Matthew 14:22-33
That’s quite a story we just heard,
Matthew’s account of Jesus and Peter walking on the water in the storm. For Jesus’ followers after his resurrection,
hearing this story back in the day, it would have reminded them of ancient
Jewish tradition about God reining in the uncontrollable forces of the natural
world. The psalms frequently tell of God
subduing the primordial chaos, defeating sea monsters and setting the oceans’ boundaries. When the great flood came, the people saw it
as God’s fearsome judgment, using the power of nature against them. And when the people were delivered from
oppression in Egypt, God used the Red Sea as a path of liberation for them but
a path of destruction for the Egyptian army.
As we’ve come to remember more vividly than we’d like in the past month
or so at St. Andrew's, water is certainly life-giving, but it’s also a serious threat – a force
we’re still trying to manage and tame. So
when Jesus comes to us walking over the water, it’s not simply an amazing feat
but a sign of his divine mastery over the destructive power of chaos.
To get a sense of the disciples’ mindset
entering into this story, it’s always good to go back and see what happened
just before it. Today’s story follows
another astonishing miracle, the feeding of the 5,000 – a miracle not just of
divine provision but of overwhelming abundance, showing that what God gives us,
through Jesus Christ, is astonishingly more than we can ask or imagine. Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives us not
just the bounty of our daily bread but the promise of eternal life, which we
experience at this altar each week as bread is taken, blessed, broken, and
given. I think it’s also significant
that this feeding miracle isn’t Jesus’ work alone. He carries it out with the participation of
his friends. When the crowds are hungry
and his friends come to him looking for help, Jesus tells them, “You give them
something to eat” (Matthew 14:16). And
thousands are fed through the partnership of God’s abundance and human hands.
But then, as we’re still reveling in the
wonder of that miracle, the scene shifts and the mood darkens. Jesus sends his followers out on the Sea of
Galilee, telling them to cross over to the other side while he goes off to pray. And suddenly, they’re face to face with the
chaos that’s always lurking in creation, as the storm batters their small boat,
a storm serious enough to frighten professional fisherman. As if that’s not enough, the disciples then
see something even scarier – what they think is a ghost coming toward them, a
symbol of the power of death itself heading their way. Jesus sees and hears their fear, and he
assures them that he’s no ghost. “Take
heart,” he says, “it is I; do not be afraid” (Matthew 14:27). If you hear it in Greek, what he says is even
more assuring: The same phrase given
here as “It is I” can also be translated as “I am” – as in, the great I AM, echoing
the voice of God to Moses from the burning bush. This is no ghost. This is the same One who subdues the sea
monsters and sets the boundaries of the wild waters. This is the One who tramples down the power
of the storm.
So
then the scene shifts to Peter. He’s
just as scared as any of the other disciples, but what counts is how Peter
responds – with totally unselfconscious faith.
Maybe he’s still in awe from Jesus feeding thousands of people from five
loaves and two fish. But for whatever
reason, Peter’s response to Jesus reveals deeper faith than he probably even
realizes: “Lord, if it is you,” he says,
“command me to come to you on the water” (14:28). The question for Peter isn’t whether a person
might actually be able to walk on the water; the question for Peter is simply
whether he’s seeing whom he thinks he’s seeing.
Because for Peter, if that’s really Jesus out there, there’s no question whether he can walk on the
water and overcome the storm. Why not,
having just fed thousands of hungry people from five loaves and two fish? Why not, having cast out demons, and cleansed
lepers, and healed withered limbs, and restored sight to the blind, and brought
the dead to life?
Peter sees no reason why he couldn’t be a
partner in God’s work to overcome chaos and still the storm – right up until he
thinks about it too much. He notices the
wind and the water, and he gets scared again both by the strength of the storm
and by the weakness of his own capacity.
So he begins to sink. But that very
human moment shouldn’t diminish the power of the example of Peter’s faith. As long as he taps into the depth of his
trust, Peter is able to join Jesus in defeating the powers of chaos simply by
naming a power that’s greater than they are.
We’ve seen something of the power of chaos
this weekend, in the news from Charlottesville, Virginia. A crowd of white supremacists, neo-Nazis, and
members of the Ku Klux Klan gathered there, ostensibly to protest the removal
of statue honoring Robert E. Lee but really there to advocate for taking “their
country” back. The protest was met with
counter-protest, and the two sides fought each other with clubs and sticks,
bottles and chemicals. All of that would
have been horrifying enough, but then a man drove his car into the crowd of
counter-protesters, killing one person and injuring 19 more. In all, three people are dead and 35 injured
from this weekend’s chaos.
I don’t think it’s a stretch for me to say
that Jesus stands against white supremacists, neo-Nazis, and the Klan – despite
the appalling fact that probably most of those protesters would claim to honor
and serve Jesus as their Lord and Savior, too.
But if Jesus isn’t standing with the Klan, where is he in this
storm? And how does he call us to follow
him?
I see Jesus out there on the waters of the
chaos, standing tall in the storm and inviting us to step out on the water to
join him in stilling it. Our Lord seems
to have this odd preference for finding partners in working miracles, just as
he did when he fed the crowds, just as he did in inviting Peter to join him on
the water. So what does it look like for
us to take our place next to our risen Lord and Savior and work with him to
counter violence, racism, and hate?
For us, in our particular context, maybe
it’s a matter of naming truths that we might well have thought were
self-evident – the truth that God loves all people, no exceptions; the truth that
following Jesus allows no place for discrimination; and the truth that we are
called to help bring God’s kingdom to life in the world God shares with
us. Now, that may seem like advocating
for the fact that the sun will rise tomorrow or that we should brush our teeth
before we go to bed. And we might be
tempted – especially those of us of a certain age – to look back a few decades
and argue that we once enjoyed a social consensus that rejected hate and
consigned neo-Nazis and the Klan to the lunatic fringe; and we might lament
what’s become of our world today. But
you know, not so many years ago, we had Klansmen and white supremacists in the
halls of power, calling on Jesus just as we do.
So, sometimes it is a holy act simply to proclaim God’s truth, because God’s
truth is probably not as self-evident as we nice Episcopalians would like to
think. Sometimes, it is a holy act
simply to say that Jesus calls us to practice love, not hate; to practice
reconciliation, not conflict; to practice engagement, not vilification of “the
Jews” or “the blacks” or “the Muslims.”
Sometimes it is a holy act simply to say that we stand with Jesus
Christ, whose power brings people together and unites us as one, just as he and
the Father are one. Sometimes it is a
holy act to say out loud that we stand with Jesus on the water despite the
storm, confident of his power to make the demons flee. It’s a holy act because words change things
when influential people speak them with courage. Words change hearts, and changed hearts
change the world.
That may be a stretch for us nice
Episcopalians. It may put us uncomfortably
close to linking faith with politics, though I would argue vigorously that if
racism and supremacy are part of your politics, faith should stand against it. But
it’s our call as followers of Jesus not to let even obviously holy truths lie
silent when they’re under assault. When
we’re at the grocery store, or the coffee shop, or the club, it’s right to say
out loud that Jesus stands against hate.
It’s right to say out loud that Jesus stands against racism. It’s right to say out loud that Jesus stands
against anyone’s efforts to consign others to second-class status. It’s even right to say out loud that Jesus
judges such things as contrary to God’s purposes and therefore as sinful.
We may think all that’s self-evident. But we are in a time when such truths need
our voices. For when we proclaim them,
we take our place next to Jesus out there on the water, proving his power and stilling the storm.
another classic sermon!!!!!!
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