The God of Silence (19th Sunday Ordinary A)

God was not in the stormy wind rending the mountains and crushing the rocks, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire.  Elijah encountered God in the “sound of silence”—in the tiny whispering sound (1 Kgs 19: 9-13).

God’s presence in the ordinary day-to-day events. Almost always greatness is demonstrated by grandiosity—like the astounding display of a multi-million-peso worth of fireworks, the construction of a huge and dominating elaborate edifice, the preparation of an unparalleled hero’s welcome, etc.  Going by this line of thinking, we easily expect God to work in mind-boggling, nature-defying miracles or to reveal God’s self in awesome, jaw-dropping theophanies.  All because God is God; and God is great!

God can do this of course.  But God does communicate with us, more often than we ever notice, in a commonplace fashion, in a non-obtrusive way, in a tiny whispering sound as in the case of Elijah.  The problem is, most of us do not have the slightest suspicion that God in is the ordinary and everyday routine of our lives.  Furthermore, when God is silent, we easily take it to mean that God does not care at all.

God’s presence in the storms of life. In today’s gospel (Mt. 14:22-33), Peter and the other disciples encountered Jesus as a reassuring and calm presence amid the waves that tossed about their boat. “It is I; do not be afraid,” was the assurance of Jesus to his terrified disciples.

Today’s readings assure us of the abiding presence of God whether in our most trying moments or in the humdrum of our daily responsibilities. God is always with us.  God is maybe silent but not absent for sure.

Do I have faith in the God of silence?

Where is God when my only son committed suicide? Where is God when our livelihood and properties were all washed away by flood?  Where is God in my moments of unbearable pain wrought by this vicious cancer?  Where is God when my daughter, our only hope to rise from this miserable life, had an unwanted pregnancy? These can go on and on as an endless litany of other excruciating cries that betray our lack of trust in God whose silence we don’t understand.

Where is God during the storms of our lives?

We see the storm quite clearly as we tremble in fear; but we fail to notice the hand of God reaching out to us.  Just like Peter, when he got out of the boat and started walking on the water toward Jesus, he was distracted by the strong wind.  He allowed his fears to creep in and lost his focus on Jesus.  There and then, he started to sink (vv.  30).

This is true with our lives.  We focus on the storms too much.  God is left unnoticed.   We walk through life with so much burden and pain, insecurities and fears while all along God silently accompanies us, always reaching out his saving hand.  And we don’t notice it, perhaps, until we sink into the pit of despair and start to panic for dear life.

Our invitation is to see the saving hand of God in any storm of life. Like Peter, we need to fix our eyes on God and ask for God’s saving hand. What storm has been buffeting my life?  Do I have faith in the silent but reassuring presence of God seeing me through these difficult times?

May the readings today, make known to us the God of silence—the God whose presence is as unobtrusive as a faint sound of a whisper.  It is God’s silence that tests the sensitivity of faith on our part when we face the turmoil of our storms in life. God is with us either in the ordinary daily grind or in the most trying events of our lives. May this truth build our confidence in facing any storm in life. The Lord is just right there in the middle of the storm reaching out his hand to save us. “It is I. Do not be afraid.”

When God Plays Hard to Get (20th Sunday Ordinary A)

One hot summer afternoon, I was amazed to see a bromeliad on a pot blooming with beautiful flower when everything around it was dry and parched. It had not rained for days. I called the attention of one of the priests in the house.  His background in agriculture came in handy for the explanation I was asking. He told me that bromeliads need “stress” in order to bloom.  When they get plenty of water and fertilizer, they develop into much bigger plants, even double their original size, with pupping increased but flowering is put off for another year at least. To bloom with flowers, they have to be subjected to stress by suppressing water and fertilizer.  

When everything in its surrounding was parched, that bromeliad bloomed because it had been under stress.  It’s cool, don’t you think so? I see the growth of our faith quite the same way.  Some sort of stress is needed for our faith to bloom.  Today’s gospel (Mt. 15: 21-28), for instance, illustrates how Jesus put under stress the initial faith of the Canaanite woman in order for it to bloom and merit Jesus’ exclamation, “O woman, great is your faith!”

The first stress is God’s silence. The woman calling out on Jesus is given the cold shoulder at first.  Jesus does not say anything.  Silence as a response to a desperate prayer can be unnerving.  When God is silent in the face of our suffering, our faith is shaken.  Sometimes our faith needs to be shaken to rouse it from the slumber of mediocrity.

Next is the stress of exclusion.  The Canaanite woman is made to understand that she does not belong to those whom Jesus is sent.  The disciples of Jesus wants her dismissed and Jesus adds insult to injury by implying that she is, indeed, not part of his mission. His mission is only for the lost sheep of the house of Israel.  The woman, a Canaanite, is not a member of the house of Israel.  To be excluded from a family is alienating.  It brings insecurity.  To be made aware of the fact that one does not belong to the family of God is perhaps the ultimate experience of alienation and insecurity.

The ultimate stress is that of humiliation. The woman, not giving up, faces the ultimate test of faith—being called a dog! This humiliation strips off her dignity. She is reduced to nothing! She is made to feel her complete unworthiness! But still, acceding to her utter worthlessness, she believes that God’s grace has something in store even for the unworthy. “Even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters” (v. 27).

Such is the greatness of the Canaanite woman’s faith.  When everything is lost, even her dignity, she humbly clings to only one thing:  THE UNDESERVED GRACE OF GOD.  And she gets it flooding on her way as she hears Jesus exclaimed, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish” (v. 28).

Today’s gospel then instructs us that when God plays hard to get, it is not because God does not care; it is because God wants to see our faith bloom.  God wants not a mediocre faith or an average faith. God wants a GREAT faith! And God knows that each of us can have such a faith if we allow him to help us.

An average faith worships and praises God because “God is good...  all the time.”  The experience of God’s abundant grace in our life makes us grateful to God. Hence, our praises to his mighty name.  But such faith has to grow.  Abundance can spoil our faith.  It can create in us a sense of entitlement.
What if God suddenly becomes silent and distant? What if, in the words of Fr. Thomas Green, the well runs dry?  What if we experience the “dark night of the soul” described by St. John of the Cross?  Will we remain steadfast?  

An insight from today’s gospel therefore is this:  Growth towards greatness of faith is a process of stripping off even the last shred of our sense of entitlement to God’s grace.  Great faith emerges from the humble position of sheer unworthiness on our part but with a certain conviction that God cares nevertheless.

When God plays hard to get with us, it’s good to remember the bromeliads.  It is only when they are put under stress that they bloom with precious and beautiful flowers.  God plays hard to get because he wants our faith to grow to its fullness.  God wants us to have what the Canaanite woman in today’s gospel eventually possessed—GREAT FAITH—nothing less.