without measure.
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Where is God?
by Barbara Hughes
“Where is merciful God, where is he?”
The question rose from behind young Elie Wiesel as he watched three Jews on exhibition, standing on the make-shift gallows that claimed their lives in a Nazi death camp.
The third, a child whose light weight made it impossible for him to know the mercy of a swift death, swung for almost an hour.
Once again the cry arose from behind young Wiesel, “For God’s sake, where is God?”
As early scenes of the devastation in Haiti found their way into our living room, I found myself struggling with the same question.
At first glance, it seems the God of mercy is deliberately absent whenever human beings or the environment turns violent. Moved by compassion, we search in vain for answers where none can be found. Logical explanations drown in a cocktail of human misery and helplessness.
More than half a century ago, Wiesel listened in silence to the cry of human anguish that found its voice in the man behind him. Later he recounted, “And within me, I heard a voice answer: “Where is he? This is where — hanging here from the gallows.”
Haitian orphans search in vain for parents while others die waiting for medical aid, food and water. With the stench of death invading their senses, Haitians in Port-au-Prince know what Wiesel meant when he wrote, “That night, the soup tasted of corpses.”
And yet. . . as the days wore on and suffering became more unbearable Wiesel recalls, “. . . in spite of myself a prayer formed inside me, a prayer to this God in whom I no longer believed.”
A crisis of faith cannot kill God; doubt does not negate grace.
The answer to the purpose of unfathomable suffering lies within the wellspring of the soul and manifests itself through love incarnate. Faith is living water that gives life when death seems certain though we may not always recognize it by name.
Despite his unbelief, Elie Wiesel found the strength to love and watch over his father as the increasingly fragile man slowly died before his eyes.
Bruised by suffering, Elie Wiesel entered into the mystery of suffering, just as the thousands of volunteers and Haitians set aside their own needs in order to come to the aid of others. When a father who had not eaten in three days received a plate of spaghetti, he gave it to his son.
A young boy who received a bottle of water carried it to his family before drinking any himself.
A steady stream of mercy pours into the country in the form of people, food and medicine from governments, charitable organizations and individuals. All are a testimony to the love of a God that continues to work through his people.
The response is a sign of the triumph of good over evil that inspires hope and charity and reveals God’s presence in our midst. It is the upside down message of the Beatitudes that proclaims those who suffer, who hunger and thirst as blessed.
This is not a distorted glorification of suffering. It is the reality of God’s presence among us. Within the midst of incredible suffering, grace is at work.
For some, suffering provides wings, for others, it becomes a manacle. Yet, how the drama is played out in each person’s life is a personal choice.
Some people have the capacity of a thimble, others are able to endure much more, but whether suffering comes our way directly or indirectly, we are called to be our “brother’s keeper.”
No one should suffer alone, for suffering is a communal journey which came to fruition on Calvary and lives on in every person.
Suffering has the potential to transform lives. When one person’s death becomes another’s resurrection, the mystery of Christ’s dying and rising is repeated over and over as a never ending drama.
Christ lives in every person and because he does, we are called to stretch ourselves beyond self contrived limits in order to accommodate the crucified Christ in our life.
Though we are small, the cross of Christ casts a shadow over the entire world. When we give in the name of Jesus, we are indeed his hands and feet. We need the people of Haiti as much as they need us.
When we respond to their cries, we are transformed.
When we walk side by side through this mystery we call life, we walk in remembrance of the one who gave his life that we might have life eternal.
And when we are tempted to ask “Where is God?,” we need look no further than the cross.
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Copyright © 2009 The Catholic Virginian Press. Articles from Catholic News Services, including Fr. Dietzen’s column, may not be reproduced due to copyright considerations.
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