Pentecost Ten

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 14 – 9 August 2020 | Matthew 14.22-33 | Richard O. Johnson |

²² Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. ²³ And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, ²⁴ but the boat by this time was a long way^[b] from the land,^[c] beaten by the waves, for the wind was against them. ²⁵ And in the fourth watch of the night^[d] he came to them, walking on the sea. ²⁶ But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear. ²⁷ But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”

²⁸ And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” ²⁹ He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. ³⁰ But when he saw the wind,^[e] he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” ³¹ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” ³² And when they got into the boat, the wind  ceased.  ³³ And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”  –Matthew 14.22-33 (ESV)

It had been a confusing and incredible day. First the messengers came in the morning with the news that John the Baptist had been put to death, beheaded by wicked King Herod.  Then Jesus and the twelve tried to get away by themselves, to ponder the next move in this strange drama that was being played out, but the crowds would not let them alone. They followed the Master everywhere, begging to be healed, straining to hear every word that fell from his lips. As evening approached, his disciples had tried to disperse the crowds, to send them back to the villages to get something to eat, but Jesus had stopped them. “You give them something to eat,” he said. And when the twelve protested that all they had was five loaves and two fish, Jesus had smiled sadly, looked up to heaven, and told them to share that little bit with the crowd. By some strange providence, the five loaves fed thousands of people, much to the disciples’ amazement.

The miracle was not lost on the crowd, either. The past weeks there had been whispers that this man Jesus was the Messiah, and now the whispers turned into open remarks and spread through the crowds like wildfire. He must be the Messiah! He has fed us, here in the countryside, just like Moses fed our ancestors in the desert! He has worked an incredible miracle—one more miracle, after months of miracles! Can there be any doubt as to who he is? Even the disciples began to wonder for the first time if perhaps it really was true, all the things he had been saying to them.

Then at dusk Jesus suddenly seemed to feel what they were all thinking, and his manner changed abruptly. “Quickly,” he said to the twelve, “get into the boat! You sail to the other side of the lake, and I will meet you there in the morning.” A year ago, the disciples would have scoffed at such a commandment. How could he meet them there in the morning? The lake was several hours by boat, and by foot it would be a considerable journey. But they had seen so much, they no longer questioned when he spoke to them with that strange, compelling tone. So they gathered up the left-over bread and set sail. Some distance from shore they looked back and were startled to see that the crowds were gone, and Jesus stood alone on the shore. They looked again, and he was gone. They glanced at one another with surprise, but no one spoke. They knew he had a habit of disappearing like that, of retreating by himself to the mountains to do God knows what. To pray, perhaps; to think, to plan. He never took them with him, and he never said what he was doing. They had learned not even to ask about it. But still each time he left them they felt strangely uneasy, somehow uncertain that he would ever return to them. Now he had done it again, and they said nothing to each other. They simply sailed in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

It would be a fast journey tonight, for a strong breeze was blowing. For a while they made good time, skimming across the dark water. The moon was almost full, and it lit up the entire lake with an eerie glow. They each were lost in their own little worlds: Simon Peter, impatient, a little angry that Jesus had left them alone again; Thomas, as always right on the verge of deciding that Jesus was a charlatan and that the only smart thing would be to go back home and forget him; Simon the Zealot, wondering if this Passover would be the time that the Master would lead the overthrow of the hated Romans; Matthew, also thinking of the revolution that seemed to be coming, wondering how he, a tax collector for the Romans, would survive; John, as always, lost in some mystical trance with a strange look of peace on his face; Judas, as always, lost in his own dark and private thoughts. They were an odd bunch, and when Jesus was apart from them they had very little to say to each other.

They were startled suddenly by Andrew’s voice. “Hey,” he said, “give me a hand here!” He was having trouble with the sail, and in an instant they understood why. The wind had changed, abruptly, with no warning. This lake was like that at night, and those of them who were not fishermen by trade were always a bit leery of these night-time voyages. Now they looked at the sky with consternation. The clouds were speeding rapidly across the moon, and they could see that the wind was very strong. The boat had begun to pitch rather sharply, and the waves were now splashing into the boat. Those who were sailors struggled with the sail. Those who were not began to feel sick and alarmed. Thomas, always the pessimist, muttered something about drowning like rats. The others were silent still, but they had the same thoughts. Nocturnal storms were commonplace on the lake, but this one was worse than any of them had seen. The last time they were caught in such a gale, Jesus had been with them. He had been sleeping through it, until their cries of fear awakened him. He had shaken his head sadly at their fright, and had shouted something into the wind, and the storm had stopped, as quickly as it had begun. That was in their minds now, and they were wishing he was with them. Why did he send them off alone?

Then John, the mystic, was staring at the shore. “Look!” he cried, and pointed. There, in the midst of the waves, walking toward the boat, they saw a figure. They were sure it was an apparition, a ghost, a spirit—and they knew too well the old folk superstitions about Death taking visible form and stalking those he was about to seize. They were terrified, and began to scream, their voices almost inaudible because of the roaring wind. But then a voice was heard, a voice above the wind, a voice that must have been terribly loud and yet it sounded soft and gentle in their ears, almost a whisper. “Don’t be afraid,” the voice said.  “It is I.” Hearing the voice, they suddenly recognized the strange figure on the water as Jesus himself.

Before they knew what was happening, Peter was shouting at Jesus. “Lord,” he cried, “If that really is you, let me come to you!” Just like Peter, they thought, always concerned about himself first, always boasting about himself, his own strength, his own faith. Jesus never seemed to notice Peter’s ego, however, though it was obvious to everyone else. Now he looked right at Peter. “Come on, then, Peter!” he said. And in an instant, Peter was over the side of the boat, into the waves. The others watched, dumbfounded, as he began to walk across the water, his arms stretched out to Jesus like a child learning to swim reaches for its mother. Peter’s face was filled with confidence, and he went on, step by step.

He was some distance from the boat when he suddenly looked down and realized that he was walking on water. His confidence melted to fear, and at once he sank. “Master, help me!” And then Jesus was there, grasping his hand, and before they knew it he was helping Peter back into the boat and climbing in himself. He had just stepped into the boat when suddenly the wind stopped, the waves were still, and the lake was perfectly calm. Peter was lying on the boat’s floor, exhausted. Jesus looked down at him and shook his head.  “Peter, Peter . . . What made you lose your faith like that?” The others fell on their knees and worshiped him, each one thinking, “He really is God’s Son.”

They never spoke about the episode after that. What was there to say? But they remembered. They remembered that night when everything seemed lost, when the storm was about to overcome them; they remembered wondering why Jesus had left them alone to die. And they remembered that he had not, after all; that he came to them in a strange and wondrous way right in the midst of the storm. Peter especially remembered the terror he had felt as he sank beneath the waves; he remembered how it was to feel death swallowing him up. And he remembered the Master’s hand, firm, steady, warm, powerful, grasping his own and holding him tight.

There were other storms for those twelve. Most of them met violent deaths, and all faced great challenges. But they remembered that stormy night at sea. Every time they thought of that night, they saw Jesus, just as clearly as they had seen him that night. They saw him stretch forth his hand to them, and they knew there was nothing to fear. Every time the storms of their lives raged within them and around them, they remembered his voice, still and gentle, saying, “Be not afraid. It is I.”

Pastor Richard O. Johnson

Grass Valley, CA

roj@nccn.net