The readings of this Sunday invite us to confront one of the most difficult experiences of faith: the experience of God’s presence when God seems absent. There are moments when we pray and hear no answer, when the storms of life become stronger than our courage, and when we begin to ask, “Where is God?” Yet today’s readings reveal a profound truth: God is not absent simply because he is silent, and the presence of a storm does not mean the absence of Christ.
Outline of the Readings
In the first reading, 1 Kings 19:9a, 11–13a, Elijah encounters God on Mount Horeb. God is not found in the violent wind, the earthquake or the fire, but in the “still small voice.” The reading teaches us that God’s presence is not always manifested through dramatic signs. We must learn to recognize him in silence.
The Responsorial Psalm, Psalm 85, expresses Israel’s longing for God’s saving presence: “Let us see, O Lord, your mercy, and give us your saving help.” It is the prayer of a people waiting for God to speak peace into their troubled situation.
In the second reading, Romans 9:1–5, St Paul expresses deep sorrow for his fellow Israelites who have not recognized Christ. His grief reveals the heart of someone whose love for others has become inseparable from his faith.
In the Gospel, Matthew 14:22–33, Jesus comes to his disciples in the middle of a storm, walking upon the sea. Terrified, they hear him say: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter then attempts to walk towards Jesus, but begins to sink when he becomes preoccupied with the wind. Jesus stretches out his hand, saves him, and the disciples finally confess: “Truly, you are the Son of God.”
Central Message
The three readings therefore lead us to one central message: God is present even when his presence is not immediately recognizable.
The first reading gives us the key to understanding the Gospel. Elijah is standing on Mount Horeb, waiting for the Lord to pass by. Suddenly there is a powerful wind. Then an earthquake. Then fire. These are precisely the kinds of phenomena through which people might expect God to reveal himself. Yet Scripture deliberately tells us that the Lord was not in them. After the fire comes “a still small voice.”
The Hebrew expression is difficult to translate literally. It conveys something like “a sound of sheer silence” or “a gentle whisper.” The paradox is striking: Elijah encounters God not in overwhelming noise but in profound silence. The lesson is not that God can never act dramatically, but that God cannot be reduced to dramatic experiences. Sometimes we miss God because we have already decided what his presence must look like.
We often want God to speak through spectacular interventions. We want immediate answers, unmistakable signs and miraculous solutions. But God sometimes speaks quietly, through Scripture, prayer, conscience, another person, or a peace that enters the heart without explanation. The problem may not always be that God is silent. Sometimes we have become too noisy to hear him.
The Gospel then takes us from the silence of Horeb to the storm on the Sea of Galilee. Matthew tells us that Jesus “made the disciples get into the boat.” This detail is important. They are in the storm precisely while obeying Jesus. Their difficulty is not proof that they have abandoned God’s will.
This challenges a common assumption about faith. We sometimes think that being faithful should exempt us from suffering. But the disciples are obedient and still encounter contrary winds. Christianity does not promise a life without storms. It promises that Christ will not abandon us in the storm.
The Gospel says that the boat was already “a long way from land, beaten by the waves, for the wind was against them.” Then, during the fourth watch of the night, Jesus comes walking on the sea. The fourth watch was roughly between 3:00 and 6:00 in the morning, the darkest and most exhausting part of the night. The disciples have been struggling for hours before Jesus appears.
This detail speaks powerfully to human experience. There are moments when we wonder why God has allowed the struggle to continue for so long. We pray, but the wind remains contrary. We wait, but the situation does not change. Yet the apparent delay of God is not the absence of God.
Courage
Then Jesus says: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”
The expression translated “it is I” is egō eimi, literally, “I am.” Matthew’s choice of words carries theological weight. The One approaching the disciples on the waters is not merely identifying himself. The language echoes the divine self revelation of the Old Testament. Jesus is revealing his identity as the Lord.
This becomes even clearer when we consider the biblical symbolism of the sea. In the Old Testament, the sea often represents chaos and forces beyond human control. Yet the God of Israel is Lord over the waters. Job says of God that he “trampled the waves of the sea” (Job 9:8), while Psalm 77 recalls God making a way through the sea. Now Jesus walks upon the sea. Matthew is therefore presenting Jesus as the divine Lord who exercises authority over the chaos that terrifies humanity.
A Profound Message
The message is profound: what is over your head is under Christ’s feet.
Peter then says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus simply says, “Come.” Peter steps out of the boat, but when he sees the strong wind, he becomes afraid and begins to sink.
Notice the movement. Peter first looks at Jesus and walks. Then he looks at the wind and sinks.
The problem is not that the wind suddenly appeared. The wind was already there. What changed was Peter’s attention.
This is often the struggle of faith. We begin by looking at Christ, but then we become absorbed by the storm. We begin with prayer, but then we stare at the problem. We begin with trust, but then we listen to every voice of fear. And what once seemed possible becomes impossible because our attention has shifted from the power of Christ to the power of the storm.
Yet Peter’s failure is followed by one of the most beautiful details in the passage: “Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him.”
Peter’s faith is imperfect, but Christ’s mercy is immediate.
Jesus does not wait for Peter to become perfect before saving him. Peter cries, “Lord, save me!” and Christ reaches out his hand.
This is the heart of the Gospel. Faith does not mean that we will never sink. Faith means that when we sink, we know whose name to call.
Perhaps that is the prayer some of us need today: “Lord, save me.”
Save Me
Save me from fear.
Save me from despair.
Save me from the anxiety that is consuming me.
Save me from the temptation to believe that this storm is bigger than you.
And Christ’s response remains the same: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Finally, when Jesus enters the boat, the wind ceases, and the disciples fall down before him saying, “Truly, you are the Son of God.” The storm has become a place of revelation. They have learned something about Jesus that they could not have learned in the calm.
Sometimes God does not immediately remove the storm because, in the midst of it, he is revealing himself more deeply to us.
Eucharist
The Eucharist is the supreme expression of this presence. At every Mass, Christ comes to us not because our lives are already calm, but precisely because they are often troubled. He comes into our storms with his Body and Blood and repeats the same word: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Therefore, brothers and sisters, do not measure God’s presence by the absence of storms. The wind may be against you, but Christ is still coming towards you. You may not hear him in the earthquake or the fire. Listen for him in the silence. You may not see him because of the waves. Keep your eyes on him. And if you begin to sink, do not waste time asking why you are sinking. Do what Peter did:
“Lord, save me!”
For the hand of Christ is closer than we think.
And when the storm finally becomes calm, may we have the grace to say with the disciples:
“Truly, you are the Son of God.”
Amen.
[Readings: 1 Kings 19:9a, 11-13a; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33]
