Steadiness
Series: Pentecost
Speaker: The Rev'd Emily Griffin
Talk about made for television. Today’s Gospel has all the elements of a classic one-hour episode: the teaser as Jesus leaves the disciples, the rising action of the wind and waves of the storm, the dramatic climax as Jesus walks out to them on the water. Any fears seem to be immediately addressed. The disciples think they see a ghost; immediately Jesus reassures them. Peter starts to sink; immediately a hand reaches out to catch him. Even the ending seems tidy in this version. While Mark understandably leaves the disciples astounded and confused, our Gospel writer Matthew has them give their first full-blown confession of faith. Cut to theme music and closing credits.
Too bad our fears tend not to dissolve so easily. Television has spoiled us. We’ve come to expect episodes, manageable crises, problems that can be resolved in a reasonable amount of time. We don’t know what to do as a country when there is no end in sight – when a thousand people keep dying daily from the coronavirus, when unemployment continues to climb, when Black Americans are still fighting for equal protection under the law. Meanwhile, in places where the cameras have stopped rolling, environmental damage hasn’t stopped. The immigration system remains horrifically broken. You name the storm; we can’t seem to get a handle on any of it these days. The sense that “we’re all in this together” seems to be slipping from our grasp. So, how can today’s Gospel, with all its apparent tidiness, possibly help us?
Well, personally, I love that this passage starts with Jesus needing some alone time. If our Savior needed room to breathe and pray apart from his well-intended loved ones, then maybe it’s OK for us to claim some space too. In the story, he’s just found out about his cousin John the Baptist’s execution; he goes to a deserted place to grieve, to consider his own fate, to gather the courage required to stay on this path. But, of course, the sea of need finds him there too. Finally, he catches a break. Can you imagine how he must have savored the silence, the respite from endless demands? The fact that this time apart doesn’t last long doesn’t mean he didn’t need it or that he was wrong to seek it. Let’s be clear - we’re not wrong or selfish to seek time apart either; in fact, a little shelter from the storm might be just what we need to endure it.
But then it’s back to the action. Somehow Jesus manages to overcome his own need and meets the disciples in the midst of the storm, in the middle of their fear. I’m not going to explain it; any rational explanation rings hollow. Nor am I going to reduce it all to metaphor; that’s equally dismissive. This story conveys something about the disciples’ experience of Jesus that couldn’t be communicated any other way. Perhaps it was his steadiness and non-anxious presence they couldn’t express; or maybe it was his refusal to abandon them to chaos that required this story to be told. The disciples had heard all their lives in synagogue about a God who “silence(s) the roaring of the seas”, who “makes a path in the mighty waters”. In Jesus, they saw this God made flesh. The peace that passes all understanding found them that night; they saw peace in the face of Jesus, and they had to let us know.
Even our doubt is named and given expression here. Matthew is the only Gospel to mention Peter’s brief sojourn on the waves. I can’t tell you how many sermons I’ve heard criticizing Peter for his lack of faith, his inability to stay focused on Jesus. I don’t know why we feel the need to put others down in order to lift Jesus up, as if Jesus requires this of us. Nor do I know why we feel the need to put the hammer down on anyone who steps away from the herd. We don’t need to condemn Peter for his need to get out of the boat any more than we need to condemn the others for staying put. Shaming our fellow boat members for their expressions of faith or doubt in the middle of a storm is more than not helpful; most often, it’s a self-serving waste of time.
Some, though, hear a note of shaming in Jesus’ reply as he gets Peter back in the boat: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” We don’t get stage directions in Scripture; we can’t hear tone of voice or read facial expressions, but shame is not what I hear. If anything, I hear a little humor. Who wouldn’t doubt in this moment? Regardless, Jesus asks Peter a question; he doesn’t shut down the conversation. In fact, he opens it up. Doubt that can be named can be dealt with. Besides, doubt is not the opposite of faith. Sometimes it’s the best tool for strengthening our faith once we have the courage to let it show.
Nevertheless, the story ends not with doubt but with the disciples’ strongest commitment of faith yet. We’re told that they worship him as the Son of God. Why now? They’ve been with Jesus for a while. They’ve heard his teachings; they’ve seen him feed and heal thousands of people. If all they needed was the showy and miraculous, they’d already seen that. No, there was something about this moment, how he came to them and stayed with them in their fear. His steadiness, his willingness to come to them when they were flailing, his comfort level with their doubt. He wasn’t consumed or panicked by the chaos of the storm; he stayed with them, and he called them to courage. The good news today is that he does the same thing with us. Jesus is here with us in the midst of our many storms. He doesn’t shame us for our fear or our doubt, but neither does he let us off the hook. If he can stay steady and alert and responsive to the very real needs around him, then so can we. Who knows? If we let ourselves stay with him, the peace that passes all understanding might just find us too. In the Name of the One who stays with us long after the cameras stop rolling, Amen.