Of Headless Chickens & Restful Hearts

Solemnity of St. Ignatius of Loyola (Parish Feast)

Readings: Deuteronomy 30:15-20;  Psalm 1:1-6; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Matthew 8:18-27

Sisters and brothers, have you ever noticed that we live in a society of headless chickens? Of restless people? Have you noticed how so many of us seem to be constantly on the move? Forever busy with many different things? Always working? Always multi-tasking? Always frantically rushing around like headless chickens? And, because we are so used to moving at this pace, many of us find it really hard to sit still. To take a break from everything. To do nothing. But simply to rest and relax. Or even to slow down. To focus on only one thing at any one time.

There is, of course, a price to be paid for this hyperactivity. It’s called stress. The sense of being burdened by something that we can’t quite identify. Of constantly having the weight of the world upon our shoulders. The feeling that, even though our lives may be filled with heated activity, our hearts are often left cold and empty. We lose touch with ourselves. We don’t know what we really want. What our deepest desires are. So we just keep on moving. From activity to activity. From event to event. From person to person. Without ever being able to settle on a single thing, once and for all. Isn’t this why commitments become so difficult for us to make and to keep? Why so many marriages break down? And vocations to the priesthood and religious life are so hard to come by?

Sisters and brothers, in a restless world like ours, settling down becomes a very difficult thing to do. For many busy and preoccupied people, simply falling sleep for the night is a great challenge. What more choosing a spouse, or a vocation, for the rest of one’s life? And yet, in the midst of all this restlessness, our hearts continue to cry out for rest. What can we do to heed this cry? To satisfy this yearning? How can we find rest in the midst of restlessness? What can the headless chicken do to stop running around? How can its head be reattached?

This, my dear sisters and brothers, is the question of the hour. It is also the question that our Mass readings help us to address. But to appreciate the answer they offer us, we need to ponder them very carefully. For, at first glance, it seems that, in the gospel, Jesus is only making the problem worse. Only adding to our restlessness. Notice how the gospel begins with Jesus giving orders to his disciples to move. To cross from one side of the lake to the other. And then, in response to those who say they want to follow him, Jesus seems to describe himself as someone who is always busy. Always on the move. The Son of Man, he says, has nowhere to rest his head.

And yet, contrary to appearances, Jesus is not calling his disciples to a life of perpetual restlessness. Of chronic busyness. His is not the life of a headless chicken. For notice how Jesus conducts himself while on the move. While crossing from one side of the lake to the other. Notice how, even in the midst of a storm so violent that the boat was being swamped by waves, Jesus is still somehow able to rest. His terrified disciples even have to wake him from sleep. And then, once awake, the Lord seems surprised at their panic. Their restlessness. Why are you terrified?, he asks them. Why are you unable to find rest?

But how is it that Jesus himself is able to rest? When surrounded precisely by such great restlessness. How does he manage to remain calm in the midst of such a terrible storm? Even in the face of certain death? What is his secret? The answer is really quite simple. Not easy. But simple. Jesus can find rest because he is able to do the same thing that Moses is asking the people of Israel to do in the first reading. Here, after having wandered in the wilderness for forty long years, the people have finally arrived at their destination. They are preparing to cross the Jordan into the Promised Land. And Moses teaches them what they must do to settle down safely in this new place. How they can finally be at rest. Again, the secret is quite simple. It has to do with making a choice. A choice to be faithful. To commit their lives to God. And God alone. Once and for all.

And to do this is not the same thing as simply adding God to a long list of things we need to do. For God is not just one thing among other things. Rather, to choose God is to make God the centre of everything else in our lives. Much like how the sun is the centre around which the planets revolve. And, according to Moses, we do this by loving God. By heeding his voice. By holding fast to him. Or, in the words of the second reading, by making sure that in whatever we do, we do it for the glory of God. This is the only way by which the restless can find rest. By choosing to love God above all else. By deciding to surrender our hearts to God.

Isn’t this also how Jesus remains so calm even in a storm-tossed boat? He is able to lay down his head to sleep, because his heart is resting securely in the will of his Father. His whole existence revolves around the love of God. And this too is a basic principle in the spirituality of St. Ignatius. Whose feast we celebrate today. As you know, Ignatius referred to himself as the pilgrim. Someone perpetually on the move. Always travelling towards God. And yet, he could also say that should the Society of Jesus–which he worked so long and hard to establish–were to be dissolved, he would need only fifteen minutes of prayer to be at peace. He could find calm in such a terrible storm–the destruction of his life’s work–because, like Jesus before him, his heart was at rest in the will of God. His one preoccupation was the glory of God. His heart was set on loving God. Who, in the dying and rising of Christ, had loved him first.

This, my dear sisters and brothers, is the Good News that our readings are offering to us today. In a restless world like ours, we find true rest only by returning love for love. This is how the chicken gets its head reattached. By surrendering its heart to the One who allowed his own heart to be pierced for our sins.

I’m reminded of these words from that old love song sung by the late Nat King Cole:

When I fall in love, it will be forever.
Or I'll never fall in love.
In a restless world like this is, love is ended before it's begun.
And too many moonlight kisses
seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.
When I give my heart, it will be completely.
Or I'll never give my heart.
And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too,
is when I fall in love with you.

Sisters and brothers, in this restless world of ours, this society of headless chickens, how can we continue to surrender our hearts to God, and so to rest in his love today?