Drowning in Mercy.

Anthony Cecil, Jr.
Jan 10, 2016
13 min read

Have you ever noticed that sometimes, certain things come up in our lives over and over again? For example, when I was younger, it seemed as if the car I wanted was everywhere—no matter where I went, I would see it. I’ve heard that some people claim to have something that reminds them of a lost loved one—let’s say, a yellow rose for their grandfather. So, every time they see a yellow rose, they are reminded of their grandfather that passed away.

I find that something very similar can happen in our lives of faith. Maybe it’s a devotion of some sort, or a scripture passage, or a particular Saint. There’s something, or someone, that keeps coming up again and again—either we see it, we think of it, or something that someone does or says reminds us of it.

More on this later…

The Pool Party.

Probably fifteen or so years ago now, I was at a birthday party, which, since it was summer time, was a pool party and cookout. I’ll admit, my swimming skills weren’t the best, since I didn’t have the opportunity to swim that often, but they weren’t completely horrible, either. It’s now hard for me to remember all the details, but I think I was playing a game of sorts with the other kids. We were all standing in the shallow end of the pool, with our feet touching the bottom. At one point, I walked out a little too far and slipped into the unmarked deep end of the swimming pool.

You know that old adage, “sink or swim”? My dad always said that when he and his siblings were growing up, they were simply tossed into a pond and told, “sink or swim!” and their bodies instinctively took over and started to swim.

Yeah….that’s not what happened to me.

Slipping as I did indeed sent a jolt through my body, but instead of my body taking over and swimming, I simply panicked and started to sink. Apparently, some of the adults at the party thought that my thrashing about in the water was me simply playing, but when I sank like a rock to the bottom, they figured out that something was wrong. One of the older kids quickly jumped into the pool, grabbed me, and pulled me out of the water. I remember getting grabbed and thinking a mixture of “thank God!” paired with “it’s about time!” but I don’t remember much of anything after that. All I remember past that point is waking up later on the pavement.

For years after that day, I wouldn’t go near a swimming pool. Even being near large bodies of water freaked me out. Going out on a boat? No, thanks. Eventually, I got over most of that, but to answer the question you’re probably thinking of asking, no, I’m still not that good of a swimmer.

The worst part of that experience of nearly drowning is that I really had no control over, well, anything. Now, I’m a person that typically needs to be in control over what’s happening to myself. That’s why I hate roller coasters. There’s no real way of me knowing what is coming next and I have no control over how fast the cars are going or anything else—they’re just awful. Some people love them, but I did it once, and I most likely won’t do it again.

When I was sinking in that swimming pool, I was in a state where I had no control. My body wasn’t cooperating with my desire to swim up to the top and save myself. I became totally dependent on someone else—specifically, the person who would hopefully jump into the pool to save me.

In Peter’s…Sandals.

I originally typed “In Peter’s Shoes,” but then it occurred to me that, at least if all the movies are right, he probably wore sandals. Anyhow, earlier, I wrote about how sometimes, certain things can keep reappearing in our lives, over and over again. It may not be that they are coming up more, but that we are just being more attentive. I believe that this happens with more than just the cool car we’d love to have, but can involve our lives of faith as well.

Although there are seemingly countless stories in Sacred Scripture, there are some that we are more familiar with than others. These are the stories that we can easily re-tell in our own words—the ones that we probably read about in devotional books or hear at Mass a little more frequently. One of these stories is when Jesus and Peter walked on water.

Essentially, it takes place after Jesus had fed the multitudes with a couple of fish and some loaves of bread. The disciples were on a boat, and they saw Jesus walking toward them on the water. Peter gets out of the boat and begins to walk on the water as well, but when he becomes frightened of the strong winds, he begins to sink. He cries out for help, and the Lord saves him. If you want the actually beautiful, not typed late at night version of the story, find it in the Gospel according to Matthew here.

This story first really caught my attention when I ordered some postcards from Cassie Pease Designs. She usually hand-packs every order, and includes a hand-written note and some extra postcards as a thank you for ordering. It was when I opened a package of these cards a few months ago that one of her new images took my breath away. It was from this story of Jesus walking on the water.

Although the image was beautiful, it didn’t really hold my attention for long. It was only recently, this past semester that things really escalated.

I was wasting time on Facebook, as most millennials tend to do, when I saw that a friend from church had updated her cover photo. There was something about this image—I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It reminded me once again of this story of Jesus and Peter on the water. But it was different from the image that Cassie Pease had sent me. This one was from the point of view of Peter after he had taken his gaze off of Christ, after he became frightened, began to doubt, and sank. We are in the place of Peter, under the water, and we see Christ reaching in to pull us out and save us. I could have just shown you the image instead of providing that description, but admittedly, it would have bugged me to have two images super close together like that. So, maybe I wasted time. Oh, well. Anyhow, now that I’ve taken up more room, here’s the image I saw:

This image had me thinking a lot. Although I had thought about this story from the Gospel before, I had never thought about it from Peter’s perspective. I had never asked myself the question of what it would have been like, had I been given the opportunity to walk in Peter’s…sandals—the question of what I would have felt when I began to walk on the water, or how I would have reacted when I began to sink.

I started to write about it in my journal, which was really good for me to do. It made the scriptures come alive in a completely new way. About a week later, I met with my spiritual director. Before I even had a chance to bring anything up, we, of course, started with prayer. For our prayer that day, without even knowing what had happened, my spiritual director asked me to tell him the story of Peter and Jesus on the water in my own words. (In the version of this story I was texting to my friends, this is the part where I text, HEY HOLY SPIRIT!, because I don’t think stuff like that just happens without Him being behind it.) Anyhow, I did so, and had the chance to talk to him about the image I saw and what I had been thinking. He gave me the good recommendation of continuing to include this particular image and story in my prayer as long as it was fruitful, which I did. I kept praying with it and writing about it, and eventually developed my feelings about it into a poem. This helped me through a lot these past few months, and has been a source of growth in my spiritual life.

Then, there was this past week. One day at Mass this past week, we heard the story of Jesus walking on the water. This particular version came from the Gospel according to Saint Mark, and so did not include Peter’s experience, but it still reminded me of it. I’ve been thinking about it more since then, which is what led me to writing all of this. The biggest thing I guess I hadn’t thought of before hearing the Gospel this past week was the relationship that exists between two seemingly unrelated things.

The Relationship.

Earlier, I wrote about an experience I had as a child, where I almost drowned. This has always been something scary to me, and something that I would have never related to something good. Yet, after hearing the Gospel story of Jesus on the water again last week, it came to mind. Looking back, it’s something present in my writings, especially that poem I wrote, but I hadn’t really thought about it completely until now.

Although it may seem odd, there’s a relationship between drowning and our Christian faith.

As I said, when I was in that swimming pool drowning, I wasn’t in control at all. Now, with our gift of free will that God has given us, it may seem that we are totally in control. Yet, as a result of that same free will, we are fallen in sin (shout-out to Adam and Eve on that one). When we enter into a state of sin and exit a state of grace, we aren’t the same—we aren’t as free as we were, and we aren’t as in control as we were, or think we might be. The evil one is slowly allowed to gain more and more control of our lives by telling us the lie that the sins we commit are the very things that will make us free. It’s the same thing he did to Adam and Eve in the garden. Then, he convinces us that what we did was so horrible, we could never be forgiven—that’s a lie, too, folks.

When I was sinking in the water so many years ago, I was in desperate need of someone else. If someone hadn’t intervened and jumped in the pool and saved me, I may not be here right now. The same is true with our faith. Use your brain for a bit, and allow the pool to represent sin. The deeper we go, the more control we take away from our selves and hand over to the evil one. The more control he has, the more he convinces us that we can’t be forgiven, and the deeper we sink. Then, we realize something’s wrong.

We may not feel like our rescuer comes to us physically. That’s because that happened over two thousand years ago. Jesus intervened when He allowed Himself to be nailed to the cross—when He willingly died to free us from our sins. He paid our debt. He dives into the pool to save us. He reaches down into the water to pull us out when we begin to sink.

It’s something we can’t do by ourselves. We need someone else. We need Him, and no matter what, He’s always there.

Abandonment.

Really, that experience of drowning was, in a sense, an experience of abandonment. I had to trust that someone was going to jump in and save me. I had to abandon everything into the hands of another.

A few years ago, I met a group of nuns in Washington, DC. They were a relatively new community that I had read about online and had been praying for every day. It was a joy to see them. We talked for a while before we had to part ways. The superior of the community then turned around, and called out to me. So, I stopped and turned around, and she handed me a prayer card that the sisters pray daily. It was a prayer of abandonment—a prayer asking the Lord to help them trust Him—to abandon everything—their fears, worries, faults, and trials—into His hands so that He could save them from…essentially, drowning. I’ve moved between Indianapolis, home, different parishes, and southern Indiana a few times since then, so the card has unfortunately been lost. It was only recently, in thinking and praying about all of this, that this encounter came back to mind.

As I said earlier, I like to be in control, but sometimes, there are things that I just can’t be in control of. For example, as many people know and as I’ve written about, for over a year now, my dad has been battling stage three lung cancer. It’s his second time battling cancer, and it has been a roller coaster of an experience to say the least. Throughout this entire journey, there have been things that would drive a control-freak berserk—things that, no matter how badly I want to, I can’t control—things that no amount of worry or tears or panic attacks will change—things that I’ve had to simply abandon into the hands of God. It was a lot of things—scary, uneasy, worrisome—yet, ultimately, the most freeing thing I could have done for myself, and my dad.

I think its those experiences—those moments of abandonment—when we realize that something’s going on, that we need help, and we cry out for it—that Jesus jumps into the water of our sinfulness, our doubt, our fears, our faults, and our worries, and pulls us out to brings us into the light of His love and His mercy. Really, that itself can be an experience of “drowning.” When we allow ourselves to abandon everything into the hands of God—when we allow ourselves to throw open the door of our hearts to be emptied so that we can be filled with Him—it can sometimes be overwhelming, but, in a good way. Instead of drowning in our sorrows, we drown in His love and mercy, which brings with it not death, but new life.

Owning Up.

But, I think all of this goes beyond us simply praying for the grace of abandonment. To me, it ultimately shows itself in the Sacrament of Penance, otherwise known as Confession or Reconciliation. I know, it’s something that a lot of people aren’t a big fan of, but its something we need. I don’t like going to the doctor either, but I know when I’m sick, I need to go get medicine. Sin makes me sick, and confession is the only medicine that’s going to work, guys.

I know what you may be thinking. “Tony, I don’t need confession. Jesus knows I’m sorry.” While that may be the case, since, you know, He’s God, it goes deeper than that. We were hopefully taught as children that when we screw up, we need to own up for what we did. If we’re truly sorry for the sins we’ve committed, the way we own up to it is to speak them out loud—to ask forgiveness for them. When we go to confession, we need to remember that the priest is acting in the place of Christ. That means that in the sacrament, Christ is working through the priest—so, when we confess our sins to a priest, we’re actually owning up to Christ for what we did wrong. In addition to that, our sins affect more than our relationship with Jesus. They affect our relationship with the people around us and with the Church as a whole as well. If you think about it, there’s a litany of sins that are really offenses against the people around us. The first three commandments deal with our relationship with God, while the last seven involve our relationship with others. Confession isn’t also called reconciliation just because it reconciles us with God, but it reconciles us with our community as well, as we are forgiven “through the ministry of the Church,” to quote the prayer of absolution.

Really, a big part of the Year of Mercy that we have just begun is a call to return to the confessional—to own up for what we’ve done, because in leaving that state of sin and coming into a state of grace, the evil one’s grip on us is thrown away. Confession is a sacrament of the Mercy that this year is all about. Confession is one of the most powerful and freeing things that we will experience. It’s scary, but so are a lot of things that are worth doing—that we need to do. (For some more in-depth reflections on the Sacrament of Penance, click here. For more information about receiving the Sacrament in the Archdiocese of Louisville, locate a parish near you by clicking here.)

Wrapping Up.

Okay, I think I’ve finally said what I wanted to say, and I’ll shut up now. As I said earlier, part of my writing about the Gospel passage and the story was writing a poem. I debated whether or not I was going to share it, because it’s is a deeply personal piece of writing. But, I decided that I would, in hopes that it could help someone else’s prayer. So, I leave you with that:

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I am…drowning. I’m drowning. What happened?

I approached the water to look in a mirror, in an attempt to see myself clearer— but, I didn’t like what I saw, because I was flawed. I wasn’t perfect, and I felt like I wasn’t worth it. I wasn’t worth the price He paid, nailed to the cross in the heat of day!

And then, I slipped. I slipped and I fell into a sea of deception, a deception of confused conceptions about who He is, and who I am, and the lie that He can’t look past my sins.

I’m drowning.

It became harder and harder to breathe, because I couldn’t comprehend or conceive His indescribable love for me. The waters of despair filled my lungs, and I didn’t think that help would come. I was there, trapped under the water, pining for the love of the Father, crying out in shouts of pain, I AM DROWNING!

So, I did all I could… I prepared to breathe my last. But, just then, a hand grabbed me, and pulled me out fast. I awoke on dry land, looking at my Lord, my Savior, and my Friend.

I wanted to hide my face in shame and take the blame, but He stopped me and He grabbed my hand, and said that wasn’t His plan. He guided my hand to His wounds and said, “I did this for you!”

Then, we were surrounded by light, and He showed me the might of His love that conquered death, and sent the enemy back to hell’s depths. He opened my ears to hear the words, “Through the ministry of the Church, may God grant you pardon and peace,” the words that drive away the beast, and bring me back to the heavenly feast. The words of confession that break evil’s deception, the words of absolution of Christ’s institution that cast out confusion, pull me out of seclusion, and…

I felt it again. I’m drowning.

But, it was different, it wasn’t the same. There was no fear, blame, or shame.

I looked, and I saw a river flowing from His side, a river the washed away my sin and my pride, a river that covered my hopelessness and despair, and let me know that He cared! A river that filled me with new air.

I’m drowning!

The river was still flowing, it’s flow wasn’t slowing, and the waters around me were growing. Yet, there was no need to fear, no reason to shed another tear. I knew I was safe by the love on His face and the power of His grace, and I am drowning!

And even though I’m drowning, there’s no need for doubting, the river is water and Blood, and is truly a flood… A flood of Mercy in my soul, to help me reach my goal—to carry me to my eternal home!

But, it’s a flood that requires my trust in His love, even when times are tough and life is rough.

Yet, I’ll admit— if I’m drowning in His love and mercy, waters that make clear the blurry, I’m content. And I’ll be thankful for that mercy, and that fact that somehow, He finds me worthy.