Proper 14A; Matthew 14:22-33; St. Paul’s Smithfield, 8/9/2020
Jim Melnyk “Walking in the Mystery”
Okay – one last bit of humor from the pulpit: Have you heard the one about the minister, the Rabbi, and the Episcopal priest who go fishing? It was the Episcopalian’s first trip with his two interfaith friends. Well it seems that after setting up camp the three head out into the lake in their boat. After a while the Minister says, “Gosh, I forgot my pipe back in the tent. I can’t fish without my pipe, I think I’ll go get it.” He steps out of the boat, and walking across the lake, he gets his pipe and returns. A little time goes by and the Rabbi says, “We didn’t bring any sunscreen out here with us and I’m starting to burn. I think I’ll got back to the tent and get some.” And so he hops out of the boat, walks across the lake, and brings back the sunscreen. By now the Episcopal priest is both a bit intrigued and a bit intimidated. But like most folks, he doesn’t want to be outdone. So he says to his friends, “You know, I meant to bring some soft drinks and snacks with us, but I left them in my tent. I guess I’ll go get them for us.” He steps out of his side of the boat and immediately plunges below the water. The Minister looks at the Rabbi and says, “Do you think we should have told him about the stepping stones?”
But seriously folks, there’s probably not one among us who, at one time or another, hasn’t struggled with their faith and felt guilty when it came up lacking. Each of us is on our own pilgrimage of faith – a journey that draws us deeply into the very heart of God. But such journeys are rarely easy. Much like W. H. Auden’s poetry mentioned this past Thursday for the Feast of the Transfiguration, we can often find ourselves passing through the Lands of Unlikeness and Anxiety along our journey to that moment when we will “dance with joy.”[1] There will always be twists and turns along the way. There are wild winds and tempestuous waves, there are dark nights, and lonely days for all of us as we struggle to make sense of life and faith – as we struggle to believe that life and faith are somehow inseparable – somehow a part of each other. And all the while, God journeys with us.
Consider, if you will, the disciples of Jesus and their particular journeys. How many wonderful, mystical events did they witness in their brief sojourn with Jesus? And yet, how difficult was it for them to remain faithful to their friend in the midst of their day-to-day life, let alone when the journey turned to Jerusalem and the Cross?
By the time we reach today’s lesson from Matthew’s Gospel the disciples have already been a part of a magnificent journey. They have seen things that none of us would ever imagine seeing, and yet they still cannot understand. Jesus has just fed over 5,000 folks, and his closest followers haven’t a clue. It would seem that someone with even a minimal understanding of Judaism might make the connection between Jesus offering the multitudes bread in that isolated place, and God’s gift of Manna to their Hebrew mothers and fathers who wandered in the wilderness. To top it off, Jesus comes walking out to the disciples in the middle of the night – walking out on the water – and they can’t believe it’s him – even after the previous days’ events. Who knows – maybe it feels just a bit too crazy for these fisher-folk from Galilee. Maybe everything’s moving a bit too fast, and they just can’t keep up with their teacher/friend who offers his own form of manna and who quiets the raging sea. Faced with the wonder of the Incarnate Christ, the disciples respond with disbelief and fear – that is, until Peter – being his usual brash, “act-now-think-later” self, leaps forward.
And then even Peter, in all his enthusiastic zeal, when challenged by the realities around him, falters and then flounders in the waves. It is not the first, nor will it be the last, impetuous pronouncement of faith and following on Peter’s part – nor the last time he will struggle with his faith.
Perhaps, taking a page from Peter’s story, the greatest roadblock to our living faithfully along the journey is our own fear and our own disbelief. How can any of us expect to live up to the hopes and dreams emanating from the heart of God? We struggle to believe that Jesus could feed five hundred folks, let alone over five thousand. Quite possibly the problem stems from our 21st century world-view. Maybe, just maybe, we let ourselves live in a world that’s just a wee bit too literal, and not enough mystical, to allow God’s Spirit to move in our lives.
Those of you who were here for my first Sunday at St. Paul’s heard me preach about Jacob waiting alongside the river Jabbok as his brother Esau approached. Their relationship had been contentious ever since Jacob stole Esau’s birthright. Fearing for himself, as well as his family and his many possessions – and being unwilling to risk them in the confrontation with his brother – Jacob sends everyone and everything across the river for safety. I asked the question, “What are we willing to risk in the days before us and what are we going to send across the river in an attempt to keep it safe? Those of you who were here nine and a half years ago remember that the people of St. Paul’s were in the middle of a process of reconciliation and healing. The question, itself, was a risky proposition.
Those of us participating in the process stayed on the risky side of the river along with Jacob. And as he and his brother found reconciliation and healing so did we. To mix a couple of Biblical metaphors, St. Paul’s stepped out on the stormy sea and walked on water alongside our Lord. Those who have become a part of our parish community since those early days have experienced the fruit of that hard work, and have built upon it faithfully since. What a powerful story of God’s love and presence in our lives, my friends!
My sisters and brothers, we can walk on water. We can feed the multitudes. We can live with, and offer to this broken world, the hope and justice, the grace and peace, and the compassion and love of God in Christ Jesus. And that is the deeper truth of these stories. God actually does call us to break out the bread – to jump out of the boat – to leap into the fray – and follow the one we call Christ – however we can manage to imagine doing so. Author Tim Button-Harrison reminds us that “walking on water means stepping out in faith.” He goes on to write, “Walking on water truly means letting the Spirit of Christ determine our steps. Walking on water truly means the storms and the floods and disturbances of life do not finally define us, [rather, it is God who defines us].[2]”
And the good news is that God doesn’t demand our success. God only asks that we be faithful – even if that involves our joining Peter in his cry as the waves thrash about our heads, “Lord, save me!” As St. Julian reminds us, “[God] did not say, ‘You shall not be tempest-tossed, you shall not be work-weary, you shall not be discomforted,’ But [God does] said, ‘You shall not be overcome!”[3]
Each of us is on a journey – a journey that draws us each ever deeper into the heart of God. Along all the twists and turns, Christ journeys with us. Amid the wild winds and the tempestuous waves, Christ journeys with us. Jesus stands before us with arms outstretched and says, “Come.” “What?” we reply. “Me, walk on water?” “No,” says Jesus, “Well, not literally, anyway. That was Peter’s deal. Just come. Walk with me. Hear my call and follow as best you can. That will be enough.” Remember that Jesus always journeys with us – even when we stumble or fall – because the “storm and the wind never cease their call.”[4] And we follow a Lord who stands with us and within us in all the storms, and the floods, and the disturbances of life, though not ruled by them.
So put on your walkin’ shoes and skip across a few waves. If we’re willing to follow the One we call Christ – if we’re willing to keep the eyes of our faith on the prize of Christ’s high calling – I promise you it will be the time of our lives.
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