08/13/2026
Here is the homily from this past weekend.
There is a useful word that can help us understand our readings today: theophany. A theophany is a visible manifestation of God, a moment when God allows Himself to be seen or recognized in some way. The readings today ask us to notice how God reveals Himself: not always in overwhelming displays of power, but often in ways we can receive, survive, and recognize.
People sometimes say, “I won’t believe in a God I cannot see. If God wants me to believe in Him, He needs to show Himself to me.” But Scripture warns us that seeing God directly is not as simple as it sounds. In Exodus, God tells Moses, “You cannot see my face, for no man can see me and live.” God does reveal Himself, but often in veiled ways: in a burning bush, a pillar of cloud, a dream, an angel, or even in human form.
The problem is not that God refuses to reveal Himself. The problem is that His unveiled glory is more than we can bear. His holiness reveals the truth about us: every sin, every wound, and every place where we still need to be purified. That is why the Church teaches that we must be purified before entering fully into the vision of God. Purgatory is that final purification before we stand in His light.
So throughout Scripture, God comes near enough to be known, but gently enough to be received. In today’s first reading, Elijah is running for his life. He waits for God through a windstorm, an earthquake, and fire, but the Lord is not in those frightening displays. Then Elijah hears the tiny whispering sound, recognizes the Lord, and hides his face in fear and awe. God comes to him in the quiet.
The Gospel gives us another theophany, but this time God comes not in a whisper on a mountain, but as Christ walking through the storm. Our Psalm says, “Lord, let us see your kindness, and grant us your salvation.” In the Gospel, that kindness and salvation come walking toward the disciples during the fourth watch of the night. At first, they do not recognize Him. They think they are seeing a ghost. But Jesus says, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” That phrase can also be translated as “I am,” the divine name God revealed to Moses.
So His words are not only reassurance; He is revealing who He is. The One walking across the water is the Lord who commands the sea and the storm. Peter’s response is bold and simple: he asks Jesus to call him. He steps out of the boat and begins to walk toward Jesus. But when the wind distracts him and his faith falters, Peter cries out, “Lord, save me!” and Jesus catches him immediately.
At some point, each of us has to trust Jesus and step out of the boat into the storm. Grief, illness, family struggles, fear, or financial trouble can make us feel as if we are going under. Peter is not faithless because he begins to sink; his faith is what gets him out of the boat in the first place. He begins to sink only when he takes his eyes off Jesus and notices the strength of the storm.
That is what happens when our suffering feels louder than the voice of Christ. When that happens, Peter teaches us one of the simplest and most powerful prayers: “Lord, save me.” Jesus does not shame Peter for sinking. He reaches for him, catches him, and asks him to grow in faith. He does not ask for flawless faith before He helps us. He asks us to keep turning toward Him, especially when the storm makes Him hard to see.
The readings today are not really about whether God can overpower the storm; of course He can. They ask whether we can recognize Him when He comes quietly, trust Him when He calls, and reach for Him when our faith begins to sink.
And this is still how Christ comes to us now: not usually in terrifying displays of glory, but humbly, quietly, and veiled. Here at Mass, He veils Himself even further under the appearances of bread and wine, and He gives Himself to us so that our faith can be strengthened.
So where do we need to build up our faith? What is lacking in us that God wants to strengthen, so that one day we may gaze upon the face of God, not in terror, but in the joy of the beatific vision?
One simple story captures this kind of trust. A house caught fire, and the family escaped, but their five-year-old son was trapped at an upstairs window. His father yelled, “Jump, and I will catch you.” The boy answered, “I’m scared, and I can’t even see you!” The father said, “That’s okay. I can see you, and I will catch you.” So the boy trusted his father, jumped, and was saved. That is what faith looks like: trusting the Father even when we cannot see Him clearly, because He sees us, He calls to us, and He will catch us. Amen.
