Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
Fr. Ben Riley
Like last Sunday, I’m going to focus on our second reading. There is something about Paul’s Letter to the Philippians that always draws me back. Whenever it comes up, I want to spend some time with it.
Philippi was the first Christian community Paul established in Europe, and it was a church for which he had special affection. Almost all of western Christianity originated from the Church at Philippi.
Last week, we heard that magnificent passage about Christ emptying himself: “though he was in the form of God, he humbled himself and became obedient even to death.” Today, we hear from the final chapter of the letter. As Paul brings it to a close, he gives his friends some beautiful words of encouragement. He says:
“Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.”
Now, you might say, “Wait a minute. Have no anxiety at all?”
This is coming from Paul, a man who had been shipwrecked, beaten, threatened, persecuted, and imprisoned. It is hard to imagine him going through all of that without ever feeling anxious.
And we know that feeling ourselves. Anxiety can make us feel trapped, caught between a rock and a hard place, and we don’t know which way to turn.
Paul knew that experience. So how can he tell his people to have no anxiety?
The clue is in what he says next: “By prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.”
Paul is inviting us to find a peace deeper than the circumstances of our lives. We will face difficulties. We will have moments of fear. But through prayer, we can discover a place of trust that sustains us through them.
Have you ever seen the ancient image of the Wheel of Fortune? Not the Game show. It comes from Greek and Roman mythology. The Lady Fortune spins the wheel around and around. Sometimes you are on top; sometimes you are at the bottom. Sometimes things are getting better; sometimes they seem to be falling apart.
That is something we can all recognize. And wherever we are on that wheel, we can find something to worry about. When things are going well, we worry about losing what we have. When things are difficult, we worry about whether they will ever improve.
But in the Christian image of that wheel, Christ is at the center. The invitation is to move from the rim toward the center—to root our lives in him.
Let me use another image: the ocean.
On the surface, the ocean can be caught in a tremendous storm. Waves crash, the wind blows, and everything is moving. But go down into its depths, and there is a stillness untouched by the storm above.
That is what Paul is inviting us to discover in our spiritual lives: to move from the surface to the depths, from the rim of the wheel to its center.
Root your life in Christ, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Does the wheel stop turning? No. Do the storms immediately disappear? No. But we begin to live from a deeper place. Our circumstances no longer have the final word about whether we can know peace.
And here is that beautiful biblical word: shalom.
Shalom speaks of peace, wholeness, and harmony with God. When Jesus offers his peace, he gives us something that can sustain us even in the middle of trouble. We can be rooted in the love of God while the storm is still passing over us.
And the key here is prayer.
Paul says that by prayer, you find this peace. What is prayer? Is it asking God for things? Well, sure. We are like children, and we do ask God for things. But I like what Thomas Merton says about prayer: to pray is to find that place in you, where you are, here and now, being created by God.
That is how we begin to move toward the center. We can still feel the weight of our concerns, but we can carry them in the presence of God.
Think of the disciples in the boat during the storm, and Jesus coming toward them, walking on the water. In the middle of everything that frightens them, he is there.
Or think of that other storm at sea, when the disciples are terrified and Jesus is asleep in the boat.
Is he indifferent to them? No. His presence invites them to trust. The Lord is with them, even when they cannot understand how they will get through the storm.
The great spiritual writers give us different images for this same reality.
Saint Teresa of Avila speaks of the interior castle: the soul as a place where we can encounter God. We may be surrounded by difficulties, but within that interior life, we can discover the presence of Christ and the peace he gives.
Saint John of the Cross uses the image of an inner wine cellar, a place of intimate communion with God. We might imagine having such a place of refreshment and joy within us, yet forgetting how to enter into it.
Prayer helps us find our way there again.