Images of storms emerge through this Sunday’s readings—even as thunderstorms breakout to quell the great heat of this summer. It can be hard to feel safe in the midst of a storm, and we have plenty of those around us these days—not of the thunder, but of the political and societal and military variety. Today’s reflection reminds us to trust in the shelter Love offers, to seek and trust it in times of distress and to provide it when we are able.

June 23, 2024: Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B
Job 38:1, 8-11
Psalm 107:23-26, 28-31
2 Corinthians 5:14-17
Mark 4:35-41

‍Love as Shelter From the Storm

As I write this, a perfect summer storm rages outside: tree branches shaking, rain hammering the windows, and a much-needed break in the heat soon to follow. It’s the right kind of night to be safely inside, appreciating the power of creation at a distance.

Storms are a common theme in this week’s readings. We see Job shaking as the sea crashes around him, hearing God’s fierce display of power over the elements. In Second Corinthians, we have a reminder of Christ’s salvation and the promise of eternal life beyond the flesh: “old things have passed away; behold, new things have come” (5:17). In the Gospel, we hear the story of Jesus calming the sea, and chastising his disciples for their fear without faith.

I’m struck by the cry of the disciples on that storm-tossed boat, shaking Jesus awake in despair. Their plea is desperate: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” (4:38). When Jesus awakes and calms the sea, we are asked to remember the many ways he does not abandon us, despite our worry to the contrary.

This Pride month, there continue to be a myriad of storms through which LGBTQIA+ Catholics must navigate. Despite the great strides our community has made in past decades, there is a persistence of political, societal, and institutional challenges, along with all the individual difficulties we face in our lives. We may often feel that Jesus is asleep on his cushion, and we are left to navigate alone in a ship near capsizing. Sometimes just reading the morning news has been enough to make me seasick! When we are feeling overwhelmed with the tempest of life, I suggest returning to the image of God’s protection in the first reading this week:

“Who shut within doors the sea, when I made the clouds its garment and thick darkness its swaddling bands? When I set limits for it and fastened the bar of the door…” (38:8-9)

In this line, I picture a room where a thick wooden door has been pulled shut, a heavy iron bar keeping out every sadness or terror and creating a place of safety. When we have too much to handle, I like the idea of going into that room in one’s mind, letting God pull the door shut, and being protected there from the storm, even if only as a temporary retreat.

Though an imaginary scenario, this is not unlike the one that we’ve been promised in the resurrection. We are safe from destruction beyond the flesh, Paul tells the Corinthians, a triumph for their future that is continuing to unfold today. Just as it took the disciples time to recognize this message, both on their capsizing ship and after the crucifixion, so too we look for repeated proof of Jesus’s ability to calm the storm and save us from drowning.

While we don’t generally have the experience of our fisherman friend turning off the waves on a boating expedition, many of the reprieves that we receive in our daily struggles have a shared origin. We may find peace in the phone call from a friend, visit with a loved one, or in solitary private prayer. When it seems like all the world is banning books and inclusive medical care, casually dropping slurs or barring our community from comfortable expression, the pockets of joy can have a very deep impact: a rainbow flag where you least expected to see it, the expanse of vibrant humanity at a Pride march, whole towns rallying together to save the job of a beloved LGBTQIA+ teacher. In all these moments, it is love, community, and God in all of it, that keeps us afloat.

It is not always easy to believe that we can find this comfort without shaking Jesus and demanding he wake up and save us, but it is possible. We have been provided with all that we need, in ourselves and in each other. For the remaining days of Pride, I hope all of us might find shelter from the storm whenever possible—and take the time to offer it to others with that same love. No matter the depths of the ravages, we have our message from this week’s Gospel: the wind will cease, the waves will calm, and there will be peace.

‍Catherine Buck is a writer and educator from New Jersey. Catherine was a pilgrim at World Youth Day in Panama in 2019 as part of the Equally Blessed coalition. She also participated in DignityUSA's pilgrimage to World Youth Day in Portugal in 2023. She lives in Jersey City with her partner who she met though Dignity New York.

‍