This very Sunday morning, my priest-spouse and I were con-celebrating a COVID mass, aka Eucharist with pre-consecrated wafers and no wine. In the middle of this holiness we had a fight. Yes, on this very morning, we fought.
Mercifully, there was no congregation to detain us so we just stopped our homiletic reflections and duked it out until we both felt settled—not right or wrong but settled.
The gospel reading was the famous story about Peter’s heading out to walk across stormy lake waters—yes, the lake of Galilee, like a sea, is subject to switching currents and frequent wild storms. Jesus, aware that the boat was floundering and that his friends were in trouble, walked onto the waters and calmed the storm with the sound of his voice alone. The faithful had panicked but Jesus reassured them. Peter demanded proof so Jesus beckoned him: “Come.” Peter trusted Jesus’s authority over that of the lake and excitedly stepped out onto the water. Up whipped a wind, and Peter, fearing he would drown, freaked out: “Lord, save me!”
Now you see, I just did in writing a demo of how Dick and I got ourselves into our spat. Notice my side comment above about the lake/sea of Galilee. I assume my punctuation—em-dashes— will alert the reader that this is an aside, worth noting before moving on to the point about Peter. And now I’m doing it again. You probably want to hear what Dick and I spatted about, right? It wasn’t those dashes!
Dick was pensively reflecting at some length about the storm at sea when he swerved to reference his own anxieties about our upcoming move—only a week from Wednesday! To hear the closeness of that date broke my serenity, so I voiced an aside, something like, “Oh no, that’s so close . . .” This interruption caused him to stop cold, forget what he was going to say, and shut down. I said it wasn’t important and to go on. Alas, too late. We sat in silent lock-horns fashion for a time. Then the silly back and forth broke the silence: you always do this to me; you always react and then stop, so why can’t you just go on; I lose my train of thought and feel like a jerk; I don’t mean to hurt you; well, this isn’t a conversation; well, I didn’t think it was a proper sermon, for god’s sake—what would you do in a black church where everyone calls out?
More silence. Inner thoughts, maybe a prayer, then we reach across the table, grasp hands, laugh, and each take a wafer. We forget the Lord’s Prayer but he adds it in, and we close with this:
O loving Eternal god,
who gathered us here around the table with Christ
to share this meal with the whole household of God:
in that new world where you reveal the fullness of your peace,
gather people of every race and language
to share in the eternal banquet of Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.
Let us bless the Lord.
Thanks be to God
This very morning, the grace of God saved us from drowning just as Jesus did when he reached into the waters for Peter’s hand—yes, saved hm. I told Dick the story of how I had once nearly—not quite—drowned when I was about twelve and swimming in the ocean. [Where was that and how old were you? he interrupted. Maybe Westhampton beach, and about 12. What difference does that make?] I continued: I didn’t think I was drowning, but the lifeguard, who had superior oversight and training, thought I was in danger of drowning. He raced across the beach, dramatically dove into the waters, swam fast, caught me in a vice grip and swam back to shore with me in tow. He rescued me. I was humiliated— sure I was not drowning.
What a great story, Dick said.
That’s how I do scripture, I said.
Yeah, I know, but I just wanted to make the point that Matthew’s Jesus was too self-righteous— scolding Peter for “little faith.” Then of course the wind died down and everyone worshipped Jesus as Son of God. Really!
Good point. I agree, I said. Not like Jesus to be snarky and toot his own horn.
I’m happy you didn’t drown.
Me too.
Smooch.
He is my loving map, calendar, fact-checker, and historian—the Sitz im Leben (setting) guy.
I am his loving nuisance, pulling for the big picture, the vision—the theology gal.
* * * *
I will be taking a break from my Sunday blogging for the next two weeks—unless I cheat. We are moving to Connecticut to a retirement community. I now recall, thanks to Dick’s homily, that movers arrive in a mere 10 days. I plan to resume blogging with the My “Racism” series after we are settled.
For now, know your sitz and where God sits in it with you.
