Gospel according to Saint Matthew 14:22-33:
After he had fed the people, Jesus made the disciples get into a boat and precede him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. After doing so, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When it was evening he was there alone. Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore, was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. During the fourth watch of the night, he came toward them walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. “It is a ghost,” they said, and they cried out in fear. At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” After they got into the boat, the wind died down. Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying, “Truly, you are the Son of God.”

Imagining…beyond the senses

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, August 09, 2026 | XIX Sunday in Ordinary Time

1Kgs 19: 9a.11-13a; Rom 9: 1-5; Mt 14: 22-33

In truth, we are often victims of our own imagination.

Around the time we both finished our military service, a friend of mine—who was particularly calm and level-headed—told me about how he had been assigned to stand guard at an outpost in the mountains. A night storm broke out, with strong winds and frequent lightning. At one point, he heard a noise about 30 meters away and began shouting a warning, believing that someone was trying to climb over the protective fence, but the noise continued, and he kept shouting until, alarmed, he decided to fire his machine gun, emptying the entire magazine. His comrades and the officer on duty arrived and found that it was a large tree, toppled by the wind, which had fallen onto the fence, breaking several wooden posts and causing its branches to make sounds that resembled hurried footsteps.

In today’s First Reading, the terrified Elijah believed that God was coming in the raging wind, in the earthquake, or in the fire, but he was obedient; he went out of the cave and was thus able to receive light and strength for an incredibly difficult mission. Through that gentle breeze—which was the divine voice—Elijah realized that it was not God who had driven him to slay the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18:40–41), but rather the false image he had constructed of Him.

In today’s Gospel reading, we also see that the disciples, in the midst of their confusion, mistake Christ for a ghost. The night and the serious threat of the waves prevent them from thinking clearly or seeing properly. They, too, are victims of an imagination clouded by fear and helplessness. The same thing happened to them at Easter, when, filled with fear, they thought they saw “a spirit” (Luke 24:37).

But this doesn’t only happen in times of crisis or overwhelming difficulty.

Often, when we don’t see the results we expected—for example, after a generous effort—we fall into a spiral of negative premonitions or predictions, because we are victims of our instinct for happiness, which demands proof, immediate results, and visible fruits.

At other times, we imagine we know others’ intentions perfectly or—as happened to Peter—we believe we can walk on water without looking at Christ, and even if it’s just for a second, we feel strong enough… and we sink.

This reminds me of a story told in Buddhist traditions.

A young disciple was walking with his master along a mountain path.

When they reached a gorge, the young man stopped.

Master, we can’t go any further. The bridge is broken.

The master looked across to the other side.

What bridge?

That one! replied the young man, pointing to the void. Yesterday I saw a wooden bridge here. Now the storm has washed it away.

The master remained silent.

The young man began to imagine the consequences.

We’ll have to turn back. It might take us two more days. Night might catch us unawares. And if we don’t find another path, we could get stranded on the mountain.

As he spoke, his fear grew.

Then the master pointed to the ground.

Look.

The young man looked down. At his feet were some old planks.

Those are the remains of the bridge, said the young man.

No, replied the master. They’re planks you found along the way.

The young man frowned.

So what?

The master smiled.

A few minutes ago, you saw a bridge that no longer exists, and now you’re looking at the planks as proof that it existed. You’ve constructed a story and then begun to live within it.

The young man looked at the gorge again. This time he saw only what was right before his eyes: rocks, trees, wind, and a trail that continued up the mountainside.

So, what do we do?

The master pointed to a small path leading down the mountain.

First, we stop crossing bridges that exist only in our imagination.

And they began to walk.

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In reality, we always need a teacher to take a step, both in difficult situations and in those where we feel secure. Since our prayer is not constant, we have the relief that Jesus reaches out his hand when we think our strength is running out… or that it is enough.

That is why Paul begins today with a solemn oath, confirmed by the Holy Spirit, to show that his sorrow is not exaggerated. He goes so far as to say that he would wish to be “anathema” (cursed, separated from Christ) if that would bring about the salvation of his kinsmen. This reflects the highest level of sacrificial love and missionary empathy. His pain stems from the fact that his people have received many privileges: divine sonship, the covenants with Abraham, Moses, and David, the Law, and the Patriarchs… but now they seem on the verge of rejecting what is most important: the person of Christ, the opportunity to have a personal relationship with the One whom the desperate disciples discovered in the boat: Truly, you are the Son of God. Something similar happened to Moses when he interceded for the Israelites: Now forgive their sin—but if you are not going to forgive them, blot me out of the book you have written (Ex 32:32). But that is the pain of authentic love, which inevitably arises when we see the one we love suffering, making mistakes, or—worse still—refusing to embrace the truth.

To say that Christ is the Son of God means that our spiritual life is not governed by human effort to attain the absolute, but by the full acceptance of an intimate, filial, and transformative relationship with the Creator.

This truth has at least four practical and profound implications for daily spiritual experience:

1. The revelation of God’s true face.

Before Christ, God was perceived primarily as a distant Sovereign, Creator, or Judge. By defining Jesus as the “Son,” spirituality discovers that the intimate nature of God is fatherhood.

Consequently, prayer no longer means addressing an abstract force, but rather a Father (Abba). Fear of judgment is replaced by total trust in providential love. While the disciples struggle with the storm, Christ is only seemingly distant; from the mountain, however, He remains attentive and acts “at daybreak,” when He deems it appropriate to “calm the wind.”

2. Discovering our nature as children—that is, our spiritual identity.

Jesus is the Son by nature, but through faith and baptism we are incorporated into Him, becoming true mystical children (Galatians 4:4–7), not merely “creatures.” We are heirs to a mission that Christ lived out fully, and it is fitting to say—as our Founder, Fernando Rielo, reminded us—that we are the feet of Christ, capable of carrying Him to places He did not reach during His brief time in this world.

In today’s Gospel reading, the Master sends the disciples “to the other side,” thus indicating that our personal and communal mission is always new. In this case, the destination was Gennesaret, where a multitude of sick people were waiting—people who were healed simply by touching the hem of the Master’s garment.

This is an invitation for you and me to be that hem of the garment—the humblest and lowest part, the one that brushes the ground—but which, through its humble service, brings the person to Christ. We can also understand that encouraging a person to take a small step in their generosity—such as a simple act of volunteer work—is enough to set them on a path toward the purest charity, toward union with Christ in all his fullness.

In this way, the “slave” or “mercenary” mentality—the idea that one must obey to earn salvation—disappears. Spiritual life becomes the expression of a received identity: we are loved regardless of our achievements or failures.

3. An accessible model of trust and obedience—what we call the Gospel Spirit.

Jesus, as the Son, lived a life of total, loving submission to the Father, visible above all in moments of suffering, such as in Gethsemane or throughout his Passion.

The spiritual impact is that in moments of darkness, trial, or God’s silence, looking to the Son teaches me to entrust myself to him with confidence. Faith becomes an imitation of Jesus’ filial attitude: Your will be done, not mine. Peter’s request—to walk on the water—makes sense if we understand it as his renewed offer to follow Jesus in his struggle against evil and fear, symbolized by the sea in the cultures of that time.

4. Direct access to the divine inheritance.

In ancient culture, the firstborn son inherited everything that belonged to his father. Since Christ is the Son, his resurrection, his peace, his mission, his victory over death, and his Holy Spirit become our spiritual inheritance.

Thus, the spiritual life ceases to be a search for temporal goods or sensations and becomes the experience, already here on earth, of eternal life and the unquenchable joy that belong to God. That joy springs from the conviction that serving our neighbor produces a sure, indestructible fruit, even though our impatience often makes us want to touch it right now, going so far as to try to change even God’s plans.

But our imagination has astonishing importance and utility in all areas of life—such as giving form to what that voice, that gentle breeze we feel like Elijah did, places in our hearts. It is not magic; it is not mere fantasy… it is the most beautiful, creative, and spiritual level of dreams.

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In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President