August 11, 2002
"The voice of the LORD is a powerful voice; the voice of the LORD is a voice of splendor." (Psalm 29:4)
Every week, printed prominently, right under the graphic on the cover of our bulletin is our mission statement: To know Christ, and to make him known. It is printed on the Vestry agenda, the Vestry minutes, and our letterhead.
It is not merely a nice slogan, a kind of pious "white noise." It is our hope that as you come on a Sunday to worship, you will leave this place blessed and with a deeper knowledge of the Lord. It is our hope that you will always find good reason to bring your family, your friends, your neighbors, and your co-workers with you to worship. It is always our prayer that they will leave here blessed, and with a deeper (or perhaps new) knowledge of the Lord.
The story we have just heard is filled with information, filled with fuel for the imagination; it is filled with inspiration for living with hope and purpose in a world troubled with violence, chaos, and hate. Come with me into the story again, let's take our time, let's invite the Holy Spirit to light up our hearts with the knowledge of the Lord.
He's just fed over 5,000 people. Rather than basking in the wonder of this, rather than discussing all this with his disciples, we're told he sends them off to the other side of the lake. As they leave, he dismisses the people and goes by himself to pray. To know Christ: he went to be alone to pray. We could well follow his example making the time, as he did, for personal, as well as common prayer.
Apparently storms can come up quite suddenly on the sea of Galilee, and that is what happened to the disciples. Too far to return easily the disciples were committed to their course. Wind and wave impeded their progress, it was hard work and they weren't going to attain their goal any time soon. Let your imagination go here, how often are we beset by storms quite suddenly? Too far into it to turn around, we are committed to moving forward despite the wind and waves.
The storm could be a problem or challenge with employment, or our health. The storm could come in the form of family relationships (or non-relationships). The storm might be in the form of a broken promise or trust, the death of a loved one, a prayer seemingly unanswered by God. Like the band of disciples working their way across the lake, we are engulfed by darkness. Our boat seems too small, the sea too big, the wind too strong, the waves too large. And like them, we don't know where the Lord is, only that he is not with us.
Jesus comes to them just before the dawn—or is he their dawn? Sighting the figure on the water, robes whipped by the wind, they think they are seeing a ghost. Despite the feeding of the 5,000 they still don't get who he is. Coming to the wrong conclusion, they were terrified.
In this sacred story, we see clearly that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but fear. The disciples were in the dark, battered by wind and wave, without the Lord, and they were afraid. Again, it is an easy leap from the story long ago and far away to our story, here and now. In our darkest moments, when all that we have, when all that we are, is threatened, shaken, battered, being destroyed, we are not reduced to doubt as much as we are afraid. We are afraid that the storm is all that is real and it is going to overwhelm us. We are afraid that it isn't the Lord we have spotted coming to us, but rather a ghost, an illusion, a figment of our overwrought imagination.
And into this moment comes the one whose voice we want to hear, the one whose voice is both powerful and filled with splendor (not to mention comfort). In the sacred story, Jesus is headed into the wind and yet his voice carries to the terrified disciples in the boat, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."
Take heart, have courage, lift your head, calm your heart, understand that you will win the victory. It is I. You have longed for my voice, longed for my presence, now you see that I am with you. And as we hear the story we know some other words unknown to that group in the boat: "I am with you always, to the end of the age." (Mt 28:20) Do not be afraid.
Jesus did not speak a single word in rebuke or judgment or contempt to this terrified group of men. It was good news then, it continues to be good news today. No matter how terrified, no matter how wrong in our assessment of the situation or of God's presence in our storm, the Lord comes to us (like he did long ago) first with words of comfort and strength: Take heart—you who are without a job, you who are looking for other work, you who have just heard you have cancer, you who have just heard of the death of a one you loved, you who wonder what new trial will be yours in the new day—take heart. It is I, your Lord, the Lord of all creation, your brother, your redeemer, it is I. He comes to us with words of reassurance: Do not be afraid.
As the story continues we have Peter, my favorite disciple. Perhaps he needed to speak for all the others (perhaps they let him speak for them). Perhaps he was just impulsive. "Lord, if it is you," he blurts out, "command me to come to you on the water." There are at least two lessons here for us 21st century disciples and friends of the Lord. First, be careful what you pray for, you just may get it. Peter asked the Lord to command him to come, to walk on the water as he made his way to him. Command me, Peter petitioned. And, of course, he got we he asked. This incredible request is made in the context of a very shaky faith "Lord, if it is you . . . ." Peter, despite the words of Jesus, is still not too sure. Peter wants to check this out. Part of him believes it is the Lord, part of him does not.
This second lesson is very reassuring to me. Even when I do not feel holy, do not feel connected to the Lord, even when I question the Lord's presence in my life, even then, if I can get out my prayer in timidity, in doubt, in ignorance, it will be heard, that is what I understand from this sacred story. Without judgment, without a rebuke for his timidity, Jesus receives the request of Peter and gives him what he asked, Jesus bids him come.
Faith doesn't have to be perfect in order to call out in prayer. The prayer doesn't have to be eloquent, it doesn't have to follow a formula, it just has to be spoken.
As we watch Peter leave the boat we hold our breath. What will happen? He is looking at Jesus, he focuses upon the Lord as he leaves the boat. He steps into the darkness, he steps into the wind, he steps upon the wave of the storm looking at his Lord who has bid him come. Were his steps as timid as his prayer, or did he walk boldly? How many steps did he manage? Was his heart racing, his palms sweaty? I don't know, I can only imagine.
But I do know what it is like to step out of relative safety into the storm. I know the shaky prayer of Peter fearing both that it will not be heard at all, and at the same time fearing it will be heard and answered. I know the movement of the heart that is thrilled to receive the command of the Lord, "Come to me." I know what it is like to step toward the Lord, eager for the reunion. And I believe you do, too.
And I also know, from the inside out, the next part of the story. Peter reverted before he could reach his goal. He looked away from the Lord, he let wind and wave and darkness, he let the storm, grab his vision. He reverted to his terrified self. He began to sink. My story is his story. The prayer is spoken and answered, faith is strong, steps are taken toward the Lord. It should be enough I say, it should be enough, but then I look away. I lose my way. I begin to sink.
Just like Peter I have cried out, "Lord, save me!" Peter was in good company as he made his cry. God's people enslaved by Pharaoh, cried out for the Lord to save them. At the Red Sea, sure to be slaughtered by Pharaoh's army, they cried out to be saved. In the wilderness, fearing that they would perish for lack of water, or lack of food, they cried out to be saved. Isaiah and Jeremiah, Job, Jonah, and a host of others cried out in their distress for the saving hand of the Lord. The Psalms are filled with poignant cries for deliverance and salvation. Peter was in good company as he cried out in his moment of need.
I have been a priest long enough to know that every day members of our parish are in the place Peter found himself, eyes averted from the Lord, sinking, and calling out to be saved. It is reassuring that my prayers and yours, in time of acute need, are part of a long history of prayer.
It is even more reassuring to know that the action of the Lord recorded in this sacred story, is repeated for us, over and over again. Immediately upon hearing Peter's cry, the Lord reached out his hand and saved him. This is our heritage, this is our hope, this is our treasure. When all seems lost, when drowning seems inevitable, when it most appears that the storm has won, the hand of the Lord takes hold of us and saves us. That is why we gather to give thanks each Sunday. We tell of the bias of the Lord to hear the prayer (even the very frightened prayer of the drowning) for salvation and we tell of his bias to act to save; for this we give thanks.
Once he is safe, Peter hears the gentle rebuke of the Lord. Peter has learned a lot about himself and about the Lord. Peter is safe. So it is with us, so it is with our family and friends and neighbors. In a world filled with storms too numerous to list, we offer the good news of this story. We offer to all who will come a chance to know Christ. It is our mission to make him known—both by the telling of these sacred stories, and by the telling of our own stories which are so similar. We acknowledge, as did that first group of disciples, that Jesus is the Son of God; it is something we have learned from the generations before us, and from our own experiences.
May you come to know Christ more and more with each new experience. May the friends you bring here also come to know Christ both through the sacred stories, and through you.
Dispel, O Lord, O Father of lights, all clouds of doubt, and the darkness about our earthly course, that in thy light we may see light, and come both to know thee as we are known, and to love as we are loved; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.1
1 John Donne, adapted from Sermon 21 and quoted in Michael Counsell, Ed., 2000 Years of Prayer (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse Publishing, 1999) p. 237
The Rev. Daniel Rondeau
drondeau@stmargarets.org
11 August 2002