Who Then Is This?

At least once a year, at Christmas or Easter, it seems like some new article or news program attempts to define for us who Jesus really was in contrast to what the Church teaches. And though we can fault them for any biases they inject into their productions, we cannot fault them for asking the question "Who is Jesus?", because it is a perennial question. Since returning to the Catholic faith, I have not tired of asking this question, and I would suggest that, whether we know it or not, we all have asked ourselves this question to some degree or another at multiple points in our life.

Like the disciples in today's gospel, we are challenged in our understanding of who Jesus is in the midst of trials, tribulation, or suffering; and, depending on what kind of relationship we have with him, we may come to different answers. For example, the disciples had clearly been formulating an opinion about Jesus from the miracles he performed during the days, weeks or months preceding this day when they crossed to the other side of the sea of Galilee. I am sure that, by this time, they had pretty high hopes for this Jesus whom they were following. After all, a voice from heaven declared that he was "my Beloved Son" and even the demons which he cast out called him "the Holy One of God"!

Then comes the storm. Now, sudden storms like this are not uncommon on the Sea of Galilee, so it may not have been a surprise to the disciples, but what made this storm different in their minds was who they had in the boat with them. We need to consider that in the ancient near east in the time and place of the disciples, storms were depicted as manifestations of evil and chaos. In addition, we are familiar with the ancient misconception that an unfortunate death implied that you were a sinner or cursed and forsaken by God. Taken altogether, is it any wonder why the disciples asked Jesus, "Do you not care that we are perishing?" I can hear the unspoken questions they asked themselves. "What will the world think of us if we perish this way? We thought he could be the messiah! Doesn't he care?! His reputation is on the line. Our reputation is on the line! Is he not who we thought he was?" This storm then posed more than a physical threat, it was an attack on their hope, on their concept of who Jesus was; and they were afraid.

How many of us, if we are honest with ourselves, have questioned God in this manner? Haven't we wondered or cried out in the midst of our suffering or some other crisis: "Where are you? Don't you care? Do you even exist?" How many of us have asked. "What have I done to deserve this?" or "ls this how you treat those who love you?" These are fair questions and they are not new. They proceed from every human life and they demand an adequate answer; but, continuing to be honest with ourselves, under what conditions do we ask these questions? Are we in a regular daily conversation with God, or is this the first time in months that we sought his attention? Do we really have a relationship with the Lord, or do we only turn to him in our distress, and then only to be angry with him? Am I faithfully visiting him at Sunday Mass and adoring hini in the Blessed Sacrament? Do I go to penance regularly? Do I pray to him daily?

If my answer to these questions is "no", then it is my faith that is asleep in the storm, not the Lord. But, what if I have been doing all those things and I still cry? Am I wrong? In such circumstances, I would say that I was like Job. Job was a very righteous and holy man who suffered without cause simply because Satan desired it. God permitted Job to suffer greatly and Job basically asked "Where are you? Don't you care? Do you even exist?" Job wanted to be vindicated. He wanted to know why he was suffering when he had done nothing wrong. He didn't believe God would
allow such a thing to occur. He had an idea of who God was, but his image of God was incomplete. Yet, an amazing thing happened in the midst of Job's suffering. God revealed himself to Job! Job thought he knew God, but his concept of God was challenged when tragedy struck. Thus confronted, he had to come to terms with Who God really was. At the end of his suffering, Job saw that God's ways were far beyond his human understanding and was humbled, but more importantly he was moved toward a clearer understanding of Who God is.

The same opportunity can be found in the midst of our tragedies; thus when we are finished asking our questions, the Lord rightfully asks us like he asked the disciples: "Why are you so terrified? Do you not yet have faith?" Beyond a mere chastisement, Jesus' response prompts us to evaluate the status of our ordinary everyday faith in God. Jesus demonstrates the type of faith we ought to have. He is asleep in the boat while everyone else was panicking. It is the kind of faith called "Abandonment to Divine Providence", in a book of the same name by Jean Pierre de Cassaud. A compelling title. It clearly reflects what we see in Jesus' behavior during the storm.

Jesus can sleep because has an eternal perspective. He knows that whatever happens to us has already been known to the Father and whatever the outcome may be, God has accounted for it and has a plan to redeem it even when we do not understand it. We very often speak as if God is only seeing the events of our lives as they happen to us, and that he does not or cannot take action until we are in the midst of them. We must remind ourselves that God is eternal and outside of time. He is totally timeless and time is just another of his creatures. Knowing this enabled Jesus to keep his human will completely disposed to the will of the Father. As he says in John 5:30 "I can do nothing on my own authority...I do not seek my own will but the will of the one who sent me.

We, too, must strive to develop this attitude of abandonment in which we realize that no tragedy that befalls us has to be a cause for fear or doubt, but for absolute trust in God who from all eternity has seen and known and provided an answer for us in the Person of Jesus. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church 1009 states:

"Death is transformed by Christ. Jesus, the Son of God, also himself suffered the death that is part of the human condition. Yet, despite his anguish as he faced death, he accepted it in an act of complete and free submission to his Father's will. The obedience of Jesus has transformed the curse of death into a blessing."

And so, "Who is this then that even the wind and the waves obey him?" He is an eternal Answer to the question posed by each and every human life.

Reflection on Hospital Ministry

     Reflecting upon my assignment, I am reminded of Saint Paul’s words in Philippians 3:10-11, “…that I may know [Christ] and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.” These verses highlight the desire I had for my visits at Holy Spirit Hospital to be more than anecdotal and my hope that I would come to know Christ through the patients and that they might also know Christ through me. Although I cannot speak for the patients, I can say that I saw the mystery of Christ’s union with humanity come to light in a way that I had not anticipated.
     To be honest, many visits were brief and somewhat awkward. Beginning a visit could be difficult and I first had to fight off the urge to cut short the possibility of ministering simply because of my feelings or negative first impressions. Then I had to resist the urge to manufacture something meaningful of an encounter in order to settle my own conscience. Pushing through my personal inhibitions, I discovered that my most successful encounters were sometimes those which were the most difficult to begin and, each time I went, I felt called to remain with at least one or two people in particular.
     Over the weeks, I was moved to meditate on the meaning of a human life, the significance of a human person as a historical/temporal being, and how s/he is formed by experiences, especially the one of which I had become a part at Holy Spirit. As I entered a room, I saw myself entering a person’s history and pondered the depth of the notion and the potential each entrance contained. If permitted, it would be my privilege to enter into the experiences of another, adding to the totality of who s/he was and what God intended for him/her.
     But, who was I and what did I really have to offer anybody? I had no cure and no particular agenda. I knew nothing about the person except his/her name and that s/he was a patient at HSH. Thus impoverished, I could only offer myself and my presence and I developed a sense of openness and receptivity that paid tribute to each patient’s dignity as a person created in the image of God. I saw that patients were susceptible to losing their sense of dignity because of their sufferings. After all, how dignified can you feel with a tube up your nose or in your neck, or when wearing one of those hospital gowns? Nonetheless, I could see some were coming to terms with their sufferings while others had already come to accept them and were bearing them with great grace. In each case, I believe that before me was an encounter with Christ Himself, whether or not it was immediately discernable to me, and that he was not just asking me to offer myself to the person, but to God, and that somehow He was offering Himself to me.
     I was especially blessed by the older patients who shared their stories with me, because they were inviting me inside their hearts to share in who they were. In those periods of protracted listening, I received a glimmer of what “becoming like him in his death” might mean and I experienced a type of communion with them as each of us became part of the other’s history, leaving a memory that would not soon be forgotten. While many encounters and experiences in my life may go by almost without another thought, these minutes were long, deep, and substantial.
     The most uncomfortable situations were the ones in which the patient was unable to communicate with me. At times like these, words would have been gratuitous and a sympathetic glance followed by a prayer seemed to be appropriate. Such patient visits were always easier if the family was around. Regardless of these encounters, I did not find my assignments too difficult to face or too much to bear, and I ultimately found that the hardest part of being in the pastoral ministry program at Holy Spirit Hospital was leaving.