22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time, A August 30, 2026
Fr. Alexander Albert St. Mary Magadalen, Abbeville, LA
“Is he quite safe?” “Safe?… who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.” C.S. Lewis uses that little dialogue to introduce the central Christ-figure of his books, The Chronicles of Narnia – a magical world full of talking animals in which God appears as a lion named Aslan. It’s what fiction stories are meant for – to take an idea that’s familiar to us and put in a different form so we can see it in a new light. This imaginary story where God becomes a lion named Aslan in a world of talking animals is meant to help us reexamine the assumptions they have about the Godman named Jesus in the real world.
This claim that Aslan is not safe makes us wonder, “is Jesus safe?” As with so many questions we have about God, the answer is “yes and no.” Not that God is contradictory, but he is often paradoxical. God is beyond us in ways we literally cannot imagine, so there are many times that our questions and categories are just not accurate enough. We have to make distinctions, add nuance, and allow for context to give a genuinely true answer. Is Jesus safe? In the most important sense, yes of course he is! He is safe in the sense that he will not do real harm to us and that he literally died to give us the best kind of safety: eternal life in heaven. How often do angels and Jesus himself tell us “be not afraid?” If by “safe,” you mean “free to find perfect rest and love in his presence,” then Jesus is the very source of safety.
If, however, when you say “safe,” you mean “predictable” or “never going to upset you” or “tame,” then absolutely not. Just ask Jeremiah. “You duped me, O LORD, and I let myself be duped.” Duped, misled, caught in a trap. God made Jeremiah’s life ridiculously hard and following God ultimately cost Jeremiah his life. Ask Jeremiah if God was “safe” in that sense. No, from a childish or worldly perspective, Jesus is the most dangerous man to have ever lived… and he still lives, by the way. He’s still dangerous.
But he is good, the very source of goodness. When a mother bird nudges its fledglings out of the nest, it is not a safe thing, but it is a good thing. When an unborn child is forced out of the womb and into the world, it is not a safe thing but it is a good thing. When Paul tells us to offer our “bodies as a living sacrifice,” it is not a safe thing but it is a good thing. The question this poses to each of us is this: do I trust God enough to look past safety and on toward goodness?
If we’re honest, the answer is usually “no.” Don’t feel too bad, though; we’re in good company. Simon Peter, the first pope, has just been told that he received a special revelation from God and was being entrusted with divine authority to interpret the faith and govern the people of God. Jesus then tells him a little bit more about God’s plan to use his crucifixion and resurrection to redeem the world. But Peter doesn’t get it… all he hears is “suffer… and be killed,” and the alarm bells go off in his head. He reacts without discerning. “Suffering and death?! That’s not safe, that’s not what we want… no way we’ll let that happen… we’ll keep you safe, Jesus!”
“Get behind me, Satan!” How “safe” did Peter feel in that moment? Rebuked by his friend and Lord mere seconds after being told his would be his right-hand man? But Jesus knows what he is doing, so he immediately leans into the lesson “whoever wishes to save his life will lose it.” Jesus is simultaneously appealing to our desire to be safe and encouraging us to accept risk. Jesus does offer safety as the ultimate goal, but shows that the only way to save it is to risk it, to lose it first.
Look, most of us have heard some version of this teaching repeatedly throughout our lives. “Carry your cross, offer it up, death comes before resurrection…” We think we know it. But how good are we at recognizing the practical impact of this truth when we encounter it? How often do we think not as God does, but as human beings do?
“Be transformed by the renewal of your mind,” Paul tells us. That means that our minds need to be renewed in the first place. In other words, don’t assume your first thoughts and instincts are correct. Jesus sets up a contrast between God’s thoughts and man’s thoughts on purpose – our default way of thinking is likely to be wrong. We are fallen, subject to twisted desires – called concupiscence – and burdened with a darkened intellect and a weakened will.
The vast majority of people live their lives by impressions and instincts of what seems good rather than by “discerning” what “is good and pleasing and perfect” according to God’s will. Usually, we find arguments to justify our feelings and actions rather than using discernment to sort through those feelings and guide our actions. Christianity is not a default way of thinking even for children raised by saints. I mean that literally. St. Therese of Lisieux was raised by Louis and Zelie who are both canonized saints. But as a child, she was notably selfish, hypersensitive, and very very stubborn. She even says in her journal that it took the miraculous intervention of Mary to overcome some of these very non-Christian attitudes.
So, my question to you is this: if a saint raised by two other saints did not grow up with an automatically divine way of thinking, why should any of us believe that our default way of thinking is any better? God’s will is not instinctive, it is discerned, it is pursued, it is thirsted for as the psalm puts it. St. Paul isn’t being poetic when he tells us not to “conform” ourselves to this age. It means we should have a natural suspicion of ideas and decisions that are a little too easy and a little popular with non-believers. A divine way of thinking takes work, it takes actively and attentively trying to push past what is “safe” and “tame” to what is good as God defines good. Jeremiah and Jesus remind us that God’s idea of good involves a fair bit of being “duped” and suffering and usually some kind of death. That means prayer; it means study; it means obedience to the commandments, Church precepts, and works of mercy; it means deliberate participation in the liturgy; it means patient cooperation with the parish community.
So, the next time you are offended or triggered or upset at something you read in scripture, hear about Church teaching, or are told by a minister or fellow disciple… don’t be too quick to dismiss it. Yes, trauma is real and the Church is chock full of sinners, fools, and con-men… but… but we are all sinners, fools, and con-men. What makes me so sure that my gut reaction is so much more reliable than whatever agent of God happens to be upsetting me right now?
Especially when in conflict with another follower of Christ who clearly strives to follow God’s will, we should be willing to question gut instinct, to take that fear or pain or offense and reflect on it with a cross-and-resurrection centered logic. Ask yourself “am I upset because I’ve genuinely discerned that this is contrary to God’s will or am I upset because this is frightening and difficult and I’d rather just stay safe?”
In Narnia, one character remarks that Aslan is “not a tame lion.” Well, Jesus is not a tame man and we must resist the temptation to try to tame him, to tame his Church, to tame our own faith. The radically sacrificial love that makes Jesus seem wild in the eyes of the world will sometimes rattle and challenge even the most mature of his followers. What matters, then, is not that we get it right the first time. Peter stumbled many times, yet Jesus always brought him back. What matters is that, every time the wildly good love of Christ dupes us and draws us back to the cross, we take it up and follow him whose seemingly unsafe love turns out to be the safest thing of all.