Help and Certainty and the power of prayer

Every month for the last 20 years I was working I had to attend a “manager’s meeting.”  A key phrase the CEO made sure we heard and learned each month was “Our families are looking to us for help and certainty”. He was reminding us that we had to be confident in our ability to deliver on what we promised—clean, safe, well-maintained equipment and peripheral services at a cost our neighbors and loved ones could afford. And to convey that confidence to the families who were depending on us to help improve their lives.  

Those two words; “help” and “certainty” have been rattling around in my brain the last few days for a couple of reasons.  The first was a story I came across on the internet that I had never heard of before, and the second was Sunday’s Gospel reading at Mass.

At 3:00 am on January 15, 1978, notorious serial killer Ted Bundy entered the Chi Omega sorority house at Florida State University and murdered two girls before heading off to search for more victims. When he entered a third girl’s room with a bat for a weapon, he saw a rosary clutched in her hand, dropped the bat and fled.

Later the girl told authorities that before she left for college, she had promised her grandmother that she would pray the rosary every night for protection, even if she fell asleep in the process. This is what she had done that night, and she was still holding the rosary when the murderer entered her room. She refused to speak to anyone but a priest. 

A monsignor was summoned, and she recounted her promise to him. Bundy later confessed to over thirty murders.  Years later, as Bundy awaited execution on death row, he requested to speak to a priest. By a twist of fate, the same monsignor who had comforted the young woman visited Bundy. During their conversation, Bundy confessed his bewilderment about that night. He described how an unseen force had overpowered him, preventing him from committing another murder.

In Mark’s Gospel (Mark 4:35-41), Jesus is with His disciples in a boat.  A “violent squall” comes up, and the waves are crashing over the boat, filling it up. While this is going on, Jesus is asleep. The disciples, afraid for their lives, come to wake Jesus up, saying, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Then Jesus says to the wind and the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then everything is calm. But Jesus is not done. He says to the disciples, “Why are you terrified? Do you not have faith?”

There have been times when I’ve felt the same as the disciples felt. We may be going through a crisis, or we may feel overwhelmed by what is going on in our world, and God doesn’t seem to be found. God hasn’t seen fit to intervene. And in our lament, we may ask, “God, don’t you care about what’s happening?”

One of the benefits of being closer to the end of my life rather than the beginning is that through many personal experiences, I believe that God does care, even though we may not feel anything.  For me, the miracle Jesus was trying to do was not so much calming the storm, but also calming the fears of His disciples. I can imagine Him saying, “Why are you terrified? Don’t you know I am with you?  Do you not have faith in me?”

Can we put our trust in Jesus, even when storms are raging, and chaos seems to reign?  It’s seldom easy to have that kind of trust. But we are called to trust in the love of God in Jesus Christ.  And in the midst of storms and chaos, we are called to share that love with others.

St. Paul, in his second letter to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 5:14-17), writes: “The love of Christ impels us, once we have come to the conviction that one died for all.”  The word “impels” in this case means something like being in the grips of; being caught up in, something.  Maybe another way to put it is, “The love of Christ consumes us.”

If we can let the love of Christ overtake us, we can let go of fear, and not only fear, but despair and bitterness and prejudice and, on the other end of the spectrum, so to speak, greed and apathy and indifference. There are implications from this in regard to how we treat others. St. Paul writes, “Consequently, from now on we regard no one according to the flesh.” For me, that means we regard no one according to appearances or prejudice or conventional wisdom. Following the ways of the world, we’re tempted to either see others as enemies, or as things to be exploited for our benefit.  Jesus calls us to something different.  He calls us to see others as He sees them: as beloved of God.

May we let the love of Jesus for us calm our fears and impel us to love and serve each other and the world.