A Little Faith Can Make Waves
Scripture Reading: Matt. 14:22-33
I haven’t yet seen the movie Oppenheimer, one of the surprise hits at the box office this summer, along with Barbie, but I intend to. Oppenheimer is directed by Christopher Nolan, who directed one of my absolute favorite films, Dunkirk. Dunkirk tells the true story of the miraculous evacuation of some 350,000 British troops from the beaches of Dunkirk, a French town along the English Channel, in the early days of World War II. With the German Army having cut off all avenues of escape via land, the British were forced into a tiny corridor along the beachhead. If they were to escape, they would have to wait for the Royal Navy to rescue them.
However, the Royal Navy lacked enough ships to transport so many men. They therefore issued an emergency call for all available civilian vessels (as in pleasure boats, fishing boats, etc.) to join in the rescue effort. As the troops waited on the beaches to board various vessels, the Germany Army drew ever closer, while the Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, strafed them from above with machine guns and bombs.
As desperate as the men were to get off the beach, they faced additional peril once they boarded a vessel and were on the water. One harrowing scene in the film captures this well. With the troops all crammed below deck of a Navy ship, enjoying a cup of hot tea and a slice of toast with jam, a torpedo from a German submarine slams into the hull. The ship, which had been their salvation, is now a death trap. The only chance of survival is to leap into the sea in the pitch dark of night.
I can only imagine how terrifying it must have been to plunge into the watery depths amid the darkness of night, unable to discern sea from sky. The conditions are not precisely the same, but in today’s Scripture reading, Peter takes a similar leap into the watery chaos under a blanket of darkness, and in the midst of a storm, no less.
Today we resume our walk through the Gospel of Matthew. For context, Jesus has just turned five loaves of bread and two measly fish into a feast for thousands. Matthew doesn’t record the disciples’ reaction to this miracle, but I imagine that they’re probably contemplating it still. Did you see what he did? How did he do that? What does it mean? Who is he?
Now, as evening draws near, Jesus dismisses the crowds and commands the disciples to get in their boat and sail to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. He will join them later. First, he wants to spend some time alone in prayer. Like Moses, who went up the mountain to commune with God, Jesus goes up the mountain to pray.
While Jesus prays up on the mountain, the disciples find themselves in the midst of a violent storm as they attempt to cross the sea. The boat is battered by the waves, and the wind is against them, making it impossible to reach the opposite shore. Then, in the midst of all the tumult of the storm, they spot a figure walking toward them…on the surface of the water! As if battling the storm were not terrifying enough, now the disciples believe that a ghost has come to terrorize them, and they cry out in fear.
It’s easy for us, hearing this story in the bright morning calm, and with the knowledge that it was, indeed, Jesus approaching the disciples on the water, to roll our eyes at yet another example of the disciples’ inability to recognize Jesus for who he is. This isn’t even the first time that he’s done something remarkable in their presence in the midst of a storm. Earlier in Matthew Jesus calms a raging storm that the disciples feared would shatter their boat to pieces. Afterwards, they asked themselves, “What sort of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?”
But what was true for the disciples in a literal sense is true for us metaphorically: when our lives are battered by the gale-force winds of job loss, divorce, or a dreaded diagnosis, or when we fear that we are about to drown in debt or sink under waves of depression, it can be difficult to recognize Jesus. We think that if we’re suffering, then Jesus must be keeping us at arm’s length. Maybe he’s even upset with us, and our suffering is punishment for some sin that we committed.
We think that if we’re suffering, then Jesus must be keeping us at arm’s length. Maybe he’s even upset with us, and our suffering is punishment for some sin that we committed.
That is a lie. It is a lie straight from the pit of hell. The truth, as is reflected in the Gospel, is that Jesus comes to us in the midst of whatever storm is assaulting us. Amid the banshee howl of the wind, and with the waves knocking us over and threatening to drag us under, Jesus comes to us and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
“It is I,” while grammatically correct, sounds a bit formal, doesn’t it? I can almost hear Jesus saying it like a Shakespearean actor. A less formal translation might say, “Don’t worry, it’s me.” But a literal translation of Matthew’s Greek would be, “I am.” “Take heart; I am.” That sounds a bit awkward, until you realize the connection that Matthew is making to the name for God in the Old Testament. When God speaks to Moses from the burning bush, commanding him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, Moses asks, “Who shall I say sent me?” God answers, “Tell them I AM sent you.”
Matthew is implicitly connecting Jesus with the God of Israel, suggesting that Jesus is more than a moral philosopher, a wisdom teacher, or a worker of miracles. He is the God who called Moses in the desert. He is the God of the patriarchs—Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is the God who has dominion over all things, including water. He is the God who separated the waters of creation, creating sky and sea. He is the God of the cleansing flood and new beginnings. He is the God who parted the Red Sea, freeing the Israelites from captivity. Therefore, Matthew suggests, he is also the God who walks on water.
This is why, with the waves washing on to the deck and with the wind blowing the boat further off course, Jesus can say to the disciples, “Do not be afraid.” He doesn’t mean that we have nothing to fear. Full stop. Any kind of major life disruption can instill fear. All those things I mentioned a moment ago—job loss, divorce, serious health issues, financial peril, mental health challenges, and more—can make us fearful. That’s because they represent unwanted change. We fear what we cannot control, and change is largely out of our control.
We fear what we cannot control, and change is largely out of our control.
At the same time, “Do not be afraid” is not meant as a word of encouragement, as if Jesus were calling us to a kind of stoic resolve in which we summon the courage from some inner fortitude in order to face our fears. Think of the British concept of “keeping a stiff upper lip,” or the American concept of “Don’t let them see you sweat.”
Rather than a command or a word of encouragement, “Do not be afraid” is actually a promise. What Jesus is saying is that he is with us in the midst of whatever makes us fearful. He did not leave the disciples to face the storm on their own, and he does not leave us to our own devices when fear holds us in its grasp. Take heart; I AM with you.
And with the assurance that Jesus is with us, we can step out in faith, even in the presence of that which we fear. Like Peter, we can leave the safety of the boat and take a halting step forward, following the voice of the one who calls us to come.
What was going through Peter’s mind, I wonder, when his foot first touched the water, when he stepped from the firmness of the wooden deck and stepped forward into the darkness and swirling chaos of the wind and the waves? Perhaps he wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe he was so wrapped up in the moment that he wasn’t even contemplating what he was doing, like a musician improvising a solo.
Years ago I read a book in which Eric Clapton, the great English blues guitarist, described how when playing a live solo he could lose all sense of self-awareness. It was when he would try to analyze what he was playing that the spell would break. Something like that happens here with Peter. Verse 30 reads, “But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord save me!”
Now, this is the point when in some sermons the pastor will say that Peter’s mistake was becoming distracted by the wind and taking his eye off of Jesus. Therefore if we would just keep Jesus in our sight, and not become distracted by the world around us, all will be well.
I don’t care for that interpretation because—and this is deeply ironic—it puts the focus on us and what we must do rather than on Jesus and what he does for us. The point is not that Peter stumbled and began to sink because his faith was too weak. The point is that Jesus is there to save Peter. What Peter cannot do for himself, Jesus does for him. Peter’s cry, “Lord, save me!”, is the cry of every Christian.
Peter’s cry, “Lord, save me!”, is the cry of every Christian.
Yes, it’s true that Jesus says to Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” But rather than hearing that as criticism, I invite us to hear it as praise. Yes, praise! Jesus isn’t saying to Peter, If only your faith were stronger, you could have walked all the way to me. Rather, let us recognize that Peter’s faith, as small as it was, led him to step out of the boat when no other disciple dared to do so. Consider what Jesus tells the disciples later in this Gospel. He tells them that if they had faith as small as a mustard seed, they could move mountains. A little faith is enough. A little faith will do. Even a little faith can make waves.