From Jaws to Joy

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Isa 66:10-14; Gal 6:14-18; Lk 10:1-12, 17-20

July 6, 2025

St. Leo the Great Church

Photo by Rusty Watson on Unsplash

A little over a week ago marked the anniversary of a significant event in our culture. Of course, I’m talking about the 50^th anniversary of the movie Jaws.

Jaws had an enormous impact not just on Hollywood, the first ever summer “blockbuster” that introduced the world to a 27-year old director named Steven Spielberg. Jaws also had a profound effect on society as a whole, our human relationship with nature and each other.

Jaws is one of those classic films where the stories about the making of the movie are just as fascinating as the movie itself, where everything that could go wrong did go wrong and that only added to its greatness. Most famously, there is the story of the animatronic shark, named “Bruce.” The giant mechanical shark kept malfunctioning each time they put it in the water, holding up production and costing a lot of money. Spielberg, who feared losing his job, came up with another idea altogether, which turned out to be the key to the movie as a whole.

Don’t show the shark. Just move the camera. “Duh dun… Duh dun Duh dun.” Spielberg used the effect to build anticipation and dread, the reason why we still love (or fear) Jaws to this day.

On a deeper level, the decision not to show the shark also revealed the true “monster,” namely, the unknown. We fear most what we cannot see. Jaws is not a movie about a terrible shark. Jaws is a movie about the paralyzing power of fear.

Not everyone got the message. For some viewers, the film unintentionally created the dangerous misconception that sharks are bloodthirsty hunters that deliberately target humans, which could not be further from the truth. After the film’s release, there was, sadly, a sharp rise in shark fishing tournaments. It also manufactured a fear of swimming in the ocean. In time, however, the film actually led to a new understanding and appreciation of sharks, discovering their ecological importance, letting facts have power over the feelings.

Looking back, the shark hysteria ended up looking a bit silly. It’s not the shark that has the power. It’s the fear of the shark that has power.

The Kingdom of God is this vast open ocean of faith, hope, and love, both beautiful and terrifying. Jesus calls Peter and the disciples to come off the shores and get into a boat, “Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch . . . Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people” (cf. Lk 5:1-11).

In this weekend’s gospel, Jesus sends out the disciples on mission and says to them, “Go on your way; behold, I am sending you like lambs among wolves,” like shrimp among sharks.

We can’t go and evangelize, Jesus, we’ll be eaten alive!

What are you afraid of?

That people will reject you, say mean things about you, that your mission may fail, that you may have trouble and bear the marks on your body (Gal 6:17)?

All of those are possibilities. But so is a love deeper than you can even fathom.

Maybe the title of the 2025 summer blockbuster is “Merge” or “Change.” Sometimes in church, we hear “change” like someone at the beach yelling “Shark!” It creates a panic and we go running for safety, rumors spread, when the danger is not actually out there; it’s only in here (head and heart).

When we grant fear power over our words and actions, it does not matter where we run because we carry that fear with us. We are actually just projecting our own fears and anxieties onto others or in public, and that is not helpful.

Eventually we see, “Oh, there’s no Jaws… it’s only Bruce.”

My name is Father Evan Ponton.

I am here to love God, to be your shepherd, and to make disciples. I don’t bite. I do malfunction sometimes. I’m no Spielberg. I’m a new director, just learning the ropes.

Over the last two months, I have been asked many times to share my vision for our new parish. I believe before we can see a vision, we must first learn to un-see fear. So what I would really like to do instead is to share a with you a little of my heart and my journey.

Shepherding a complicated merger of two historic and distinct parishes is not how I always predicted or imagined my first assignment as pastor. But for whatever reason, “unprecedented” beginnings has been something of a pattern in my priestly journey thus far. I became a priest in 2020—Not the greatest year on record.

My ordination was postponed and I spent most of my first year as a priest wearing a mask while social distancing, not the easiest way to get to know folks.

A couple years later I took on the additional role as a high school chaplain following their beloved priest of twenty-five years.

My next assignment involved shepherding a merger of five, then seven, churches in Northeast Baltimore through Seek the City to Come.

And every mission I served, though starting out a bit choppy, turned out to be an unprecedented privilege and joy, people and places I love deeply, and felt sadness to leave. And now I am here, and I couldn’t be happier. Being called to serve the Harbor at two historic churches—St. Leo the Great and St. Vincent de Paul—makes me feel like the luckiest priest in the world. For the moment it might be a mess, but it’s my mess— our mess—and we’re going to figure it out.

I like to imagine us making a movie together. Some days it will seem like everything that can go wrong will go wrong. My first day in the office at St. Leo’s the power went out three times and the air conditioning broke.

There are some directions that simply come down from the producer, in this case, the Archbishop of Baltimore, that I didn’t write the script but must implement. That will come as a change, gradually, but directions are not given to limit our traditions or uniqueness but to keep us on the same page and part of the same story with others. In many other ways we will adjust and get to try new things.

Some immediate, necessary decisions for example, the Mass schedule, were made before I was afforded the opportunity to develop deep roots and relationships. That’s not my directing style, and I feel a burden and a sorrow in having to do that, but my intention and hope, even when the decision is unpopular, is to always to work together with cast and crew for the common, best interest of our new, unified parish.

Some of you heard that a month ago I completed a pilgrimage in Italy called the Way of St Francis, a hiking journey from Assisi to Rome in the footsteps of St. Francis of Assisi. When I arrived at my destination, Rome, though I did not yet know your names, I prayed for you at the tomb of St. Leo the Great in St. Peter’s Basilica. Journeying from Assisi to Rome, marking my own transition from St. Francis of Assisi parish to St. Leo the Great parish, from Pope Francis to Pope Leo, I mean, come on, is God not writing the script or what?

Some days will feel like we’re making a comedy of errors, others a tragedy. There will be drama— I’d like to keep that to a minimum—but the Kingdom of God is always an adventure.

And most importantly, the Good News of Jesus Christ means there is a Happy Ending.

“The seventy-two returned rejoicing, and said, "Lord, even the demons are subject to us because of your name."

Jesus said, "I have observed Satan fall like lightning from the sky. Behold, I have given you the power to 'tread upon serpents' and scorpions”—and sharks—"and upon the full force of the enemy and nothing will harm you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice because the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice because your names are written in heaven" (Lk 10:17-20).

When this great movie is complete, the story of salvation that God has given each of us a part to play, don’t you want to see your name appear in the credits? Who knows? Today might be the opening scene of something special, a classic, and we do not even know it yet, a picture you won’t want to miss, that you will want to be a part of.

Don’t let fear devour your faith and leave you standing on the seashore while everyone else is in the ocean. Jump in. Dive deep. The water’s great.