The Waterwalker
The Rev. Canon George M. Maxwell, Jr.
The Cathedral of St. Philip
Atlanta, Georgia
Proper 14
7 August 2005 -- Year A
Several years ago, I went to Blue Mountain Beach in the panhandle of Florida for a family vacation. I remember swimming with two of my children one afternoon. We were playing around in the surf and had gotten a little farther out than we should have been. Suddenly, I felt the current pushing me away from shore and thought we were caught on the edge of an undertow or a rip current.
I could taste my fear. The current seemed to be getting stronger. Images of all of the bad things that could happen to the kids rushed into my mind.
I thought the kids were too young to recover if we got too far from shore, and I didn’t want them to know how scared I was. So, we played a game. They got on my shoulders and I pushed off of the bottom, throwing them back toward shore through the air.
When we finally walked onto the beach, the kids were laughing and looking forward to their next adventure. I was ready to cry and thinking that, perhaps, we could just build sand castles on the beach for the rest of the vacation.
I still think of fear as an undertow. Something lurking beneath the surface of life that I can’t see. Something that is always there and grabs me when I’m not looking. Something that shares the same evil nature as the predators in movies like Jaws or Alien, or maybe even The Exorcist.
I can feel the edges of this fear when I start to ask a question, and realize that I should already know the answer. I can feel it when I move to take a stand, and realize that my position will be unpopular. I can feel it when I need to make a change, and realize that I don’t really want to give anything up.
Sometimes, of course, this fear turns out to be life giving. Fear can protect us against threats that really do pose a danger. If you’re hiking in country where grizzly bears have been spotted, it’s a healthy thing to look quickly at the rustling sounds in the trees up ahead of you. Fear can also give us the focus that we really do need to perform at our peak. If you are going on stage for your first solo in a musical, it’s a healthy thing to feel nervous butterflies in your stomach. Fear is life giving when it opens us up for new experiences.
But, more often, fear turns out to be life taking. It pulls us away from anything that isn’t comfortable and familiar. We, for example, don’t want to go to the other side of town because we know that we will be outsiders there. As outsiders, we won’t know exactly how to act or how to read other people’s reactions to us. We will lose the control that comes with knowing the rules. Fear is life taking when it closes us off from new experiences.
I think Matthew is trying to tell us something about this kind of fear in his story about walking on the water. The primary point of the story, of course, is that Jesus is the Son of God and as such bears the divine powers necessary to defeat the forces of evil. Jesus is the one who can do what God does.
Jesus tells the disciples to cross the sea ahead of him, so that he can stay a little longer on land to be alone with God. The primal chaos that lurks in the waters of the sea surrounds the disciples and rises up in the form of a storm to threaten them. These are the same demonic forces that God beat back in creating the world. (Gen 1:1-3).
Jesus comes to rescue the disciples just as they are beginning to fear for their lives. He arrives by walking on the waters. Just as God revealed himself to Moses and the Jews fleeing Egypt by parting the waters of the Red Sea (Exod. 14:13-31), so Jesus reveals his divinity to the disciples by putting the waters of the Sea of Galilee under his feet. Jesus even identifies himself with the “It is I” used by Isaiah as a name for God.
So far, Matthew’s telling of the story is that same as that of Mark and John. (Luke omits the story entirely.)
But then Matthew reports something that the others do not. Matthew describes Peter’s reaction.
Jesus commands the disciples not to be afraid. The disciples recognize Jesus, but it is Peter, never one to sit when there is something to do, who decides to act. He asks Jesus if he too can come out on the water. He too wants to do what Jesus does.
Jesus tells Peter to come on and, by God, he does. Peter steps out of his fear and onto the water. For a moment, he does it. He walks on the water!
Of course, Peter doesn’t get far. A gust of wind reminds him of his fear and he begins to sink below the waves. He calls out to Jesus to save him. Jesus grabs Peter by the hand and takes him back to the safety of the boat, but not before asking Peter a question.
Jesus asks Peter about his doubt. Why, Jesus wants to know, did he hesitate? Why did he move so quickly from trust in the power of Jesus to fear of the powers of evil?
Is Jesus rebuking Peter? Did Jesus really expect Peter to continue walking on the water? Or, is Jesus playing the role of teacher? Is Jesus trying to lead Peter to understand what happened?
We often focus on what Peter lost. He lost his faith. I, however, wonder if Jesus might have been focusing on what Peter found. I wonder if Jesus was thinking not about Peter’s failure, but his success.
Peter seems to go through a conversion of sorts. When challenged by the forces of evil, Peter recognizes and chooses to be with Jesus. And then he takes it upon himself to do something about it. He doesn’t turn away from his fear. He takes it on. He doesn’t stay in the traditional safety of the boat. He walks out onto the water.
It’s only after he actually walks on water that his fear gets the best of him. It’s only after feeling the power of his hope that he falls into despair.
Is it simply that Peter can’t stand prosperity? Could it be that he’s afraid that he’s really not good enough to do what he is doing? The fear that tells us that we’re really not good enough to be in the advanced class, or causes us to leave the wedge shot short after hitting a perfect drive.
Or, is it that Peter realizes that he is good enough? Could it be that Peter sees that sometimes he can do what Jesus does, and realizes what having that kind of power really means? Could it be that when Peter’s hope liberates him from his fear he confronts the responsibility that real freedom demands? Could it be that he glimpses the cross that awaits the Son of God?
The Gospel promises to free us to feel the power of hope. Dependence on God does not render us powerless in the face of the forces of evil. It gives us the power to triumph over them.
Yet, our power comes with responsibility. The Gospel demands that we work not only for the transformation of ourselves, but also the world around us. We have a responsibility to work for justice. We have a responsibility to work for peace. We have a responsibility to care for our environment.
It would be a mistake to overestimate how much power we really have – and some might say that Peter is guilty of this! We are not all powerful. But, we can’t pretend that we are helpless, or that we don’t know what to do. The Gospel gives us power and the skills to discern how to use it.
The only thing for certain is that using our power won’t make us more comfortable. It won’t leave us building sandcastles on the beach, or living our lives entirely on this side of town. It won’t leave us in control.
Instead, it will call us to do new things. It will call us into new and difficult relationships with people who are not our people in any sense of those words. It will call us to take the risk of acting before we are entirely sure just what to do. It will call us to give up control.
Listen again to the words of Nelson Mandela, first spoken as part of his inaugural speech.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Do not be afraid of you own power. God has given it to you so that you may help others discover it in themselves.
Hold tightly to your hope. With it, you are powerful beyond measure.
Let your light shine. The world needs you!
Amen.
Comments? Contact George Maxwell at: GMaxwell@stphilipscathedral.org