Cultivate the Calm

Listening attentively to the commands of the Divine Conductor

Mark 4:35-41 

On that day, as evening drew on, Jesus said to his disciples: "Let us cross to the other side." Leaving the crowd, they took Jesus with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him. A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Quiet! Be still!" The wind ceased and there was great calm. Then he asked them, "Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?" They were filled with great awe and said to one another, "Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?"

          On the feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, it’s easy to wax eloquent about his prolific writings. The Church has dubbed him “the universal doctor” not only because his writings range the full spectrum of theology, but also because, as Bishop Barron might say, his teaching echoes “up and down the centuries.” His universality is timeless. So, instead of focusing on what he said, I would like to say a word about his silence, which may have as much (or maybe more) to teach us.

          Aquinas’ silence is well illustrated by G.K. Chesterton’s biography on him called The Dumb Ox. He’s called “the ox” because St. Thomas was a big man, in every sense of that word. Chesterton writes: “On one occasion [St. Thomas] was invited to the court of King Louis IX of France, more famous as the great St. Louis” (The Dumb Ox, 91) (that’s for you Cardinals fans). Chesterton picks up the point a little later, “Somehow they steered that reluctant bulk of reflection to a seat in the royal banquet hall…What the Frenchmen were thinking about we do not know; but they forgot all about the large, fat Italian in their midst, and it seems only too possible that he forgot about them” (p. 93). Chesterton continues, “And then suddenly the goblets leapt and rattled on the board, and the great table shook, for the friar had brought down his huge fist like a club of stone, with a crash that startled everyone like an explosion and had cried out in a strong voice, but like a man in the grip of a dream, ‘And that will settle the Manichees!’” (p. 94). The Manichees, as I’m sure you’ll remember, were heretics and Aquinas wanted to disprove their arguments. But notice what preceded that saintly outburst: silence, quiet, calm. And into Aquinas’ quiet the Holy Spirit would pouring his wisdom. It’s like the moment of calm at the beginning of a symphony when the conductor taps his stand with his baton; the instruments jump to attention, and are perfectly and peacefully poised to burst into music. Without cultivating the calm, nothing beautiful will burst forth. Aquinas was silent far more than he spoke, hence his moniker, “the dumb ox” – dumb, quiet, calm.

          In the gospel today, we see that the silence, quiet and calm can sometimes look like sleep, at least it did for Jesus. Jesus is in a boat with his disciples when a storm erupts on the Sea of Galilee. The apostles are overcome with fear and dread, but Jesus was sound asleep, oblivious to his surroundings, like Aquinas was dreaming at St. Louis’ court. Suddenly, he is awakened and he commands the wind and the sea, “Quiet! Be Still!” And just as violins, oboes and trumpets jump to attention at the conductor’s baton tap, so the earthly elements instantly obey our Lord. But I believe Jesus meant his rebuke also for the apostles; they, too, must cultivate calm, even in a storm, and so he asked them, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” Jesus knew well that his apostles needed to cultivate calm; otherwise, nothing beautiful would burst forth from them, like faith.

          Folks, one of the hardest things for modern Catholics to do is cultivate any calm in our lives. We have a 24-hour news cycle, our phones ding and chime and whistle incessantly; and we’re all trying to be in two or three places at once through Facebook, Skype, video calls and on-line classes. These things are not bad in themselves, of course, but they have bereft us of any quiet or silence or calm. And because we’re so busy, we have not created a space for the Spirit to speak to us.

          You can, however, cultivate a little calm, and here’s how. You can create that silent space by attending Adoration once a week: to sit still like St. Thomas, or even to sleep like Jesus (easy to do at Adoration). You can pray your rosary in your car rather than listen to talk radio or yelling at other drivers (or yelling at your kids!). The mornings or evenings are often very conducive to the calm: sitting quietly on your patio watching the sun go up or go down. I love to see people who come early and sit quietly before Mass, or stay afterwards to feel the loving Presence of Jesus in the Communion they just consumed.

          In that moment of silence and stillness you become like the instruments of a symphony, ready to burst forth with something beautiful at the divine Conductor’s command - to burst forth in faith. Jesus says to all his creation – and that includes us – “Quiet! Be still!”

          Praised be Jesus Christ!