We Are in the Boat Together

Abbot Michael Homily for a Community in Mourning

There are moments when words seem inadequate. There are moments when we gather for Mass not because we have answers, but because we need God—and because we need one another.

Today is one of those moments. We come together carrying a profound grief: the death of Alex Dittmar, at the age of 25, who was so well loved by his classmates and teachers; and the tragic death in a car accident of two-year-old Jack McLaughlin.

Two lives, very different in age and circumstance, yet each precious beyond measure. When death comes suddenly and tragically, especially when it involves someone so young, one question inevitably arises:

Where is God? Today’s Gospel gives us a remarkable image for that question. Jesus and his disciples are crossing the Sea of Galilee when a violent storm arises. The waves are breaking over the boat, and the disciples are terrified. And Jesus? What of his whereabouts? He is asleep. The disciples wake him and cry out: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

The question the disciples ask can sound very familiar to us. Do you not care? Why did this happen? Why Alex? Why Jack? Why now? Why could the storm not have been stopped?

Those are not questions of weak faith. They are the honest questions of people who are grieving. The Gospel does not give us a simple explanation for suffering. Jesus does something else. He stands in the midst of the storm and says: “Quiet! Be still!”  The wind ceases. But notice something important: Jesus does not promise his disciples that there will never again be storms. Faith does not mean that we will never suffer. Faith does not mean that faithful people will be protected from tragedy. Faith means something deeper: We do not face the storm alone. Jesus is in the boat. That is an important message for us today. Some of us may feel that our boat is being overwhelmed by grief. Some may feel anger, confusion, sadness, or even an unsettling silence from God. But Christ is still in the boat.

The first reading from the book of Wisdom gives us the promise that lies at the heart of our hope: “The souls of the just are in the hand of God.” Not in the hands of fate. Not lost in meaninglessness. Not erased by death. In the hand of God.

The Book of Wisdom acknowledges that death can appear to be destruction. From the human perspective, those who have died may seem to have been taken from us. But Wisdom says: “They are in peace.” Then it speaks of a hope that goes beyond what we can see: “Their hope is full of immortality.” That is what we proclaim today. We do not pretend that death does not hurt. It hurts precisely because we love. We do not tell grieving families simply to “move on.” We remember. We mourn. We weep. We entrust those whom we love to God.

Today we entrust to God, Alex whose life had already accomplished much, but whose future held so much more. For those of you who taught him, he was not simply a student who earned excellent grades. He was part of this community.

Teachers know something about this kind of loss. We teach students, but over the years we also come to know them and love them. We watch them grow. We celebrate their accomplishments. We worry about them. We hope for their futures. And when someone like Alex dies, it can feel as though a piece of the school’s own story has been taken away.

Today we also entrust to God, Jack McLaughlin. There are few things more difficult for the human heart to comprehend than the death of a child. A child that age should be discovering the world, growing, laughing, learning, and being surrounded by the ordinary experiences of family life. We cannot adequately explain why such a life should end so soon. Perhaps we should resist the temptation to offer easy explanations.

Sometimes the most honest prayer is simply: “Lord, we do not understand.” But even when we do not understand, we can still trust. We can trust the words of the book of Wisdom: “The souls of the just are in the hand of God.” We can trust the God revealed to us in Jesus Christ—a God who knows human suffering from the inside.

Jesus himself knew grief. He stood at the tomb of Lazarus as recorded in the gospel of John. He wept. He experienced betrayal and abandonment. He suffered and died upon the cross. Because Christ entered fully into human suffering, we can bring our suffering to him.

There is another dimension of today’s Gospel that is especially meaningful for us as at St. Bede Academy with its Benedictine tradition. When the storm comes, the disciples are in the boat together. That is what we are called to do today. Stay together. Pray together. Grieve together. Support one another.

There may be times when we do not know what to say to a grieving colleague or friend. We may be afraid that we will say the wrong thing. Sometimes the most appropriate thing is simply to be present. To sit with someone. To listen. To pray. To say, “I am here.” That is community and it is profoundly Benedictine.

St. Benedict begins his Rule with the invitation: “Listen carefully, my son.” Today we are called to listen carefully—not necessarily for an explanation of why these tragedies occurred, but for the voice of Christ in the midst of our storm.

Listen for the voice that says: I am here. Listen for the voice that says: Your loved ones are in my hands. Listen for the voice that says: You do not have to carry this grief alone.

Perhaps this tragedy also reminds us of the sacred responsibility we have as educators. Every young person who walks through the doors of this school with its Benedictine tradition is someone’s beloved child. Every student carries hopes, dreams, fears, struggles, and gifts. We do not know how long any of us has been given. That should not make us fearful. It should make us attentive. It should make us teach with greater patience. Listen more carefully. Forgive more readily. Encourage more generously. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give a young person is the knowledge that he or she is known, valued, and loved.

Today, we do not ask God for an easy answer. We ask for faith. We ask for strength. We ask for peace. We ask for the grace to entrust those whom we love into God’s hands. We do not stand before death and pretend that it is not painful. We stand before death and proclaim: Death is real, but death does not have the final word. Christ has the final word. Christ’s final word is: life.

Today we commend these two precious lives to God’s mercy. We pray for their families, their friends, their classmates, their teachers, and all who mourn. We pray for. Nick and Laura McLaughlin who are carrying an unimaginable loss.

We pray for the members of our school community whose hearts are broken. We pray for ourselves—that God will give us the courage to remain together when the storms come. The storm may still be raging. We may not yet understand why.

Know these three things: 1) Jesus is in the boat. 2) We are in the boat together. 3) The souls of those whom we love are in the hand of God.

May Christ calm the storms within our hearts. May he give peace to those who mourn. May he welcome Alex and Jack into eternal life. May their memory deepen within us the gift of compassion, gratitude, and love.