A Homily for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

+ In reality, in private, away from the games we often play in front of others, very few people overestimate themselves. We know our faults and sins only too well. The wounds and scars that life has inflicted are ever-present. Whilst we may well put on a brave face or even push ourselves forward in the jostling for recognition, acceptance and even power that is so often part of social and public life, when all is said and done, we know that we are weak and even sometimes quite severely damaged—regardless of the fact that at times, we won’t even admit this to ourselves. It can be more than frightening to look into a mirror and see ourselves as in fact we are. Our phony public façade is often much more comforting, and the frenetic activity with which we occupy ourselves—as good as it may be in itself—serves sufficiently to distract us.

St Peter seems not to have had such a façade: he was an experienced fisherman, pure and simple—hardworking, impetuous at times and seemingly well accustomed to a futile night’s fishing. His encounter with Our Lord in this morning’s Gospel indicates that he was also a man of some piety: he readily accepted the Lord’s command to let down his nets once again, even though his instincts suggested that this would have little success.

So too, his reaction to the resultant enormous catch of fish displays both piety and integrity: “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord,” St Peter exclaims, recognising at the same time the action of God in the miracle and his utter unworthiness in the face of it. We do not know of what sins St Peter was thinking—no doubt they were real enough. He clearly thought them to be sufficient to seek to exclude himself from the wonders that Our Lord was working in his very own boat.

But God thinks otherwise. As Our Lord insists later in the same chapter of St Luke’s Gospel, “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” (v. 32) This is nothing other than the kernel of the Gospel. It is the Good News for which God became man: that we might understand that ultimately, because of God’s love and mercy and thanks to his efficacious sacrifice on the Cross, sins do not matter, they lose their “sting” (cf. 1 Cor. 15:56) as it were, if we repent and do penance. Like St Peter, we may look at ourselves and know only too well that we are sinners and that we have been guilty of much that would exclude us from God’s grace. But when we meet the purifying, compassionate and loving gaze of Our Lord we encounter the possibility of radical forgiveness and true healing.

We need to be clear: God does not force His forgiveness upon us. There is no automatic absolution on offer. The idea that in the end God forgives everyone and that all go to heaven (often called “universal salvation”) is a heresy that is particularly virulent in our times—it is very often preached, at least implicitly, at funerals. No. Jesus Christ, the Eternal Son of God, became man in order to suffer and die on the Cross to offer us the possibility of the forgiveness of our sins. But we must open ourselves to this forgiveness. We must convert our lives and strive to sin no more. (cf. Jn. 8:1-11)

In response to St Peter’s protest of his sinfulness Our Lord replied: “Do not be afraid; henceforth you will be catching men,” adding a rather astounding new dimension to this encounter. We might think that the humility of St Peter in the face of the miracle was sufficient—and indeed such humility is a great grace—but Our Lord had other plans. He called the sinful fisherman—Simon by name at that time—to become a fisher of men, indeed to become Peter, the rock upon which he would build His Church (cf. Mt 16:18)—nothing less!

Herein we encounter the pure power of the grace of vocation. According to his own words Simon was a sinful fisherman. Yet according to God’s Providence he was called to become the Prince of the Apostles, the first pope, and a martyr bearing witness to Christ even to the very last drop of his blood. On the Vatican hill outside of the ancient confines of Rome, a church and then a great basilica have been erected over his tomb—many of us have had the privilege of praying there: a basilica in honour of a sinful man! More correctly, a basilica in honour of God’s grace working in and through a sinful man who had the humility to recognise his sins and to cooperate with God’s grace and God’s call. For that great basilica does not honour St Peter’s sins. Today they are forgiven and forgotten. We honour his fidelity to Christ and his perseverance in his vocation, even unto martyrdom.

Much as we admire St Peter, looking into the mirror we may well be tempted to give him the rank of an exceptional saint whose virtues are simply above us. But no. He knew, as we know only too well, that he was a sinner. What he did not understand, and what we often need reminding, is that Our Lord’s call to repentance and to follow Him opens up paths that we can never ourselves imagine—if only we too will leave everything and follow Him.

We shall celebrate the feasts of Saints Peter and Paul in a little over a week. Let us ask the Apostles’ intercession that we too shall have the courage to leave behind that which it is necessary to leave behind and to follow Our Lord to do and to become that to which He calls us.