Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time
February 4, 2006


If you were lost in the woods, and had to choose between having a compass or a map, which would you choose?

Though I never have been lost in the woods, I am told it can be a harrowing experience. In times like that, a compass and a map would go far in getting one to safety. But if you had to choose just one, what would you choose? I suspect the majority of people would choose a map. You can get a rough idea of north/south/east/west by the sun during the day and the north star by night. From there, it would be possible to figure out where you are on the map and then how to get home.

So it is interesting to me that when Jesus was in danger of being “lost”, caught on the winds of popularity and success, he, in effect, chooses the compass. Not a map. Not a clearly defined: “You are here, and Here is where you need to get to.” Rather, the gospel tells us: “Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place where he prayed.” And when the disciples hunted him down, his response was not: “Okay boys, on our 14 town itinerary, we are headed to Tyre first, then Sidon, then we’ll swing by the Lake of Genneserett and from there…” It was not a clearly mapped out itinerary. Instead it was a “compass defined” kind of experience. I know what my north is. Though I don’t know all the stages God has in mind, what I do know is that I have come to proclaim the Kingdom of God. I’m not here to open a hospital for the sick or a clinic or a leper colony. I am here to make sure that people know the love of God through me.

And look at the context of that decision. Jesus, at the end of a very busy and hectic day, lays his weary head to rest. But before he falls to sleep, he looks over what has been a good day. He'd just cured the whole town, taught well, he is the toast of the Galilee, the next “IT” on the happening scene. Like some days being pastor, when it is over, you think – today was a great day. Then he falls into a deep sleep. But something disturbs him in the wee hours of the morning. So he rises early to spend time in prayer. And there, in the midst of his solitude, as he reflects on the day - all of its relationships, its healings, its teaching, and its solidarity with the poor - there in that quiet place, he finds his compass. “Absorbed” in prayer, [as one translation has it] he discovers not only the finger of his God - but the finger of His God telling him to ‘move out.’ It is not enough to work just in Capernaum. It is not enough to work and live amidst his disciples' relatives and his friends. No, God has something more in store for him. Following that inner compass, that desire to do only what God wants him to do, he sets out. No map. Just a compass. Just the north that points him to doing the Father’s will.

I confess that as pastor, I would love to have a map detailing exactly how I am supposed to serve, and what direction the parish should be heading. It would make it so much easier. Wouldn’t you love it if this divine map floats down and tells you what to major in and what job to take after graduation and where to go to meet your future spouse? Any parent who has to make the choice about a new house or what school to send their kid to or how to teach their children well would pay a fortune for a map detailing the way. Guess what. It is not available.

Instead, we have what was available to Jesus. The compass of prayer and the desire to do God’s will in all things. Let me leave you with a prayer by Thomas Merton, sometimes called the ‘college student prayer’ that may be helpful on your journey.


My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself.
And the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road
though I may now nothing about it.
Therefore, I will trust you always.
Though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for you are ever with me,
and will never leave me
to face my perils alone. Amen.