"Peace and Quiet:" The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Go ahead, grab something.

Just reach in and grab something!

That’s right, today’s gospel is a grab-bag.
And it’s stuffed full
of ordinary items
that clutter up our life:

What’s inside?

· head-aches
· in-laws
· unexpected dinner guests
· tight schedules
· high expectations
· unrelenting pressure
· a lack of privacy

Go ahead, reach right in and grab something!

NO THANKS?

Well, if you feel like passing up the offer,
I don’t blame you…so do I.
And with good reason:
This Sunday’s gospel passage sounds too much like
my weekday hassles to interest me.

But, having said that,
you need to know that there is one item in this grab bag
that we’d all like to have.

What is it?

Something simple: Peace and Quiet.

That’s all: Just a little Peace and Quiet.

Sometimes it’s hard to grab.

In today’s passage about headaches,
unexpected guests
and demanding clients,
the only way Jesus could grab some peace and quiet
was to get up early and go for a walk.

Listen to the tiny verse tucked away
amid all the pressure and stress:

“Rising very early before dawn,
Jesus left and went to a deserted place,
where he prayed.”

* * *
Did you hear that?
Sounds as though you’re not the only one
in need of some peace and quiet after all!

Is there anything we can learn from today’s passage?

Actually, there’s so much to learn,
it’s hard to know where to begin.

“Rising very early before dawn,
Jesus left and went to a deserted place,
where he prayed.”

What do you see when you apply your imagination
to this verse?

Does he awake with a start? As out of bad dream?
Perhaps his sleep was restless
and he awakes with a headache.

Does he feel his way around the darkened room
searching for the door?
Is the stone floor cold to the touch of his feet?

Is he careful not to wake the other disciples?
Does he stumble over Matthew or Judas or James
on his way out the door?

Once outside, how far must he walk?
Does he head for the dock where Peter’s boat is moored?
Or does he cut through a vineyard or an olive grove,
or a farmer’s field covered with a heavy dew?

Why does he do this?

Was it simply to find some peace and quiet?

I doubt it.
If that’s all he wanted,
he could have sat on the stoop
of that house and waited for dawn to come.

He wasn’t looking for peace and quiet.
He was looking for truth;
he was seeking the truth about his life;
the truth deep down inside of himself.

* * *
Put yourself in his sandals for a moment.

Isn’t this the same reality that you seek
when, on some morning, you rise early
before the others in the house begin to stir?

You feel the touch of linoleum on the soles of your feet.
You try not to wake the others…
you rub your eyes.
Maybe you sit at the kitchen table and, for a moment,
you stare at your daughter’s book bag
and your heart goes out to her
because you know how much she struggles to have a friend,
she needs a friend, but there is nothing you can do about it.
And the room around you is silent
but in its silence, you touch the truth…a truth about yourself
that is connected to your daughter and your love for her…
a truth about your life that only the silence of an early morning
can convey.

Maybe, at that point, you get up and go into the living room.
You run your hand across the mantle
and look at the pictures:
· Your wedding day.
· Your parents.
· A son in a football jersey.
And the pictures are silent but they speak a truth…
a gentle truth about that which is most important to you…
the truth of who you are and who you are yet to be;
an image of yourself
set within the frame of all the love and grace that you have received
and placed on the sturdy mantle
of the suffering and the sacrifice you have offered.

This is the truth that waits for you
on a weekday morning
in the silent prayer
of a suburban house.

The truth of who you are in this world
and truth of who you are in God.

It’s there in the solitude.
You can sense it in the beating of your heart;
feel it in the warmth of your skin.

The “you” you are to yourself.
The “you” you are to God.

* * *
Perhaps, at this point, you notice the sky beginning to lighten.
You make a cup of coffee
and carry it into the den.
There is a stack of bills at one corner of the desk,
a cell phone at the other and,
next to the desk chair, a broken printer.

The presence of the soul recedes
and you feel the work and concerns of the new day edge in.
Soon your family will be awake.
Soon the phone will ring
and someone will turn on the TV
and someone will be pulling a pair of jeans
out of the clothes dryer.

But you will have touched a truth about who you are,
a truth that is deep; deeper than
the work and the routine and the schedule and the hurry of your life.

We can’t live without this type of prayer.
Our lives turn crazy if we never practice this kind of prayer.

And the reason is simple:
We can’t live without knowing the truth
of who we are.