Sermon on Matthew14:22-33

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

Peter gets a bad rapin this story for getting freaked out and starting to sink, but no one who has never walked on water should be judging.

Peter’s the only one who got out of the boat! Granted, he’s the one who suggested it, as a test to make sure it was really Jesus. I don’t blame him, though, for being scared by an ominous figure approaching their wave-battered boat in the early hours of the morning. All it takes is a dark hallway to fill my mind with all kinds of scary things.

So, yes, Peter sank, but he had faith that Jesus could give him the ability to walk on water in the first place and then the trust to call out for Jesus to save him.

Peter made a faith-filled suggestion and then accepted Jesus’ invitation to join him out on the water.

And when that became too much and his fears overcame him, Jesus was there to rescue him.

Those who witnessed the exchange, though they stayed in the boat, worshipped Jesus, confessing him as the Son of God.

That’s truly what this story is about. Yes, it’s a vignette about Peter biting off more than he could chew, but ultimately, it’s about showing that Jesus has the kind of relationship with the natural world that only the One who created it could have.

And at the same time, there’s something personal about this. Yes, Jesus has awesome power. And also, Jesus responded when Peter cried out in his panic, “save me!”

At the end of this story, Jesus’ disciples believed more fervently that Jesus was the Son of God. And also, they had experienced something that surpassed head knowledge. I wonder if they ever woke in the early hours of the morning and remembered Jesus’ words calling to them through the rough wind, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Though it’s clunky in English, “it is I” is better translated as “I am,” God’s name given to Moses from the burning bush.For both Moses and Jesus’ disciples, they were experiencing both an illustration of God’s miraculous nature and a personal encounter with God that would change their lives forever.

One of my favorite poems uses the story of Peter walking on water to describe multiple ways of learning that can connect us with God. It’s called “Poetics of Faith” by Denise Levertov:

‘Straight to the point’
           can ricochet,
                      unconvincing.
Circumlocution, analogy,
           parable’s ambiguities, provide
                      context, stepping-stones.
 
Most of the time. And then
 
the lightning power
           amidst these indirections,
                      of plain
unheralded miracle!
           For example,
                      as if forgetting
to prepare them, He simply
           walks on water
                      towards them, casually –
and impetuous Peter, empowered,
           jumps from the boat and rushes
                      On wave-tip to meet Him –
a few steps, anyway –
           (till it occurs to him,
                      ‘I can’t, this is preposterous’
and Jesus has to grab him,
           tumble his weight
                      back over the gunwale).
Sustaining those light and swift
           steps was more than Peter
                      could manage. Still,
years later,
           his toes and insteps, just before sleep,
                      would remember their passage.

I love the way she concludes that Peter’s body remembered the miraculous amid what’s often pointed to as a failure. “Sustaining those light and swift steps was more than Peter could manage,” but even the momentary experience of walking on water would stay with him forever.

Maybe what we consider failure deserves further consideration.

We all have seeming failures in our lives—embarrassments, times we’ve been passed over, mistakes (even grave ones), decisions that led to outcomes we didn’t want.

In my early twenties, I moved to Denver to be near my college boyfriend. I quit my job and movedseveral states away to live in a friend’s furnished basement. I moved in January, which was not the best call for someone who had never lived in snow before.

I found a temp job and a church community and did everything I could think of to try to build a life there.

But I quickly became horribly homesick.I cried daily and felt my energy draining away. I tried to exercise and eat well and make friends and get involved in the community and continue my hobbies—everything I could to adjust to what was arguably a very comfortable and privileged life.

But as spring arrived and the weather warmed and the flowers bloomed, I was still miserable.

So, in April, only a few months after arriving, I broke up with my boyfriend and moved back to California. I moved back in with my folks, got my old job back, and licked my wounds.

I felt like a failure—a spoiled young adult who couldn’t cut it in a life others would kill for.

“Sustaining those light and swift was more than [I] could manage.”

Still, as much as I wouldn’t want to relive those months, I’m grateful for what they taught me.

I learned a lot about growing up and living on my own.

I learned that most other places don’t say “the” before freeway numbers. And that you have to shovel your car out while it’s still snowing or you’ll get a ring of ice around your car. Learned that one the hard way…

I found out how much I love where I grew up, which paved the way for me to serve this community.

I learned that there’s room in my heart for more than one congregation. I fell deeply in love with the congregation I worshiped with there even as I missed my home congregation terribly.

I found out how very strong my safety net is, which I try never to take for granted.Without it, what was a very mild setback could have been devastating. It built my awareness that so many don’t have that kind of support and connection.

And I relearned to lean on God. This wasn’t the sort of situation where I hit rock bottom, pleaded with God, and then everything got better. I was praying fervently throughout, and things didn’t seem to improve. I wondered if I was doing something wrong.

It felt like a long time that the waves battered and the wind buffeted, and it felt like a long time that I was crying out, “save me!”

But even though things didn’t miraculously or instantaneously get better, God was with me the whole time. Even though I was still sad and scared and lonely, God was in the church community that embraced me. God was in my generous friends who housed me. God was in my safety net that made it so I could return home. God was in the small things that kept me going day by day and helped me return to myself over the course of time.

Now, again, in the grand scheme of things, this was a pretty mild “failure,” and you might not even call it a storm, but it felt like it at the time. The wind and waves knocked me off balance, I sank, and Jesus “tumbled [my] weight back over the gunwale.” Then, I sat sopping wet and embarrassed in the boat for a while.

But “still, years later,” I can look back and see how Jesus was there with me through the whole thing, inviting me to try something new, be willing to take risks, and trust that he would be there to respond when I cried out for help, even if it wasn’t as quickly as I would have preferred.

Whatever storms you’re facing, whatever winds are stinging your eyes, remember Who made the water in the first place and remember that God’s on your side. Be willing to get out of the boat. Even if you sink, Jesus is there with you.

Even when it feels like the wind is against you, Jesus is calling out: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”