Through the Deep Waters
Scriptures: Matthew 14:22-33
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
My brother got back from a trip to Scotland a few weeks ago. He showed me his pictures of Loch Ness this weekend. The water, he said, was very dark and it looked deep. And in the pictures, the water certainly looks forbidding. It was a grey color, like iron, with only a hint of dark blue in it. Looking at the water, and recognizing how deep the lake is, it doesn’t surprise me that this is the legendary home of a certain fabled water monster named Nessie. Even on the mild day my brother was there, the water seemed to hold secrets.
The Sea of Galilee, where the disciples find themselves in our story today, could easily be compared to Loch Ness. It’s wider than the Scottish lake, but only about 20 miles long. When I was comparing them very scientifically in my college geography textbook, they seemed to be roughly the same size. Which is to say, large enough to be many fathoms deep with dark, murky waters.
The setting, then, for reading from Matthew, is an ominous one. Not only are the waters deep and dark, not only have the disciples have been sent out into the middle of it alone, without Jesus, but night is falling and a storm is rising. The little boat begins to rock and crash as the waves get higher and the rain is falling down. The disciples batten down the hatches. There are experienced fishermen among them who know what trouble looks like. The forces of chaos, the unknown, and destruction surround them.
In the middle of what must at least be considered a tense situation, Jesus decides to walk out to the disciples huddled together in the dinghy. Peter looks out on the water and sees him. Now, the last thing Peter saw Jesus do was to feed 5,000 people with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. That was pretty impressive. But it’s the kind of thing that’s sort of not breaking the rules, if you know what I mean. More bread can be made, more fish can be caught. It’s just that this time they appeared without anyone knowing exactly how. But walking on the water is another story. In fact, this is the kind of thing that only the creator can do—tame the wild waters of chaos and disorder. So when he thinks he sees Jesus on the water (and remember that they didn’t have semaphores or fog lights in those days) Peter hesitates:
“Is that you, Jesus? Really you?”
Jesus says, “Yes, I am who I am.”
“If it’s really you, tell me to walk on the water with you.”
Jesus answers, “Come.”
Peter gets out of the boat, and at first he succeeds, but his success is short-lived and he sinks into the crashing waves.
“Save me!” he cries out.
Jesus runs up to him, lifts him back into the boat, saying, “Oh Peter, why did you doubt? Why did you vacillate?”
And as the disciples fall down worshipping Jesus, the waters of the sea smooth and settle into gentle ripples.
The ancient Israelites, who lived more than 1000 years before Jesus, did not imagine the act of creating the world, as we sometimes do, as one of bringing something out of nothing. Instead, God’s work was to bring order to the chaos of what already existed—water. In the beginning, Genesis tells us, God’s Spirit hovered over the waters. Later God begins to form the world by splitting the water to make sky and ocean, and then commanding the ocean to draw back, revealing land below. Water, in the creation stories, is unformed, chaotic raw material.
For the early Christians in Matthew’s community, who felt like they were out in the middle of the lake alone, the chaotic waters of our gospel story take on the added dimensions of persecution, helplessness, and loneliness. Numbers have already left because the going was too rough, and God seems very distant. They are in danger, with no help in sight, and they can’t see the shoreline.
How many of us have been in a similar situation, with the waves crashing ominously against the sides of our boat, and with no land in sight? The deep waters could be many things to us—grief and illness that threaten to drown us in pain, or a long-standing, deep-seated stuckness in the form of spiritual dryness, unemployment, or relationship problems that keep resurfacing.
And then there are the times when we are very conscious of our own deaths. In the church I grew up in, it is common to baptize babies, but it is important to remember that for both infants and grown-ups, the time spent underwater is symbolic of death. Joseph, in our story from Genesis today is in such a life-threatening situation when his jealous brothers throw him into a waterless pit. He will die quickly if they decide to leave him there in the desert heat. The waves crash hard against his boat. It’s not much of an improvement when the brothers pull him out of the pit so they can sell him into slavery. Joseph is going through the deep waters, with no shore in sight.
Of course, the fact that Joseph could die for lack of water may give us a different perspective on water as a symbol. That is, we need it to really live. Chaos and the unknown, persecution and difficulty, are baptisms that help us die to the old so that we can live to the new. Without water, I will die, but through the deep waters I will die and live again.
So what do we do in a situation like this? When the boat is rocking and the deep waters threaten to drown us? What do we do? Watch for Jesus. When Peter saw Jesus walking toward them across the water, as only the Creator-God can do, when Peter saw Jesus taming the waves and confidently striding toward the boat, he was, to say the least, surprised. More to the point, he did not believe his eyes. “Is that you, Master?” He called out. Jesus answered, “Yes,” but it a particularly meaningful way. He echoes God’s words to Moses on Mt. Sinai from more than a thousand years before: “I am who I am,” I am, in other words, your teacher and your God. I am the one who created you, and who walks beside you. I am the one who can tame the waters. I am.
And then comes the most critical moment in this story. For some of us hearing this story, we think it is a story about Peter being able to walk on the water with Jesus. If only—we think—if only we had enough faith to get out of the boat and start walking on the water. Peter almost did it, but then failed. But maybe with enough faith we can make the seas smooth and placid, walk over the water like it doesn’t affect us, calm the storms and stop the waves that are crashing against our boats.
But Peter walking on the water and then sinking into it is not the most important moment in the story. The most critical moment for us boat-dwellers comes now: Peter says, “If it is really you…” If it is really you, Jesus, show me a sign. If you are really God, prove it to me. If it is really you, make it possible for me to get out of this boat and walk on the waters with you.
This time Jesus gives Peter the sign he’s looking for, and Peter walks on the water, however briefly. And I think many of us have had those brief experiences that feel like walking on water—we are above and beyond the troubles of the world, and we feel the perfect love of God for the world, or the unity of all creation. But those are moments God gives to us as a gift. They are an encouragement for our faith, but what takes faith—real faithfulness—is for us to stay in the boat. To watch for Jesus coming across the water when we feel most alone. To feel the waves and know they are real and that we are in danger. To be ready to die to the old so that we can live again the new life that Jesus promises us.
For many people a hard question about religion is this: how can you believe in God when there is so much suffering in the world? And the question is often asked with a sense of incredulity, as in, “How can you possibly do such a thing?” But I think for today there is an answer for how we can keep the faith. It’s not by avoiding the deep waters, and it’s not by calming the waves crashing against our boat, and it’s not by walking on the water like gods. We can only do it—we can only remain faithful—if we are watching for Jesus.
Please pray with me:
Loving God, when it feels like we’re on the boat, with the storm coming up hard, be present with us. When we go through deep waters, comfort us. When we have to die to our old life, raise us up to new life in you. We pray, trusting in your Son Jesus, who walks with us now. Amen.
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
My brother got back from a trip to Scotland a few weeks ago. He showed me his pictures of Loch Ness this weekend. The water, he said, was very dark and it looked deep. And in the pictures, the water certainly looks forbidding. It was a grey color, like iron, with only a hint of dark blue in it. Looking at the water, and recognizing how deep the lake is, it doesn’t surprise me that this is the legendary home of a certain fabled water monster named Nessie. Even on the mild day my brother was there, the water seemed to hold secrets.
The Sea of Galilee, where the disciples find themselves in our story today, could easily be compared to Loch Ness. It’s wider than the Scottish lake, but only about 20 miles long. When I was comparing them very scientifically in my college geography textbook, they seemed to be roughly the same size. Which is to say, large enough to be many fathoms deep with dark, murky waters.
The setting, then, for reading from Matthew, is an ominous one. Not only are the waters deep and dark, not only have the disciples have been sent out into the middle of it alone, without Jesus, but night is falling and a storm is rising. The little boat begins to rock and crash as the waves get higher and the rain is falling down. The disciples batten down the hatches. There are experienced fishermen among them who know what trouble looks like. The forces of chaos, the unknown, and destruction surround them.
In the middle of what must at least be considered a tense situation, Jesus decides to walk out to the disciples huddled together in the dinghy. Peter looks out on the water and sees him. Now, the last thing Peter saw Jesus do was to feed 5,000 people with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. That was pretty impressive. But it’s the kind of thing that’s sort of not breaking the rules, if you know what I mean. More bread can be made, more fish can be caught. It’s just that this time they appeared without anyone knowing exactly how. But walking on the water is another story. In fact, this is the kind of thing that only the creator can do—tame the wild waters of chaos and disorder. So when he thinks he sees Jesus on the water (and remember that they didn’t have semaphores or fog lights in those days) Peter hesitates:
“Is that you, Jesus? Really you?”
Jesus says, “Yes, I am who I am.”
“If it’s really you, tell me to walk on the water with you.”
Jesus answers, “Come.”
Peter gets out of the boat, and at first he succeeds, but his success is short-lived and he sinks into the crashing waves.
“Save me!” he cries out.
Jesus runs up to him, lifts him back into the boat, saying, “Oh Peter, why did you doubt? Why did you vacillate?”
And as the disciples fall down worshipping Jesus, the waters of the sea smooth and settle into gentle ripples.
The ancient Israelites, who lived more than 1000 years before Jesus, did not imagine the act of creating the world, as we sometimes do, as one of bringing something out of nothing. Instead, God’s work was to bring order to the chaos of what already existed—water. In the beginning, Genesis tells us, God’s Spirit hovered over the waters. Later God begins to form the world by splitting the water to make sky and ocean, and then commanding the ocean to draw back, revealing land below. Water, in the creation stories, is unformed, chaotic raw material.
For the early Christians in Matthew’s community, who felt like they were out in the middle of the lake alone, the chaotic waters of our gospel story take on the added dimensions of persecution, helplessness, and loneliness. Numbers have already left because the going was too rough, and God seems very distant. They are in danger, with no help in sight, and they can’t see the shoreline.
How many of us have been in a similar situation, with the waves crashing ominously against the sides of our boat, and with no land in sight? The deep waters could be many things to us—grief and illness that threaten to drown us in pain, or a long-standing, deep-seated stuckness in the form of spiritual dryness, unemployment, or relationship problems that keep resurfacing.
And then there are the times when we are very conscious of our own deaths. In the church I grew up in, it is common to baptize babies, but it is important to remember that for both infants and grown-ups, the time spent underwater is symbolic of death. Joseph, in our story from Genesis today is in such a life-threatening situation when his jealous brothers throw him into a waterless pit. He will die quickly if they decide to leave him there in the desert heat. The waves crash hard against his boat. It’s not much of an improvement when the brothers pull him out of the pit so they can sell him into slavery. Joseph is going through the deep waters, with no shore in sight.
Of course, the fact that Joseph could die for lack of water may give us a different perspective on water as a symbol. That is, we need it to really live. Chaos and the unknown, persecution and difficulty, are baptisms that help us die to the old so that we can live to the new. Without water, I will die, but through the deep waters I will die and live again.
So what do we do in a situation like this? When the boat is rocking and the deep waters threaten to drown us? What do we do? Watch for Jesus. When Peter saw Jesus walking toward them across the water, as only the Creator-God can do, when Peter saw Jesus taming the waves and confidently striding toward the boat, he was, to say the least, surprised. More to the point, he did not believe his eyes. “Is that you, Master?” He called out. Jesus answered, “Yes,” but it a particularly meaningful way. He echoes God’s words to Moses on Mt. Sinai from more than a thousand years before: “I am who I am,” I am, in other words, your teacher and your God. I am the one who created you, and who walks beside you. I am the one who can tame the waters. I am.
And then comes the most critical moment in this story. For some of us hearing this story, we think it is a story about Peter being able to walk on the water with Jesus. If only—we think—if only we had enough faith to get out of the boat and start walking on the water. Peter almost did it, but then failed. But maybe with enough faith we can make the seas smooth and placid, walk over the water like it doesn’t affect us, calm the storms and stop the waves that are crashing against our boats.
But Peter walking on the water and then sinking into it is not the most important moment in the story. The most critical moment for us boat-dwellers comes now: Peter says, “If it is really you…” If it is really you, Jesus, show me a sign. If you are really God, prove it to me. If it is really you, make it possible for me to get out of this boat and walk on the waters with you.
This time Jesus gives Peter the sign he’s looking for, and Peter walks on the water, however briefly. And I think many of us have had those brief experiences that feel like walking on water—we are above and beyond the troubles of the world, and we feel the perfect love of God for the world, or the unity of all creation. But those are moments God gives to us as a gift. They are an encouragement for our faith, but what takes faith—real faithfulness—is for us to stay in the boat. To watch for Jesus coming across the water when we feel most alone. To feel the waves and know they are real and that we are in danger. To be ready to die to the old so that we can live again the new life that Jesus promises us.
For many people a hard question about religion is this: how can you believe in God when there is so much suffering in the world? And the question is often asked with a sense of incredulity, as in, “How can you possibly do such a thing?” But I think for today there is an answer for how we can keep the faith. It’s not by avoiding the deep waters, and it’s not by calming the waves crashing against our boat, and it’s not by walking on the water like gods. We can only do it—we can only remain faithful—if we are watching for Jesus.
Please pray with me:
Loving God, when it feels like we’re on the boat, with the storm coming up hard, be present with us. When we go through deep waters, comfort us. When we have to die to our old life, raise us up to new life in you. We pray, trusting in your Son Jesus, who walks with us now. Amen.
posted by Amy Sens at 1:24 PM
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