Homily | August 9, 2026 | What If The Storm Is The Meeting Place | (Episode 225)

I want you to imagine standing on the shore that evening.

You've just watched Jesus feed more than five thousand people with no more than five loaves and two fish.

You would expect celebration, a grand miracle, rest, a peaceful night.

But instead, Jesus points to the boat and says to his disciples, get in.

Matthew is very deliberate here.

Jesus did not simply invite them into the boat, he made them get into the boat.

He compelled them.

He sent them into the darkness.

And that changes the whole gospel.

Because the storm they are about to face is not punishment.

It is not proof that they misunderstood God.

It's not a sign that they took a wrong turn.

They are exactly where Jesus told them to be.

And still the wind is against them.

And that's difficult for us to accept sometimes.

Because somewhere along the way, many of us have picked up the idea that if we are doing God's will, then our lives should be easier.

If we're faithful, the road should be smoother.

If God is pleased with us, the storm should stop.

But this gospel tells us something completely different.

You are exactly where God wants you to be.

And you still may be exhausted, still confused, lacking faith, still afraid, still rowing against the wind.

But God has you where he wants you.

Faithfulness does not always remove the storm.

Sometimes faithfulness puts you right in the middle of one.

And while the disciples are fighting the wind, where is Jesus?

Oh, he's up on the mountain praying.

And this detail matters.

While they are struggling, he's praying.

While they are exhausted, he's praying.

While they cannot see him, he has not forgotten them for a moment.

The disciples could not see the mountain from the boat, but Jesus could see the boat from the mountain.

Somebody here today needs to hear that.

You may not be able to see God from where you are, but he sees you very clearly.

But then Matthew tells us that Jesus comes during the fourth night, fourth watch of the night.

That's an important detail.

That's probably about between three and six o'clock in the morning.

Now the gospel is told us that we've they've been rowing for hours.

Hour after hour, stroke after stroke, the same darkness, the same wind, the same storm, the same resistance.

But Jesus waited.

Why?

Well, we don't know.

But something I've learned from my own priesthood, God is rarely early according to my schedule.

But he has never been late.

Some of the greatest graces of my life only became visible after I had reached the end of my own strength.

Perhaps that's why Christ comes in the fourth watch.

Not when they are strong, not when the disciples are confident, but when they almost have nothing left inside of them.

But then comes the strangest moment in the story.

Jesus comes walking across the water, and they scream.

Think about that.

The storm is raging, it's been raging for hours.

The waves are pounding on the boat, water coming in.

These are fishermen.

They are used to storms out on the water.

But what terrifies them is Jesus.

Or more precisely, Jesus, that they do not recognize.

They say, it is a ghost.

I wonder if that is not one of the greatest dangers of our spiritual life.

Not that Christ is absent, but that Christ is present and we mistake him for something else.

How often has he come towards us disguised as something we did not want, perhaps disguised as an interruption or a disappointment, disguised as a closed door, or even a difficult person, a diagnosis, a cross that we didn't ask for.

And because he did not come in the form that we expected, well, we call him a ghost.

That's what Elijah discovers in the first reading.

He expects God in this huge, big, dramatic way.

A violent wind, the earthquake, the fire, but God is not there.

He comes in this tiny whisper.

He didn't expect that.

And Elijah knows God has always loved arriving in forms.

The world overlooks.

A whisperer, a carpenter, a crucified man, bread.

Then Jesus speaks across the storm.

He says to them in the boat, Take courage, it is I, do not be afraid.

But the words translated in it is I are much stronger than they sound in English.

Because in the Greek, Jesus says, I am.

It's the divine name.

It's the name that's revealed to Moses.

When Moses asks God at the burning bush, who do I say that you are?

He says, I am.

He's not merely telling them who is walking on the water, he's revealing who he is.

Take courage.

I am.

Do not be afraid.

Notice the order.

Courage on one side, fear on the other.

And in the middle of that, God.

That's where Christian courage comes from.

Not because the storm is small, not because the waves are imaginary, but because God is present.

And notice something else: Jesus does not calm the storm immediately.

The wind keeps blowing.

Because before he changes their circumstances, he gives them himself.

That's often how God works.

We ask for answers, he gives us his presence.

We ask for explanations, he gives us himself.

But then Peter speaks Lord, if it is you, command me to come out to you on the water.

And Jesus has come.

And Peter gets out of the boat.

We criticize Peter because he eventually sinks.

But let's give him some credit.

The other eleven stayed in the boat.

He's the only one that stepped out.

And for a few astonishing moments, he's walking on the water.

The impossible held him.

But then Matthew says that when he saw how strong the wind was, he became frightened.

But the wind had been strong all night.

The wind did not change.

Peter's attention did.

That's often what happens to us.

Christ has not moved.

The promises of God has not changed, but our attention shifts.

We become distracted, overwhelmed, relying only on us.

But from Christ to everything shaking around us, and Peter begins to sink.

But then he prays perhaps the most honest prayer in all of the gospels.

He says, Lord, save me.

Three words no eloquence, no great theology, no carefully prepared speech.

Lord save me.

And immediately Jesus reaches out his hand and immediately he grabs him.

Don't miss the contrast.

Jesus waited hours before he walked out across the water.

But when Peter began to sink, he did not wait one second to catch him.

God's timing may sometimes feel slow to you.

It's not on your time, it's on God's time.

But something that we cannot miss is that his mercy is never late.

Jesus takes Peter by the hand, they climb into the boat, and only then does the wind become still.

Then something happens that is even greater than walking on water.

All of the disciples fall down to their knees and say to Jesus, Truly you are the Son of God.

They did not say this after the multiplication of the loaves.

They did not say this after a very successful day out in ministry.

They say it after the night that almost broke them.

There are things you will know about God in a storm that you will never know when the seas are calm.

There are prayers you will only learn when there is a storm.

There are truths about Christ that only become real when everything else you trusted has failed.

And so perhaps the real question of this gospel is not, will storms come?

Of course they will.

The question is, will you recognize Christ when he comes to you in the middle of one?

Or are you so distracted in your head, so consumed by the me, me, me?

Because in a few moments he will come to you.

Not in an earthquake, no fire, no dazzling night, no huge event, just bread.

Simple bread.

Ordinary in its appearance, the world may see it as a cookie, easy to overlook, easy to take for granted, and yet beneath that humility is the same Lord who walked across the sea.

The same Lord who said, Take courage, it is I, I am.

Do not be afraid.

Some of you will approach this altar today carrying a storm nobody else knows about, a struggle that you are going through.

Some of you are tired from rowing.

Some of you have lack of faith.

Some of you are frightened, some of you feel like the water is rising and coming into your boat.

When you come forward, do not simply receive communion.

Recognize him.

Recognize the one who has seen you all along.

Recognize the one who's been praying from you from the mountain.

Recognize the one who into the storm, who comes into the storm before he calms it.

And if you have nothing left, then you have Peter's prayer.

Lord, save me.

Because the same hand that reached out through the waves is the same hand that caught Peter.

It is the same hand that stretched out his arms on the cross.

It's the same hands that come to you in the Holy Eucharist.

The question is no longer whether Jesus is coming towards you.

He is coming towards you.

And he sees you.

The question is whether you leave all the distractions, will you leave all the noise and recognize him when he's there standing in front of you?

Amen.