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| "Christ on the Sea" Boucher, French 18th Cent. |
But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do
not be afraid.” (Matthew 14:27)
When we last left Jesus
in the Revised Common Lectionary’s gospel lesson for the 10th Sunday
after Pentecost (Matthew 14:13-21) he was doing some pretty cool Messiah-type
stuff—healing the sick and feeding the hungry. Matthew’s gospel presented these
activities as miracles, but, when you stop to think about it, we, as a society,
could probably do the same things the Lord was doing if we had the resolve to do them. After all, seeing to the basic
necessities of our fellow human beings is kind of what our Christian vocation
calls us to do. Nothing miraculous there.
On the other hand,
walking on water is pretty much a miracle.
The story of Jesus
perambulating merrily across the Sea of Galilee—blatantly defying the laws of
natural science—right in the middle of a howling wind storm is something which
stretches credulity. If you’re feeling a little cognitive dissonance with the
gospel lesson for Pentecost 11 (Matthew 14: 22-33), I’d advise you not to worry
too much about it. Don’t get wrapped up in wondering if this is literal or not.
If you do, you might miss the point of the story.
If you’ll permit me a
rather wonky digression, our boy Matthew loves to throw in references to stuff
in the Hebrew Scriptures. In that insightful albeit vexing book of Job, God
makes a reference to walking on water, and Job says God “trampled on the waves
of the sea.[i]” Walking on water is just
one of those fun things God does. Jesus’ stroll across the waves and his
announcing himself to the disciples by saying, “It is I” (which in the Original
Greek is ego eimi, translated
literally as “I AM,” the name God uses in Exodus 3:14) are obvious references
to the divinity of Christ.
But you already knew
that.
So what can this tale,
which most of us have heard a whole bunch of times, teach us today? One of the
little details which pops out at me this time around is verse 23, “And after he had dismissed the crowds,
he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there
alone.” I’m glad Jesus finally got a break. At the top of chapter 14 we learn
that Jesus’ friend and mentor, John the Baptist, has been executed by Herod
Antipas. When Jesus hears about this, he decides to take a little time for
himself (Wouldn’t you?) and gets in his boat for a short retreat on the other
side of the lake where he can be alone and think things through. Unfortunately,
his plan falls to pieces when a whole horde of sick and needy people, apparently
accompanied by the twelve disciples (who also could use a course on etiquette
and personal boundaries), come charging around the Sea of Galilee on foot like
teenage girls racing to get Taylor Swift tickets.
Jesus heals the sick and provides food for the masses. Then he packs off
his twelve buddies in the boat, and asks the five thousand plus well-fed and
healthy supplicants to give him a little space. Why? So he can pray. So he can
get himself refueled by being in the presence of God—the eternal God who sees
and understands beyond our human moment.
Meanwhile, the twelve
disciples are having a pretty rough time on the Sea of Galilee. As happens, an
unexpected windstorm has blown up, and these guys are now trying to stay
afloat. You may know that, for the ancients, water was a symbol of chaos and
uncertainty. We all need water to live, but too much of it will kill us. The
disciples are out in the dark feeling lost, scared, and confused—just like we
do much of the time.
So, in the wee small
hours of the morning, Jesus calmly strolls out to be with them. He’s bringing
peace because he’s been in conversation with the Father. He’s got his eyes on
the bigger picture. He’s not afraid of stuff—not of failure or embarrassment or
poverty or any of the human things which keep the likes of us up at night. He’s
not even afraid of death. He knows this
is just a moment in God’s time.
We’ve been having some
nasty summer storms in my part of the world lately. I guess that’s due to
climate change. Of course, we always get plenty of warning from the weather
dude on the local TV station. The guy I usually watch on the early evening news
has all kinds of colorful charts and maps which show when the storm will come.
What I think is cool about this is his colorful charts and maps also show when
the storm will end. I always think of
God as the Doppler radar of our human journey. From God’s vantage point, the
swirling chaos of our lives is only momentary. All the forces which create it
are finite.
Of course, if you’re like
the disciples in the boat, you don’t know how things will turn out. Everything
is scary. They’re ready to see Jesus as a ghost, a specter of death in the
midst of their fear and confusion. But Jesus calls to them and tells them not
to be afraid. He’s the calm in the storm. Naturally, Peter wants to rush out to
him, to walk with the guy who seems to have it all together when everything
else is breaking apart. Jesus is cool with this. But Peter, like all the rest
of us in our troubled or transitional moments, gets side-tracked by the chaos
and starts to sink into it.
Jesus does what he came
to do—he saves poor old Peter, just as he’s come to save the rest of us from
ourselves. I always wonder what he said to his guys once he climbed into the
boat with them. I imagine it being something like this: “So what were you guys
worried about? You’re fishermen. You know how to handle a boat, right? Look:
our whole spiritual movement could’ve died when John got busted, but it didn’t. I might’ve been overwhelmed by
that crowd back there who wanted food, but I wasn’t. We could’ve run out of loaves and fish, but we didn’t. Knucklehead here could’ve drown,
but he didn’t. You’re afraid of
uncertainty, and I get that. Just don’t forget my Father is stronger than
anything you’ll ever come up against. And, by the way, you might’ve noticed
that the winds have died down. So let’s go home and have breakfast, okay?”
It’s easy for us to be
like Peter in this story. Our challenge is to be like Jesus—to have such a
strong core of love and faith that we can walk through the dark weirdness and
confusion and still be able to reach a hand out to others.
Stay strong my friend. It’s
only when we panic that we die. And please come and visit with me again. I do
so enjoy your company.
[i]
Job 38:16 and 9:8 respectively. I have to give a shout-out to Professor
Nicholas Schaser of Macalestar College in St. Paul, MN who wrote the commentary
on this passage for the Working Preacher website this week. Thanks, Professor
Nick for pointing out the references in Job. I really dig Job, but I’d never
have noticed this or connected these passages to this week’s gospel on my own.
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