Where Calm Waters Lie

A Reflection on the Psalm for June 20th, 2021:
Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Psalm 107

R. Give thanks to the Lord; his steadfast love endures forever.

Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the mighty waters; they saw the deeds of the Lord, his wondrous works in the deep. 

R. Give thanks to the Lord; his steadfast love endures forever.

For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. They mounted up to heaven and they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their calamity. 

R. Give thanks to the Lord; his steadfast love endures forever.

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out from their distress; he made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. 

R. Give thanks to the Lord; his steadfast love endures forever.

Then they were glad when it grew calm, and he brought them to their desired haven. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to the children of Adam. 

R. Give thanks to the Lord; his steadfast love endures forever.
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Pause. Pray.

And then read more...

As a girl, I was fixated on the question, “What is the meaning of life?” My curiosity wasn’t superfluous in nature, but practical: how did I know what to do and where to go if I didn’t know where I was supposed to be going and what I was supposed to be doing? I could think of no greater regret as a child than to discover the meaning at the end of my life, realizing that I had squandered my time on idle and irrelevant pursuits.

Everyone can relate to the imagery of the ship on water. Being caught in something that feels altogether bigger than ourselves and uncontrollable can change the way we think about the world and our presence in it. Not unlike our present situation, being in a storm forces us to grapple with seemingly unanswerable questions about meaning, and purpose, and what exactly are we supposed to be doing right now? What are the lessons that we’ll have learned, either implicitly or explicitly, coming out of all of this?

Early on, storms taught me about my smallness and the futility of effort. Rather than combat them with sheer tenacity and grit, I learned perseverance and patience, as I allowed them to throw me about like a rickety raft on violent, troubled waves. From these experiences, I came to see storms as greater than me, at the same time as I came to see myself as resilient enough to withstand even the greatest of them.

Now, however, my perception of storms is evolving. As my faith has matured, I have come to appreciate the presence of the Almighty and ever-loving God that we, as Christians, are privileged enough to call Father. Not only His presence in my surroundings, but also His presence in me, guiding me with the movements of my heart if I remain still enough to listen. Teaching me that I no longer have to see myself as being at the mercy of the storms; that I can, with a little bit of effort and a lot of trust, move from beneath the stormy clouds and uncertain waves, to the patches of sunshine where calm waters lie.

With such trust comes a profound sense of security. Reflecting on my worries as a child, I can see now, that I was never in any danger of going astray. Not because I’m impervious to straying, but rather, that as His child, I was and always will be tucked safely into the crook of His arm. Like the parable of the workers in the vineyard, the difference that choosing to follow Him now makes, isn’t the size of the reward, but that we can enjoy it sooner.




Laura Dysart

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