Alison Hornstein is a student at Yale University. Last December she wrote a column in Newsweek magazine which caused quite a stir throughout the country. Her main point was that many of her classmates and professors were not able to say that the terrorist acts of September 11 were wrong. They just couldn’t bring themselves to make a clear moral judgment on the matter. Consequently, many of them ended up making excuses for the terrorists. Here’s how she described it:

"By Sept. 12, as our shock began to fade, so did our sense of being wronged. Student reactions expressed in the daily newspaper and in class pointed to the differences between our life circumstances and those of the perpetrators, suggesting that these differences had caused the previous day's events. Noticeably absent was a general outcry of indignation at what had been the most successful terrorist attack of our lifetimes. These reactions and similar ones on other campuses have made it apparent that my generation is uncomfortable assessing, or even asking, whether a moral wrong has taken place."

Now unfortunately, at the very end of her column, Ms. Hornstein slips ever so slightly into the moral relativism she’s just criticized. She says, "We should recognize that some actions are objectively bad, despite the differences in cultural standards and values." But then she adds, "To me, hijacking planes and killing thousands of civilians falls into this category. Others may disagree. It is less important to me where people choose to draw the line than . . . that they are willing to draw it at all."

She had it right when she said that some actions are objectively bad; and that’s exactly where she should have left it. But, sadly, she didn’t stop. She ruined it by adding the words "To me." This is wrong to me—the implication being that this kind of murder is not objectively wrong after all, since in the minds of some other people—like Osama bin Laden—it may be perfectly acceptable.

And we wonder why our world is in such a mess?

Let’s be honest about it, my brothers and sisters, unless the evil act involves Adolf Hitler or a pervert priest, most people today are unwilling to say, "It’s wrong—period." The ability to make clear moral judgments is sorely lacking in contemporary American culture, as the situation at Yale University demonstrates quite vividly.

Which brings us to Simon Peter. Today I wish to make a public apology to this great saint of the Church. I have heard many homilies on the Gospel story we just heard from Matthew 14, which tells how Peter walked on the Sea of Galilee one day back in the first century. I’ve also preached many times on this event. And every homily that I can remember hearing—or giving—on this Scripture text has focused almost exclusively on Peter’s weakness—on how he took his eyes off Jesus and began to sink. Now it’s true, he did get distracted by the wind and the waves such that his faith wavered; Jesus reprimands him for that at the very end of the story when he says to him, "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?" But what is almost never mentioned is the courage Peter had to get out of the boat in the first place! (I apologize to St. Peter for never pointing out this important fact in the past!) Here was a man who was willing to take a stand—literally—in the face of tremendous, overwhelming opposition. What opposition, you ask? Well think about it for a moment: If you had been in the boat with Peter that day, what would you have said to him as he began his walk? I’ll tell you what I would have said: "Peter, what are you doing? What’s wrong with you? You can’t walk on water! You’re out of your mind! Get back in this boat, right now!"

I can’t imagine that the other 11 apostles who were there that day responded any differently.

But Peter disregarded their opposition and did what Jesus told him to do.

I’m convinced that this is one of the primary reasons why our Lord chose this man to be the first pope. He knew that Peter, once his faith was strengthened, would not be afraid to stand up for the truth against the Jewish Sanhedrin—or the Roman governor—or Nero Caesar himself. Jesus knew that the man who had the courage to stand alone on the Sea of Galilee, would later have the courage to stand alone, if necessary, for the truth of the Gospel.