Take Heart in the Storm

This morning in Matthew’s Gospel, we are beckoned out onto open waters. 

There is a storm swirling around the disciples, and they hunker down in a boat. Powerful winds fill the air with salt water—which they can taste as it stings their chapped lips and exfoliates their weathered faces.

These powerful winds trouble the waters, tossing them about too and fro. It’s still dark outside, in the early hours of the day, and there is little they can see clearly. They’ve been out in these conditions all night, battered by waves.

For as difficult as the situation is though, it’s not entirely unfamiliar. 

Many of them are seasoned fishermen. They’ve seen a few storms in their lifetime. Navigating the changing winds is part of what they signed up for. And after you’ve been through some stormy times, you get used to the ups and downs—maybe even skilled at navigating them. Whether that be adjusting sails or simply curling into a fetal position, hoping for things to pass.

So, at this point, they’re not especially worried. It’s been a long night though. They’re exhausted—and emotions of all kinds are close to the surface.

Then, through a misty fog a ghost appears, walking toward them. And they are terrified.

In the ancient world, water was understood as a source of perilous danger. There were many stories of treacherous monsters that roamed the seas, and it was also believed one could even accidentally paddle off the edge of the world if they weren’t careful. But even more than physical dangers, there was an even greater spiritual danger. Water was the place where evil forces dwell.

These common ideas are also present in the thought of Hebrew scripture. It is what makes the creation story in Genesis especially powerful—when nothing but untamed churning waters exist—but from that chaos and evil God brings forth creation anyway and calls it very good.

There were also many myths of people who claimed they could calm the waters. That they could subdue the wind or control the rain. That these persons were supposedly capable of controlling nature and defying the laws of gravity and physics made them powerful people. 

Being viewed as strong, or god-like, in this way was quite useful for anyone with personal ambitions—whether for good or not. So, figures would frequently rise up with a narrative about their supernatural abilities in order to convince people to follow them. And their motivations in doing so were rarely good. Just as they could control nature by sheer force of their powerful will, they sought to bend the will of the people to their own selfish desires. 

Those who claimed to defy nature rarely had other people's interests in mind. Such was the case for many leaders and authoritarians in the ancient world. And those persons were rightly feared. 

It would also be right to hold any lofty promises coming from a person like this with a healthy degree of suspicion. Because anytime one person claims they alone can subdue a storm, there’s a good chance they are in fact benefiting from that storm. Powerful waves and whipping winds are unsettling: no matter how familiar they may be, but it would be quite understandable if some were fearful while struggling to tread water and survive in dangerous conditions. And in the presence of desperation too many would-be leaders and strongmen see an opportunity. 

So often, isn’t this just the way things are?

Sometimes the person claiming only they have the power to save us from the storm is in fact the very source of those conditions.  

So, the disciples see a figure walking on water in defiance of nature—and alarm bells immediately go off. Whoever this person or politician, ghost or demon might be: they are certainly not to be trusted. 

But Jesus speaks into the storm: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Jesus has no use of the disciples' fear. He does not deny it. Neither does he manipulate it. Rather, he enters into it. And with his presence amid the stormy conditions, he reassures them.

This is who Jesus is—and the kind of leadership he claims. When he enters into a place of desolation—whether it be the open waters or the empty desert place as in last week’s feeding of the multitudes—the power he displays is for the good of people. To heal, to nourish, to comfort.

Seeing this, being reminded of who Jesus is, Peter musters up faith to step out into the churning waters—where the storm is still raging. His faith is evidently as tiny as a mustard seed, but it is more than the other disciples. And it is enough for him to meet Jesus in the storm.

As Peter slips and begins to sink, I imagine the old spiritual playing, ‘Wade in the Water’... 

In many settings it’s custom to sing those familiar words at a baptism service: “God’s gonna trouble the water.” From the troubled times of chattel slavery and the underground railroad, Wade in the Water reminds us it is from the very presence of troubled waters that freedom will come. And in baptism it serves as a powerful symbol of what Christian discipleship is all about.

Through our baptism, we willingly enter into the waters. And in those depths the presence of God moves—and that “good trouble,” as John Lewis would put it, brings salvation.

As Peter is submerged underwater and reaches out in his desperation, Jesus doesn’t see an opportunity but simply grabs him by the hand. And as Peter’s face breaks the surface of the water he rises into a new understanding. It is what the moment of baptism is for each of us.

Each of us are called by God to step forth in faith; trusting the goodness of God’s love for us.

Yet, even still, there is no guarantee we won’t at times find ourselves in over our head. Faith does not come with a risk-free policy. Quite the opposite, at least in my experience; it is the moments when I have been in over my head that evidence of real faith is revealed—when I cannot convince myself or others that I am upholding myself by my own power.

Now, like any journey in faith, Peter doubts, loses focus, and because his faith slowly drifts he begins to sink into the water. But without his first step, nothing else follows. Because this one follower chooses to trust, even for this fleeting moment, he meets Jesus—which ripples out to all of the disciples. 

And once Peter returns to the boat, safe in Jesus’ arms, the disciples “worshiped” Jesus.

Matthew’s Gospel doesn’t mean they pulled out a guitar and sang praises, nor did they break out into choral hymnody. “Worship” here refers to a physical act. It is a posture of prostration. 

To worship, in the ancient world, was to lie face down, spread eagle on the ground, in front of another person. It is a humbling gesture. And it signifies placing trust in the authority and provision of that person.

This is just the kind of worship and faithfulness we are beckoned into.

No matter the storm around us, no matter the circumstances we face, no matter how battered by waves we may be: we need not fear. 

Like the disciples in that boat, may we be strengthened to trust in a loving God. A God who is present with us, who provides for us, who desires for us good things, who leads us through; A God who will cause the winds around us to cease.