Faith is the virtue that overcomes ideas and systems. Jesus came for the lost sheep of the house of Israel. Even the Canaanite woman calls him the Son of David, recognizing his Israelite heritage. But her faith in Jesus breaks down even the expectations of Christ himself. Personally, I think Jesus presented it as a challenge, to see if she would rise to the occasion. How often do we get challenged in our faith, where our faith in God is presented the opportunity to shine forth in a culture that pretty much sends the message to shut it down Monday-Saturday. And Sundays are okay as long as you keep your faith within the walls of the structure. Our faith is challenged every day to rise to the occasion. Whether it’s relationships – the big one; work-related; our generosity; health-related; having a heart for the poor, the immigrant, and the refugee, rather than judging them harshly, which we are commanded to not do. Every day, numerous times, we get challenged in our Catholic faith, small and large. Jesus sounding harsh – “Please move on, woman. I’m here only for the house of Israel.” This intentional response to her healing request challenged her to rise to the occasion. To the occasion of steadfast, abiding faith. The Lord said, “You have faith in me to heal your daughter? Let’s see how deep that faith really is.” And find out he did. For ourselves, we know we have faith in Jesus as Savior and Redeemer. If anyone asked us, “Do you have faith in Christ?” who of us here is going to answer “no.” We’re all going to say “yes.” Some louder than others, but all of us would say “yes.” And let’s not forget there are many people walking around today who will say “no” to that question. Where there is no internal light at the moment. So, there we are with our faith, the first of the theological virtues, and Jesus says, “I want you to show me how persevering your faith is. I’m going to challenge you. I am here only for the lost sheep of the house of Israel. A group, Mrs. Canaanite, you do not belong to.” Do we rise to the occasion, or do we walk away when seemingly rejected? In this incredible Gospel encounter, the fact that this Canaanite woman is a mother who seeks healing for her ill daughter allows for her faith to rise to the occasion. The advantage of being a mother who loves her daughter unconditionally, who would walk along the bottom of the ocean from one end to the other to ensure healing for her daughter, that advantage cannot be overestimated when it comes to persevering in one’s faith. That’s a great reason to chance it and stick it out. A loving mother will do anything for the good of the child they love. So will a loving father. Our Lord’s goal, despite the harsh words, is to draw from the mother of this ill daughter, an abiding faith that will carry her through the rest of her years. A faith she will share with her daughter. Like the Samaritan woman at the well of Jacob, this is the moment of truth. The one time in her life where she will either advance, or cave to the words of Jesus. Only tough-minded people will advance. The wimps will cave in and become violent toward God and others. We’re seeing much of that reaction right now. She’s a tough-minded mother; “Lord, even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.” That’s more than wisdom. That’s raising your faith. It’s courageous and persevering. And Jesus smiled.
The tiny whispering sound that Elijah could barely hear. But, he had ears to hear, and hear the softness of God he did, in contrast to the loudness of this life. It makes a person wonder when God told Elijah to go outside the cave and be ready for when the Lord was going to pass by, what sort of presence did Elijah expect to see or hear? If God told you, “Go outside and stand next to the Marian statue on the grounds of Immaculate Conception and wait for me to pass by because I want to say hello to my Mother,” what thoughts will you have on how to recognize his presence? Are you going to wait for a thunderstorm to roll by on a hot, hazy summer afternoon? Do you think God’s presence is in the constant sirens that fly by the Church in both directions? Will the Lord be found in the loud motorcycles and countless cars and trucks without mufflers racing down Gold Star Blvd? if God’s presence is found in those earthquakes and fires, I’d be tempted to say, “Lord, hold back your presence today and grant me a day of peace without you.” Who knows what Elijah thought or expected when he went outside the cave! He was probably waiting for a comet to land next to him. “God’s presence must be found in the spectacular, the obvious, the booming, the overpowering noises beyond our control.” But no. The Lord’s presence in our lives is not found in pickup trucks and cars that have no mufflers racing up and down Gold Star. When that happens, I rename the street “Bronze Star.” Or “No Star.” Instead, the Lord’s presence in our lives is found on the grounds of a place like the Spencer Abbey, where a few monks are drinking Spencer Ale, eating their chocolates, softly listening to Gregorian Chant with big smiles on their faces as they thank God for being so close. The smiles are not caused by drinking too much Spencer Ale. God is close to them. That’s cause for smiling. That, my friends, is a tiny whispering sound. Those moments where Jesus tells the storm to cease, to be still, or in Lincoln St. language, to shut up. Each day we saunter outside our cave, leaving our homes, hopefully with the hope that we’re going to encounter the Lord’s presence in some form. Not a day in our life goes by without our Lord inviting us to get closer. We may carry some level of apprehension and fear what his presence will look like and sound like. What sounds or what person is he going to use to draw us in? We may think, “Well, if it’s God’s presence, I better nail my feet to the ground because I’ll probably get knocked over.” Granted, I’m a firm believer that God will use any means available to capture our attention to draw us deeper and deeper into his presence until the hour we stand before him on the other side of death. Means that are loud, soft, and anywhere in between to ensure we land on the correct of life eternal. He will use any and every means to grab our attention when the end result is our eternal good. Whatever it takes for us to arrive safely. Nothing is off the table when it comes to our eternal destiny. But, the tiny whispering sound, and Jesus’ presence that calms the roaring waters, are the most likely manifestations that allow for closeness to God in this world. In your life, if you haven’t already, make room for the quiet. Make room for the soft. Make room for some holy immersion. Recognizing when the Lord is close by is one thing. Melting into that closeness like Elijah and Peter did is a whole different ballgame. Despite God’s request, Elijah could have stayed in his cave. And Peter could have stayed in the boat, even after Jesus called him forth. But they chanced it. They both stepped out. One from the quiet of his cave; the other from a stormy, tipping boat. Elijah on the mountain, and Peter on the sea came to know that God is best known in the overpowering quiet that he wishes us to make room for.
Part of the learning curve for the Apostles of Christ was learning that the word dismissal was not part of Jesus’ ministry, at least not when crowds are hungry for him. It’s true the Lord will dismiss his own disciples in the sense of heading off to the mountain for some solitary prayer. Or, dismiss a small crowd inside a certain house so he could raise a 12-year old girl from death. But generally speaking, and in the larger picture, Jesus dismissing a large or small crowd simply does not reconcile with his public ministry of establishing God’s Kingdom on earth. On the contrary, I bet all of us are adept at dismissing certain people at certain times. And if we cannot dismiss them easily, we may give a hint like, “Can’t you hear your bed calling you at home?” Or, you simply stretch out your hands like Jesus on the Cross, let out a loud yawn, and say, “Boy, I’m tired!” This sort of dismissal, which the Disciples tell Jesus to perform to the crowd following him, is never found in the actions and language of heaven. Or heaven on earth. Even when it seems his back is against the wall, thousands of men, women, and children with no food following him to a deserted place, the thought of dismissal remains far from the mind of the Son of God. We know the story; they are told to sit down, take it easy and relax for a short time, and be fed to complete satisfaction. “All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You’re not dismissed. Come to the water. You who have no money, and even you who do have money, come receive grain and eat. Come to the table of the Lord where there is no cost to be fed.” Now, the simple, yet fundamental point for today is this; in the lack of Jesus dismissing the crowds, was that closeness and proximity to him only during the time of his public ministry? When the Lord accomplishes all he set out to do, when his hour had arrived, when he gave his life for ours, and when he flew off from the mountain on the bungee cord that only goes up, ascending to his glory, did dismissal now become part of God’s language, when he was no longer with them in the flesh? Isn’t it one of the harder parts of our relationship with Christ to – at times – accept and believe he has not dismissed us from his abiding presence? We have even in our time the great St. Teresa of Calcutta living for decades what is spiritually called “a dark night of the soul.” Which simply means to a disciple, “God has dismissed me. While I remain faithful, and I don’t turn my back on him by not turning my back on my brothers and sisters, while I sustain a daily prayer life and plead for his intercession for this person and that person, my experience is, ‘Lord, where did you go? Did you dismiss me, tell me to go back to my own village and buy food for myself?’” This sense of separation from our Creator and Savior, where he apparently tells us to leave his presence and go home is the darkest part of our relationship with the Lord. And all of us at one time or another have come to know firsthand that experience of apparent Divine dismissal. But, if nothing else, Jesus is consistent. The action taken toward the overwhelming crowd following him and the challenge to feed them, spiritually and physically, is a continuous action until the day we stand before him. At times along the way, we need to battle against moments of seeming darkness, the darkness of God seeming to dismiss us. And the three best ways – the top 3 list – to battle against the appearance of Jesus dismissing us are: 1) Reception of the Eucharist, 2) Read and hear the word of God, and 3) Sustain a daily prayer life. These are not magical answers on how to avoid the dark night of the soul. They are not magical answers, period. They are real parts of our Catholic lives, choices that we make, in order to not experience something that God will never do to us. Dismiss the crowds? No way! Feed them yourselves, because dismissal is language unknown in heaven, and unknown on earth in the language of Christ. Instead, we have “I will be with you until the end of the age.” And in an age of pandemic and greater violence, we need to trust even more in Jesus’ real presence among us.