THERE IS an old story from the west about a man who abandoned his faith because of the behaviour of his local priest. As in all Irish stories he went wandering the world living a life of deprivation and solitude. One day, as he scooped water from a ditch to drink, he marvelled at the sweetness of the water.
On looking up, however, he noticed that the stream was filtering through the putrid remains of a straip (sheep’s carcass)! Yet despite its path, the water remained sweet and he returned to his faith.
The story is a contradiction almost of the popular wisdom about not shooting messengers. Set at a different level it can highlight how the message can often be more special than the messenger. Certainly there are times when the messenger should be shot though the message accepted; the teachings of Christ are an example. Christ’s teaching has survived for generations, despite the worst efforts of some of its messengers. But before we are tempted to divide into the black-and-white judgments of good messenger and bad messenger, it might be worth considering Christ’s own lieutenant – St Peter.
From the day St Peter took tentative steps out of the safety of his human-made boat to this day; the followers of Christ risked, feared, floundered and even failed – but the words of Christ survived. They have damned, disappointed and deserted; but the teachings of their master still inspire. For almost 2,000 years the Gospel message has survived its messengers. That survival owes itself to the work and example of those who struggle to make their faith real. It is not the comfort that faith can bring that earned that survival. It was the risk and belief that many Christians showed in the sacred dignity of humanity, mercy and forgiveness and hope for a better world. These are the St Peters of many generations.
The Apostle Peter is a fascinating saint. Weak, impetuous, sinful and loving, he was the rock on which all faith would be built.
Peter’s great humanity does not present him as a capable and inspirational leader. Yet despite his many faults and failings, he was willing to risk it all, to step out of the boat and to trust his faith in Christ. He flounders. And then he finds his feet again.
Since Peter, most of the great heroes and saints of Christianity have tried, floundered and recovered. Even outside of religion, faith is the energy necessary to either risk or recover.
We all need some form of faith in our lives but what should that faith be in?
All of us humans put our faith in a series of beliefs that we accept to be true.
Some of these are populist or reactive to certain experiences – some are fermented and matured over lengthy periods of life. Some are the fruit of personal insight and others of collective trust. Sometimes we are right and, obviously, sometimes we are wrong. Some answers lie in personal experience and some in the community’s history.
But knowing when to wander alone and when to move with the herd is not easy.
All too well did Peter, the rock on which faith is founded, know this dilemma.
A rock can be safe but can also be slippery; it can be either anchor or reef; it can be solid or shaky, but most important of all we should always remember that even a stone can weep. And Peter wept bitterly too.
Peter's faith, echoed today in the reality of flawed messengers, sinners and mercy, endures not because of a balance against goodness and charity – but simply because it has to! – F Mac E