Written January 8, 2009
Today is the Wednesday after Epiphany. In the daily Mass readings this week, we have heard stories of Jesus’ manifestation as the Christ, the Messiah. Yesterday, we heard Mark’s account of the feeding of the 5,000; today’s Gospel begins where yesterday’s ended and details the familiar story of Jesus walking on water. I’ve read and heard this story—even this account of the story—many times before, but it has never struck me as it did tonight.
Mark’s version of the story contains some details that Matthew and John lack (and lacks some details that the others contain). It was these details, found in two characteristically concise Markan sentences, which struck me tonight. The passage begins, “After the five thousand had eaten and were satisfied, Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and precede him to the other side toward Bethsaida…” Alone, Jesus dismisses the crowd and prays on a nearby mountain. The standard setup. Then, strong winds toss the disciples’ boat about, and Jesus walks toward them on the water. The standard plot.
Then, Mark’s version continues, “About the fourth watch of the night, he came toward them walking on the sea. He meant to pass by them.” Wait. He meant to pass by them? If that’s the case, what was Jesus doing out there on the sea? Was he just out for a little stroll on the waves? These six words seem to indicate that Jesus did not intend his disciples to see him. Now, some might say that here “meant to pass by them” means that he intended meant to pass close to them so that they would see him. However, coupled with the following phrase, “But when they saw him…,” it seems clear that Jesus did not intend to be seen. He meant to pass by them. What is the significance of these words?
Both Matthew and John lack this sentence or anything like it. In Matthew’s account, Jesus beckons to Peter, and Peter, too, walks briefly on the water (and promptly sinks). John’s account is much shorter, and in it Jesus identifies himself, after which the apostles are mysteriously teleported “to the shore to which they were heading.”
But let’s get back to Mark. Why didn’t Jesus intend to be seen? Is it, perhaps, that his being seen—and therefore the very act of walking on water—is somehow immaterial, unimportant? After all, at the end of this passage, Mark writes, “He got into the boat with them and the wind died down. They were (completely) astounded. They had not understood the incident of the loaves. On the contrary, their hearts were hardened.” Here, Mark utilizes a phrase he typically uses to describe the “villains” in his account of Christ’s passion. So, even though Jesus had—by his faith and prayer—multiplied a meager amount of food into an abundance so great that basketfuls remained after thousands had eaten their fill, walked on water, and mysteriously caused a storm to end, the apostles simply didn’t “get it.”
Is it possible that there is something deeper here, something akin to Christ’s words to Thomas, “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed?” Maybe the apostles’ inability to recognize Jesus as Christ by his miracles not only reveals their stubbornness and “hardness of heart” but also calls into question the importance of miracles at large.
If so, perhaps Jesus meant to pass by them because miracles are in fact somewhat inconsequential in our journey of faith. So often, God speaks to us in the smallest ways, in the little signs, in the “whispering sounds” like the one Elijah heard in 1 Kings 19. But so often we look for grand miracles, for “lightning bolt” experiences more akin to the work of Zeus than that of a God who has given his people the gift of free will.
Last summer, my aunt Cheryl—a woman of tremendous faith and love who with her husband raised eight children that I proudly call my cousins and closest friends—died from cancer at the age of 61. At her funeral, one of my cousins said to me, “You know, I really thought with all the prayers we said that God would give us a miracle, that he’d heal her and let her live…”
At that moment, I recalled the numerous prayers that I had offered for her at daily Mass, the prayers of our parish community at weekend Eucharist, where lectors had week after week pronounced her name aloud with the names of other sick and suffering people. I recalled the infinite support, hope, and affection that others had offered our family, and in my heart, I wanted nothing more than for her to live once again, to walk and talk and laugh and smile her incomparable smile once more. But that simply wasn’t possible.
I’ve often heard people say, “Well, I guess that just wasn’t God’s plan…,” but I think this phrase trivializes the magnitude of God’s goodness and to an extent misses completely the point of our faith. Is the point of faith to “get something” from God (even salvation)? Is the point of prayer to “get” what we ask for? Or is prayer in its most authentic form an expression of faith and trust in God’s love, an expression of our communion with the source and end from which and to which all things flow? God’s love, which we ritually celebrate in the Eucharist, is all around us. In every interaction, in every moment of joy, hope, and sorrow, God’s love is there. Even in moments of despair, God’s love remains.
After sharing all this with those at the Communion service at which I presided today, my thoughts turned to today’s first reading, 1 John 4:11-18. The passage reads, “No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us.” Here, John states that while we have not seen God, God is present in our love for each other, that we are the vehicle by which God’s love is perfected. Later in this reading, we find the famous line, “God is love, and whoever remains in love remains in God and God in him.” In short, love is the truest manifestation of God in our midst.
Why, then, do we look for miracles? Why do seek loaves and fishes, walking on water, or miraculous healings? If love is the indicator of God’s presence among us, then faith is the belief that love is true and present in our hearts. Faith believes that in each shining moment when we express love, Christ is truly present. We find these manifestations, these “epiphanies” of the Lord in each shimmer of joy, each sparkle of hope, in small moments every day. Of course Jesus meant to pass by them; he knew he did not need to be seen. For he showed love beyond measure, and in expressing that love, he revealed God to the world. It is through that love, not through miracles, that Christ’s first disciples would come to know him, as we know him today, in simple gifts of bread and the wine, in each glimmer love shared, in the memory of a aunt’s smile.
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