But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” (Matthew 9: 27)
Imagine
this: You and the family take a summer vacation in Wildwood. It’s really hot,
so you go down to the beach, spread your blanket, and cool off from the sticky humidity
by wading into the cool Atlantic swell. The water is blue like the sky. It feels
fresh and invigorating against your skin. You wade out a little further until
you’re up to your armpits. You’re having a lovely time splashing around and
listening to the seagulls when—suddenly—the gentle whitecaps start to turn a
dirty brown and a force like a giant vacuum cleaner sucks you right off your
feet and begins to pull you away from the shore. You flail around and try to
dogpaddle your way back to land, but the current keeps pulling you further away.
You’re getting knocked around like a rubber duck and a big wave deposits a
salty gulp of water right down your throat. You cough and choke. Your strength
starts to give out. You’re in a rip current. What do you do?
One
thing’s for sure. If you panic, you’ll die.
In
Israel’s scriptures, the sea was often a symbol of chaos. Even an inland water
like the Sea of Galilee could be unpredictable, changing in minutes from a
glassy calm to a violent, destructive monster causing panic even for
experienced sailors.
The
community to whom Matthew wrote our Gospel lesson for Pentecost 11, Year A
(Matthew 14:22-33) knew its share of chaos. This nascent family of believers must’ve
been considered radically dangerous. They’d turned their backs on a hierarchical
social structure that ordered the society in which they lived. They ignored
purity laws for the sake of inclusion. They refused to submit to an empire’s
idolatry. Their reward for this was persecution and abandonment. They lived with
constant uncertainty, and uncertainty is scary. After all, don’t we all fear the
unknown?
We’re
living with a heavy dose of the unknown at the moment, aren’t we? Just look at
the nightly TV news. Floods destroy neighborhoods or entire towns. Tornados and
hurricanes ravage communities. Wildfires burn out of control and destroy
thousands of acres. In a single evening’s weather report, we experience all the
frightening chaos Elijah experienced on Mt. Horeb (1 Kings 19:9-18). We might
even experience the horrible silence the prophet experienced at the mouth of
the cave—the soul-crushing experience of failure and solitude.
At
such chaotic moments, we call out for God. Like Peter, we cry, “Lord, save me!”
How
does Jesus respond? He says to us, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” The
words “take heart” are, in Greek, one word: tharseite. It’s the
imperative form of the noun tharseo, which translates as “Courage!” Then
Jesus says, “It is I.” The Greek here is ego eimi, literally “I am,” the
divine name for God. Courage, he says. God is.
As
you thrash around in the tormenting clutches of the rip current, you might see
the still-blue sky above you and remember God is. God who made the sky
and the awful, unpredictable sea has also made you. In the midst of the swirling
confusion, you stop struggling against the current. You swim to the side. You
relax your frenzied limbs and wave to the lifeguard who is coming to your
rescue. “Courage,” he calls to you. “Don’t be afraid.” You float for a while
and follow his directions when he comes near. Now you feel safe.
From
Matthew’s day to our own the Church has always lived with uncertainty. This is
not a problem because rarely do any of us gain wisdom from circumstances which
aren’t chaotic, uncertain, or in some way a crisis.
I
recently heard a podcast about the decline of mainline Protestant denominations
in the U.S. The podcaster opined that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in
America has been steadily losing members while the conservative Lutheran Church
Missouri Synod has remained stable because the ELCA has embraced progressive
cultural ideas while the LCMS has remained steadfast and traditional in its
doctrines. When the ELCA takes down the barriers which have estranged liberally
minded people from the organized church, such people do not suddenly stampede
into our pews. Conservatives leave the church, but progressive don’t join. Perhaps
the cultural liberals feel they can respect the LGBTQ+ community, support gender
equality, and champion reproductive freedom without having to get up on a
Sunday morning.
I
respect those folks for their social conscience, but I think they’re missing
out on what we have. We have the words of life which inspire us every week. We
have a community which becomes a family. We have the traditions of the faith with
which we mark the seasons of the year, which give us a sense of belonging, and which
bring us comfort and order in the face of a rapidly changing world. Most of
all, we have Jesus. He is our rescuer, our guide to Godly life, our model of
sacrificial love, our constant reminder that we are loved and valued, and—most
important of all—our never-failing hope of resurrection.
“Courage,”
he says. “I am here. Do not be afraid.” May his presence be with you to give
you courage this week and always.