IX Sunday after Pentecost: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” (Mt 14:27).

A reading from the Holy Gospel according the Holy Apostle and Evangelist St Matthew (Mt 14:22-34).

“Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds.

And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone.

But by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them.

And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea.

But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear.

But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus.

But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

When they got into the boat, the wind ceased.

And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret.

Homily

Beloved brothers and sisters in the Lord,

The Holy Gospel we have heard today leads us into the heart of a night—not only the night experienced by the Apostles on the Sea of Galilee, but also the night that so often descends upon the human heart when we are confronted with trials beyond our strength, when the winds of adversity blow against us, and when the waves of life seem ready to overwhelm the fragile boat in which we sail.

The Evangelist Matthew presents the disciples crossing the sea. They are not there by chance, nor because they have chosen a path away from the Lord. Rather, they are there because Christ Himself has sent them. After performing the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, Jesus "made the disciples get into the boat and go before Him to the other side" (Mt 14:22).

These words of the Gospel conceal a profound spiritual mystery. The Apostles are within the will of God, and yet they encounter the storm. They are obedient to the Lord's command, and still the sea rises violently against them.

This teaches us that trials are not always a sign of God's absence. At times we are tempted to think, "If God were truly with me, this difficulty would not exist; if He loved me, He would not allow this suffering." Yet the Gospel reveals a far deeper truth: God's presence is not measured by the absence of storms, but by the certainty that, in the midst of every storm, He remains beside us.

The Lord never promised His disciples a sea that would always be calm. He never promised a life without tears, hardships, or spiritual struggle. Instead, He promised something infinitely greater: His abiding presence.

From the earliest centuries, the Fathers of the Church saw the Apostles' boat as an image of the Church herself. It represents the People of God crossing the turbulent sea of history. The Church is not a community sheltered from the world's trials and sufferings; rather, she journeys through history alongside humanity, bearing its wounds, its hopes, its questions, and its sorrows.

Yet the Church does not endure because the sea is always peaceful. She endures because Christ never ceases to come to her and to enter her boat.

This is precisely the mystery the Gospel wishes to reveal. In the middle of the night, the Apostles see a figure walking upon the waters. But fear prevents them from recognizing the Lord, and they cry out, "It is a ghost!"

Fear had distorted their perception of reality. The One who came to save them appeared, in their frightened eyes, to be a threat.

How often the same thing happens to us. God comes to meet us in our lives, yet we fail to recognize Him because He does not always come according to our expectations. We would like a God who immediately removes every problem, changes every outward circumstance, and takes away all suffering. But more often than not, the Lord does not come to remove the night; He comes to illumine it with His presence.

Christ does not always change the sea that surrounds us; very often, He changes the heart with which we cross that sea.

For this reason, in the night of the Apostles, the first words Jesus speaks are: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Before calming the waters, Christ desires to calm the human heart. Before removing the contrary wind, He wishes to free mankind from the fear that prevents us from recognizing His presence.

Saint John Chrysostom, contemplating this passage, understands that the storm is not a sign of divine abandonment, but rather an opportunity through which Christ educates and strengthens the faith of His disciples. He writes: “The Lord did not immediately remove the storm, but allowed it to continue, so that the disciples might learn that when trials arise, they should not despair, because He is present.” (Saint John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, Homily L, PG 58,507).

This word deeply illuminates our journey. There are moments when we too find ourselves in that boat. There are storms that we did not choose, trials that we did not seek, situations in which we feel small before the greatness of the waves.

But the Gospel reminds us that the Lord sees our struggle.

The Apostles believe they are alone in the night, but Christ sees them from the mountain where He had withdrawn to pray. This detail is truly remarkable: while the disciples are fighting against the wind, Jesus is immersed in prayer.

The Church is never abandoned, because even before we seek God, Christ intercedes for us.

And precisely while the Apostles are overcome by fear, the Lord reveals His divine identity by walking upon the waters.

In Sacred Scripture, the sea is often a symbol of chaos, death, and the forces that human beings cannot control. Only God, in the Old Testament, has power over the sea.

The Book of Job proclaims: “He alone stretches out the heavens and treads on the waves of the sea.” (Job 9:8) And the Psalmist sings: “Your way was through the sea, your path through the mighty waters.” (Psalm 77:19).

Now Christ accomplishes before the Apostles what belongs to divine power. He is not merely a man sent by God; He is the Lord who rules over the waters of chaos.

The miracle does not simply reveal an extraordinary power. It reveals the mystery of Christ’s very Person.

For this reason, when the Apostles finally recognize Him and see Him enter the boat, they do not merely say: “You have performed a miracle.” They fall down before Him and confess: “Truly, You are the Son of God.”

This is the ultimate goal of faith: not to stop at the works of God, but to arrive at the knowledge of God Himself.

This confession of the Apostles naturally introduces us to the words of the Apostle Paul that we have heard today in the first reading. Saint Paul also speaks of a building, of a reality that must endure through time and remain firm in the face of trials. Writing to the community of Corinth, a community wounded by divisions and conflicts, he reminds Christians of a fundamental truth: “You are God’s field, God’s building.” (1 Corinthians 3:9).

Corinth was a community that had experienced a different kind of storm from the one on the Sea of Galilee. It was not a storm made of wind and waves, but a storm born within the human heart: pride, the search for personal glory, and the desire to belong to a man rather than to Christ. Some said: “I belong to Paul,” while others said: “I belong to Apollos,” forgetting that no apostle, no minister, and no human being can take the place that belongs to the Lord alone.

Therefore, Paul, like a father who wishes to lead his children back to the truth, declares: “No one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 3:11)

These words resonate with particular strength even today. For every human being builds. Every day of our lives, we place stones in the building of our existence. Our words, our choices, the way in which we love, the way in which we forgive, and the way in which we face trials become the stones with which we build our soul.

But a building can be externally beautiful and yet remain fragile if its foundation is not secure. In the same way, a person’s life may appear strong in the eyes of the world, may possess success, recognition, and abilities, but if Christ is missing as its foundation, there comes a moment when the storm reveals what truly supports the structure.

The Apostles experience this on the lake. Their boat is shaken because the contrary wind tests the foundation upon which their trust rests. The community of Corinth is tested because it must learn that its unity does not come from human preferences, but from communion with Christ.

And Paul continues by saying: “Each one should take care how he builds.” (1 Corinthians 3:10).

This is a word that concerns every Christian. It is not enough simply to build; one must know how to build. It is not enough to accomplish great works outwardly; one must ask what love inspires them, what spirit sustains them, and what foundation preserves them.

For this reason, the Apostle speaks of gold, silver, and precious stones, but also of wood, hay, and straw. Not because some human works are important in the eyes of men while others are less valuable, but because before God everything is revealed in its true reality.

The Lord does not look only at what is visible; He looks at the heart from which our actions arise.

And then Paul leads us even deeper when he proclaims: “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16).

Here we understand the great mystery of the Christian vocation. Human beings are not merely creatures who seek God as something distant and unreachable. Through Christ, the eternal Son of the Father, and through the gift of the Holy Spirit, humanity becomes the dwelling place of the divine presence.

The Temple in the Old Covenant was the place of God’s presence among His people. But now, in the new economy of salvation, the most precious temple is the human heart transformed by grace.

Saint Cyril of Alexandria, contemplating the mystery of the presence of the Holy Spirit within the believer, writes: “The Holy Spirit dwells in us as in a temple and makes us partakers of the divine nature through communion with Christ.” (Saint Cyril of Alexandria, Commentary on the Gospel of John, Book IX, PG 74,262).

To be the temple of God, therefore, means allowing our entire life to become inhabited by the Lord. It means allowing Christ to enter into our fears, our wounds, our questions, and our moments of solitude, because God does not simply desire to visit us; He desires to dwell within us. And yet, precisely those who become the dwelling place of God often walk through a path of purification. The divine presence does not automatically remove us from trials, but it transforms us through them.

And it is here that the figure of the Prophet Saint Elijah, whose liturgical memory we celebrate today, shines as a great light for the Christian journey.

The life of Elijah shows us that the man of God is not the one who never experiences suffering, but the one who learns to recognize God even in the midst of suffering. Elijah appears in the history of Israel at a time when the people of the Covenant had lost their faithfulness to the Lord. Under the reign of Ahab and Queen Jezebel, many had abandoned the living God in order to follow idols.

The deepest wound was not merely an external error in worship, but an interior division: the heart of the people was divided. They desired to belong to God, but at the same time they allowed room for that which had taken God’s place.

And it is precisely at this moment that the Lord raises up Elijah.

His very name contains his mission: “My God is the Lord.”

Elijah does not bring before the world a human strength. He has no armies, no wealth, and no political power. His strength is the certainty of standing before God.

For this reason, he can stand before King Ahab and pronounce words that seem impossible before earthly power: “As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word.” (1 Kings 17:1).

With these words, the prophet reminds us that life does not belong to idols, it does not belong to the powerful, and it does not belong to human illusions. Life belongs to God alone.

But Elijah’s faithfulness does not lead him along an easy path. After proclaiming the truth, he experiences loneliness and persecution. The Lord leads him to the brook Cherith, where he must learn to rely completely on divine providence, and then to the house of a poor widow in Zarephath, where God reveals His power through what, in the eyes of the world, appears small and insignificant.

The prophet himself must learn that God does not reveal Himself only in great victories, but also in hidden places where human beings learn humility and trust.

After the great encounter on Mount Carmel, when the Lord manifests His power before the prophets of Baal and all the people proclaim: “The Lord, He is God! The Lord, He is God!” (1 Kings 18:39), Elijah might appear to have reached the peak of his mission.

He has defended the name of the Lord before the people, he has witnessed divine power being revealed, and he has experienced the victory of truth over error. Yet precisely after this great manifestation, he enters into one of the deepest trials of his life.

Threatened by Queen Jezebel, he flees into the desert. The one who had the courage to stand before the king now finds himself alone, exhausted, and discouraged. In the silence of the wilderness, he even reaches the point of saying words of profound suffering: “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.” (1 Kings 19:4).

These words reveal the profound humanity of the prophet. Holiness does not mean being people without wounds, without exhaustion, or without moments of weakness. Holiness means allowing God to enter precisely into those places where we experience our limitations, where we feel our poverty, and where we believe we have nothing left to offer.

And it is precisely in that place of weakness that God draws near to Elijah.

The Lord does not rebuke him, does not abandon him, and does not consider him useless because he is tired. On the contrary, He cares for him through simple gestures: He gives him rest, He gives him bread, and He gives him water. Before speaking to his soul, God first takes care of his humanity.

Then He leads him to Mount Horeb, the holy place of encounter with God, the place where the people had received the Covenant.

On the mountain, Elijah awaits a manifestation of the Lord. Perhaps, after having seen the fire descend from heaven on Carmel, he expects once again a powerful sign, something capable of shaking and impressing. But God wishes to lead him to a deeper knowledge of His mystery:

A powerful wind passes by, but the Lord is not in the wind. An earthquake comes, but the Lord is not in the earthquake. Fire appears, but the Lord is not in the fire. Then, when everything returns to silence, Elijah perceives “a still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12).

At that moment, the prophet understands that God does not need noise in order to reveal Himself. The divine presence is not always accompanied by extraordinary events; often the Lord speaks in the deepest place of the soul, where the heart becomes capable of listening.

This experience of Elijah also illuminates the night of the Apostles on the lake. They are surrounded by the noise of the waves, the contrary wind, and fear, and precisely because of this they do not immediately recognize Christ who is coming toward them. Elijah, however, after passing through the trial, has learned that God can also be encountered in silence.

Authentic faith is born precisely from this ability to recognize the presence of the Lord not only when He performs great works before our eyes, but also when He silently accompanies our journey.

And this is what Peter still has to learn.

Seeing Christ walking on the waters, he says to Him: “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.” (Matthew 14:28).

In these words we find both the beauty and the fragility of the person who loves God. Peter does not want to remain enclosed within the security of the boat; he desires to go toward the Lord. Within him there is a sincere desire, a faith that pushes him beyond his own limits. And Christ says to him: “Come.” (Matthew 14:29).

Peter steps out of the boat and walks on the water.

But he does not walk by his own strength. He walks because his gaze is fixed upon Christ. His stability does not come from the calmness of the sea, because the sea continues to be turbulent; it comes from trust in the One who has called him.

Then, however, something happens that belongs profoundly to the human condition.

Peter looks at the wind.

As long as he keeps his eyes fixed on Christ, the waves have no power over him. But when he begins to look at the strength of the storm and at his own weakness, fear enters his heart and he begins to sink.

This is the spiritual drama of humanity. It is not simply difficulties that cause us to fall, because difficulties are part of the journey. We lose our peace when we allow difficulties to become greater than God.

Saint John Chrysostom, contemplating this moment, writes: “When Peter had faith, he walked upon the waters; when he doubted, he began to sink.” (Saint John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, Homily L, PG 58,508). But the Gospel does not leave us before Peter’s failure. The center of the scene is not his fear, but the mercy of Christ.

Peter cries out: “Lord, save me!” (Matthew 14:30) And the Gospel says: “Immediately Jesus stretched out His hand.” (Matthew 14:31).

This word, “immediately,” reveals the heart of God. The Lord does not wait for Peter to return to the boat by himself; He does not wait for him to recover his own strength; He does not wait for him to prove that he is worthy. He stretches out His hand while Peter is still sinking.

This is divine mercy.

The hand of Christ is the hand that sustains the Church throughout history, the hand that raises up the repentant sinner, the hand that accompanies every person when their strength fails.

And this same hand continues to act in the concrete lives of people, often through simple and hidden signs.

In these days, I had the grace and honor of blessing the fiftieth wedding anniversary of a couple in the province of Caserta. At the request of their daughter, I was able to impart the blessing according to the rite of the Holy Orthodox Mother Church.

Before those two spouses, I once again contemplated the mystery of the boat of the Gospel.

Because marriage, too, is a journey across the sea of life.

Fifty years of marriage are not simply a number of years spent together; they are a story built day after day, a voyage in which there have certainly been contrary winds, difficult moments, sacrifices, and trials.

No boat reaches the harbor because the sea is always calm. It arrives because those who are in the boat remain united even when the wind changes.

Such is conjugal love: it is not only emotion, but faithfulness; it is not only joy, but perseverance; it is not only receiving, but continually learning how to give oneself.

That celebration contained a particular richness: the mother was of the Orthodox faith, and the father was of the Catholic faith. Before a story of fifty years lived together, what emerged was the mystery of a love preserved through time, a love that had crossed the seasons of life.

That family was a concrete image of what Saint Paul had proclaimed: “You are God’s field, God’s building.”

For a family built upon faithfulness, forgiveness, and the pursuit of goodness truly becomes a small domestic Church, a place where the presence of God can dwell.

The life of that couple reminded us that the Lord does not promise a journey without difficulties, but He gives the grace necessary to pass through them.

And so today’s Gospel becomes a word personally addressed to each one of us.

Perhaps we too are inside a troubled boat.

Perhaps we too have experienced moments when the wind seemed stronger than our own strength.

Perhaps we too have been tempted to look more at the waves than at Christ.

But the Lord continues to come toward us.

He is not far from our night.

He walks upon the waters.

He stretches out His hand.

Our security is not found in the strength of the boat, but in the presence of the One who has entered the boat with us.

Our hope is not found in our own abilities, but in the fact that Christ remains the foundation of our life.

Therefore, beloved brothers and sisters, let us learn from Elijah to seek God even in silence; from Peter, to cry out the name of the Lord when we fall short; from the Apostles, to recognize Christ even in the night; and from every person and every family who perseveres in faith, to understand that God often works through the quiet faithfulness of everyday life.

For the risen Lord continues even today to pronounce over our lives the same words He spoke on the Sea of Galilee: “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27).

Archpriest Michele Alberto Del Duca.