Pentecost 10A
August 9, 2020
Matthew14:22-33
INTRODUCTION
In today’s readings we will see an emotion that is all too familiar to us right now: fear. In our first reading, we’ll see Elijah who is running for his life from Queen Jezebel, who has sworn to take his life. He’s at his wit’s end when he hides away in a cave and encounters God not in wind, earthquake or fire, but in the “sound of sheer silence.” The Gospel carries on that fear, with a storm on the sea, and what the disciples believe is a visit from a ghost.
Since we missed last week, let me set this one up for you, because this story about Jesus walking on water immediately follows last week’s story about feeding the 5000 – and in fact, it does in all three of the Gospels in which it appears. Those stories are always together. So last week, a tired Jesus was trying to get some time alone. He’s just learned that his cousin, John the Baptist, has been killed by Herod, and he needs some alone time to process. But the crowds follow him, and they are hungry. Jesus pulls off one of his most famous miracles: feeding 5000 men plus women and children with a mere five loaves and two fish. But he is still exhausted, perhaps even more so now, so he sends his disciples ahead of him in the boat, and he goes up a mountain to pray. That’s where our story today starts.
In both stories where fear is palpable, God shows up in unexpected ways. Imagine as you listen what it would feel like to be there, encountering God in these ways, and think of what unexpected ways you have seen God show up in your life. Let’s listen.
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| Walking on Water by Ivan Aivazovsky, 1817-1900 |
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
To my great dismay, but not necessarily my surprise, the current division and partisanship in our country has somehow made even a global pandemic into a partisan issue. And sadly, because gathering for worship involves some particular challenges with this virus, it has also driven a bigger wedge through the already wide divisions within the Church. While many churches did as we did back in March – immediately closed the doors and hunkered down, following the advice of medical experts and scientists to limit the spread of the virus – other churches balked in the face of these recommendations. Some of this was based on a fear that the recommendations infringe upon our first amendment right to worship freely, a concern which I understand (though, frankly, we would have chosen to close the building even without these recommendations, so it’s really a non-issue). The other, more troubling argument for ignoring the recommendations, was to say, “I trust God to protect me from the virus. If it’s my time to go, it’s my time. But I have faith, so I do not fear this virus.”
It sounds pious enough, right, but there are numerous things wrong and, I would argue, unchristian about this approach, starting with the fact that slowing community spread of a deadly disease is at least as much about caring for one another as it is about our personal health (and to say, “I’m not afraid of getting sick” is to deny that each sick person puts many others in the community at risk - and we're about loving our neighbor!). But there is another issue with that argument that borders on spiritual abuse, and that is this: that to say, “I am not afraid because I trust God,” implicitly accuses the other of not having sufficient faith, as if to say, “If you have fear [in the midst of legitimately fearful things!], then you are not being a good Christian. Your faith is lacking.”
There are Christian traditions that preach this message. Unfortunately, the effect is often that, instead of inspiring courage or trust, that message burdens believers with guilt, shame, and hopelessness, while also not really assuaging the fear at all.
Thing is, fear is a completely natural human emotion. And while the scriptures are replete with imperatives to “fear not,” there is nothing in the Gospels that calls upon us to prove our faith by taking pointless risks that threaten our lives, or doing reckless things. As one preacher observes, “Whether we’re talking about respecting the power of the sea during a vicious storm, or heeding expert medical advice during a global pandemic, the same caution applies. Recklessness is not faith. Stupidity is not courage.”[1]
So, as your pastor, let me be clear: having fear in a fearful situation does not mean you lack faith. It means you are human, and that you have a functioning amygdala, the part of the brain stem that makes us feel fear. If you are seeing a ghostlike figure walking on water, or you’re drowning in a storm, it is appropriate to feel fear. You are no less a Christian for feeling it. If you feel fear as you face… sending your child to school during a pandemic, or social isolation, or a failing economy, or systemic racism, or political brokenness, or a strained marriage, or illness, or job insecurity or anxiety or depression – if you feel fear in the midst of those things, you are no less a person of faith, and no less a deeply beloved child of God.
No, the issue is not feeling fear. The issue is where that fear leads us. Look at where Peter is led. While many-a sermon has interpreted Peter’s reckless act of jumping out of the boat and into the storm as a faithful one – to the tune of, “Get out of the boat and step out in faith!” – I’m not so sure it is an act of faith. Listen to how this plays out: the disciples are in the midst of a storm in the middle of the night, and they see someone who looks like a ghost walking toward them on top of the water. They are understandably freaked, and they shout out. Jesus consoles them, saying, “Have courage. It’s me. No need to fear.” And Peter’s response is, “If it is you, Lord… prove it.” Does that sound like another famous identity test? Remember when Jesus was being tempted in the desert by the devil? “If you are the Son of God,” the devil says, and then gives him several tests to prove his identity. And here Peter says similar, “If it is you, command me to do the impossible, and walk out on the water toward you.” You see, his response was not one of faith, but of skepticism and distrust. Even though Jesus has just identified himself, he can’t believe this is really Jesus. So he seeks proof. (It’s worth noting that in just a couple chapters, Jesus will call Peter Satan: “Get behind me, Satan!” further solidifying this connection!)
I admit I’m guilty of this, of letting my reptilian brain lead me to distrust. Going back to that amygdala, that reptilian brain of ours that causes us to feel fear – it is what allows us to survive (fight or flight), but that response also drives me to respond to fearful situations sometimes with suspicion. I’m inclined toward a transactional relationship with God: “God, prove to me that you are here with me and that you care for me. I’ll do this, but you had better do your part in return.”
Thinking of Peter’s action this way totally changes then how I interpret Jesus’ question to him. “You of little faith. Why did you doubt?” I’ve always assumed that the moment of doubt Jesus was referring to is the moment Peter looked around at those huge waves and had that fear response again and started to sink. He doubted, so he sank. But now I think Jesus is talking about the fact that Peter questioned Jesus’ legitimacy! Peter’s true moment of doubt and faithlessness was when he asked Jesus to prove his love and care. Jesus’ question then is, “I told you who I am, Peter. Why didn’t you believe me? Why did you doubt that it was truly I who was coming to you? After all this time, why did you need me to prove it to you?” And this, to doubt who Jesus is and what he is about, strikes me as a far more egregious doubt than a simple fear of the storm.
The place of fear and doubt in a life of faith is one that comes up in many conversations I have had as a pastor. It’s one that comes up in my own life of faith. It comes up a lot because fear and doubt are such natural human emotions, and because we’ve given into the narrative that these things are the opposite of faith. And so, we seek consolation by looking to Peter, reckless, impetuous, suspicious, eager Peter. Even in his fear, we say, Peter had the courage to step out of the boat and into the storm. We should be like Peter. But while Peter is a useful mirror for our own human condition, our faults and our follies, our consolation cannot come from Peter. It can only come from Jesus. Notice that, while Peter’s actions are all over the place, Jesus never falters. From the beginning of the story, Jesus comes to those he loves. He comes to them when they are in a storm at sea. He comes to them when they think he is a menacing ghost. He comes to them when they shout out in fear. He comes to them when Peter sets out to test him. He comes to them when Peter starts to drown and calls out for help. He comes to them when a soaking wet Peter regrets his rashness. He comes to them when they suddenly realize who Jesus is, and make the confession that Peter, in his fear, was unable himself to believe: that Jesus is the very Son of God.
Jesus never stops coming to this fearful, doubting, suspicious bunch of disciples, and he never stops coming to us. He never shames us for our fear. He never tells us to just try harder. He comes to us. He loves us. He saves us, beckoning us when we are unsure, grabbing our hand when we start to drown, helping us to stay afloat when the waters come up over our heads, and climbing with us into our wind-battered boat. As always, this story is not about us, or about Peter. It is about Christ, and his saving action. It is about Christ, calling out to us, over the tempestuous winds, and into our tempestuous hearts, “Have courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”
Let us pray… Steadfast God, the storms of life swirl around us and often lead us to fear and doubt. As we feel these human emotions, bring us your assurance that you are who you say you are, and that with you, we need not be afraid. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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