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Peter answered him, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshipped him, saying, ‘Truly you are the Son of God.’
-Matthew 14:22-33
I.
It’s sometime in the early 1990’s. I’m in middle school (still), living in Franklin, WI, with my sister (and my parents) in the house where we I grew up.
Our little corner of Franklin, at the time, is still pretty rural. Cornfields. Hayfields. Soybean fields. And then also a few houses scattered here and there between the crops. It was clear even at the time that the suburbs were encroaching, but (as of yet) they had not reached Oakwood Road.
Some of my best friends also lived on that street. If you took it from our house, past the Bosh’s farm, to 92nd Street, there on the corner lived my good friends Josh and Jesse. And next door to them (in an old farmhouse with a big red barn) was Bobby and his whole family. It was wonderful to have friends who lived nearby.
In the space between their homes and ours, there was a little dip in the road where a little creek had a bend right at the bottom of a little hill. When you walked the street at night, you could feel the temperature cool as you just very slightly descended into the dip and heard the water going around the bend.
My friends and I spent a lot of time together—almost every day from those middle school years until the time we finished high school.
We were very close.
And, sort of like we were in a movie, many nights we’d literally lay on that corner, looking up at the stars, and talking about things like God and eternity and the meaning of life; as well as movies and sometimes the relationships and the cars we wished we had. There was a certain wonder that captivated us as we gazed upward and imagined what could-be.
It was magical.
[pause]
But then came the terrifying part.
Past the Bosch’s farm, through the dip in the road, by the river, and back to my parents’ house.
On foot.
Unable to see 6 feet in front of me.
I may have been in middle school: a “young man,” sure.
But that doesn’t mean that there wasn’t something
still quite scary about the shadows of the night.
My fear of missing out with my friends was always enough to keep me coming back each night. So the question in front of me was simple: how do I do this? How do I push through the fear and make it back home (preferably safely) so that I can return to this magical place tomorrow?
(pause)
I had been praying since kindergarten.
I remember even having warm fuzzy feelings as a child singing Jesus Loves Me
or saying the Lord’s Prayer.
But in some ways, it was this short ½ mile night-hike
a few nights a week that really formed my early perceptions about faith and the power of prayer.
You see, each night as I began the hike,
past the corn and toward that cool dip in the road,
my heart would begin to race.
My palms would sweat.
And as they did, I used the tools on hand to calm my nerves—
not to make me less afraid.
I was afraid the whole time.
There was no changing that.
But to be afraid and move anyway.
To push through my own valley of shadows and to make it back home.
What did I have in the toolbox that could help me?
Any tools I had, came from my upbringing in a small, family-sized country church.
Some nights it’d be a simple prayer. “Thank you God. I love you. You’re the greatest. Amen.” This was my mantra for many of my adolescent years.
Some nights I’d say parts of the liturgy that came to mind.
Some nights I’d sing: Amazing Grace, How Great Thou Art, “Through the Storm, Through the Night!”
And, every night, well… aside from one skunk scare (but even then)… sweaty palms and racing heart, at the end of the night, one step at a time, afraid and praying, I made it home.
+++
So, I am slightly afraid (also) that I might be miscommunicating as I tell this story. So let me clarify.
There are plenty of people who pray their whole lives, and with their whole hearts, and then something horrible happens. This week, I call to mind the events in Beirut. Very serious pray-ers still have bad things happen to them—tragedy, violence, misfortune, and worse. This is most certainly true. And there’s no reason we should deny it.
Prayer is not a magical fix—in the sense that prayer does not make the sun come up in the middle of the night just because we ask God to do it.
But prayer can give us the power, the resolve, the resources we need to step into the night, in hopes that after many steps, one step at a time, we will arrive at home.
Prayer, and faith cannot make the sun come up. But they can help us navigate the night.
II.
There is no shortage of “things to be afraid of” these days.
We live in a pandemic.
Forests are burning,
our country and world are highly polarized.
I might kill someone if I forget my mask.
And I might get punched if I remind someone to put theirs on.
We continue to foster hate and xenophobia through rhetoric and action.
It is unclear how long the earth itself will tolerate humanity.
Aging produces anxiety and the loneliness many of us are feeling these days has robbed life (and summer) of a bit of its joy, while the loneliness of those stuck in prisons and nursing homes goes largely unnoticed.
And unlike my childhood, we hear reports each day of violence in our own communities—and indeed within our own families—and it seems that at least some of our streets and some of our homes present us with real risk, even threatening our livelihood and our lives.
There is no shortage of “things to be afraid of.”
III.
As Peter begins to step out onto the water today in our Gospel reading, Jesus says to him:
“Be not afraid.”
Words that he’ll repeat again and again throughout the gospels.
It could be easy to distort Jesus’ words into a commandment meant to be fulfilled (something like: don’t be afraid, or else!) ; or even to feel guilty if we do feel afraid.
And yet, we know that faith that takes steps onto the sea
(the faith of Jesus, the faith of Peter, the faith given to us by our faith communities and by the grace of God)
faith that walks on water
faith that (by God’s grace) helps us step by step through the storms and through the nights…
is faith precisely because it is afraid. Because we are afraid. And that’s why we need it.
That’s why we need faith.
Faith fears, but it moves anyway. By grace. One step at a time.
We are not failures in our fear. Certainly not.
And we should be very careful about such interpretations.
Rather, we are empowered by faith to be moved through fear (and onto the other side). To take a step onto these turbulent seas.
IV.
So…
"Take heart!" says Jesus.
Take heart!
It’s true:
Faith will not make the sun come up in the middle of the night.
And it will not fix every problem or situation that afflicts us.
It may not even calm every stormy sea.
But it may, by grace, help us to take one step at a time
through the shadowy nights and onto the seas
until we arrive at home,
together with Christ who walks with us
each and every step of the way.
Amen.
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