I was joking with Father Nate as he prepares to take over as administrator of the parish while I am on sabbatical. I told him that when Monsignor Prist went on a sabbatical, a ceiling tile fell in the sanctuary, and a spall of limestone fell from the basilica's central arch. When Msgr. Pollard went on a sabbatical, and a ceiling tile fell in the basilica's nave, we had to replace the entire ceiling. I hope while I am on sabbatical, nothing of that nature falls onto Father Nate's plate so that his time as administrator will be stress-free without too many challenges and will prepare him to be pastor soon. With the heat wave that is going through the nation, storms usually follow. In this Sunday’s gospel, I don't think Mark was all that concerned about that storm on the lake. He was interested in the storm that he and the members of his small Christian community were going through as they faced misunderstanding, hostility, and even persecution.
As we listen to the story, I suspect we're not too concerned either about that original storm on the lake or the stormy times confronting Mark's community. What does concern us are the storms that we, as Church and as individual disciples, are facing today.
In recent years, we have been made painfully aware of our own shortcomings. Many of us older ones belonged to a Church that 'sort of' wasn't built to manage a world and a culture that suddenly changed some time back. But we thought that it wasn't bad. We were at home with authority, with clear-cut answers, with all marching together, in step, to the same familiar tune.
Then came the Vietnam War, birth control issues, material prosperity, and with them, a radical questioning of authority, a focus on individualism, and the spread of self-interested consumerism. Priests started leaving the priesthood. Religious vocations dried up. And people stopped coming to Mass or belonging in any significant way. It's not the whole story – but certainly one aspect of it. On top of all that change came the revelation that some priests had been pedophiles and that some in authority, partly through ignorance and partly through shame or pride or a misguided sense of responsibility, had tried to keep it "in house" to create as little stir as possible, and generally to "cover up." Trust came under fire.
We have known shock, confusion, hurt, anger, disillusionment, misunderstanding, and sometimes ridicule from others around us. Some have blamed the messenger; some have gone underground and hoped it would all go away. The storm we have encountered has been due partly to our own sin and partly to the sin of the world we have been sent to. Jesus' calming of the storm seemed to have been a concession to the shortage of faith of the disciples.
Is the storm better for those with strong faith? A good question - but perhaps an academic question. And I sometimes ask myself whether the Church would be better as a Church of the perfect or a Church of sinners. The 'perfect' in bulk are likely to be Pharisees. But then, sin is always bad news, too. Perhaps we don't have much say in all that. We are where we are and what we are, and we get on with the job from there.
What I find fascinating is that there is a growing desire among the faithful to learn the truths of the faith to be able to dialogue with others about what is central and essential to the Catholic faith. The National Eucharistic Revival has helped us focus on the real presence of Christ in the Body of Christ, in the bread and the wine, and in the community of believers. We all had to grow up. We had to learn to live as adults in an adult Church. We had to make our own inner journey and face the big questions that no one else could answer for us: Where do I stand? What do I really believe? What makes me tick?
We can't read the hearts of others. We grapple with love and forgiveness, trying to live with integrity in an imperfect world and an imperfect Church where we are all sinners.
We are still a work in progress, stumbling along, but we 'sort of' know where we're heading - and we are learning to trust not ourselves but God. At times, Jesus seems asleep. But, sleeping or not, he's Jesus, and he's there, and that is all that really matters.