The Winds of Change

“The Winds of Change”
The Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry

Matthew 14.22-33

"Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” 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 toward 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 worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”"

My grandmother managed apartments when I was a child. Behind the two buildings comprising twenty-four apartments on two stories, tucked between and behind the apartments was a small swimming pool. My grandmother would sit beside this pool with my aunts and drink wine in the early evening as we would swim and splash and play. We were cousins and this was a bit of a golden time, a wonderful memory. Yet, it is also a great image of fear, an image I have with me always.

The image of fear was my young cousin Chuck or Chuckie as he was then called. Chuckie sat on the edge of the pool by the shallow end. Sometimes he would let his feet into the water. Sometimes not. He watched us, but he also watched out. A few summers before, his father had grown weary with his fear of the water and thrown him into the pool. It didn’t matter to Chuckie that the water was shallow, that he could stand with his head above water. He had been terrified and so he kept watch unless someone, his father mostly, came to throw him back into the pool.

Summer after summer we coaxed Chuckie, called to him, begged him, even offered to carry him into the water. He stayed fixed on the side, perched, ready to run. And a few times he did run. The memory and image that sticks with me is fear, debilitating, deep, unimpeded fear of water. In all other instances, places, Chucky was confident, playful. But get him near water and all surety vanished.

While I was never afraid of water, I have grown to treat water with great respect, the type of fear that is awe, like the fear of the Lord. As a young teen while swimming in the ocean, I was knocked down and dragged by a large wave and pulled out to sea by a rip tide. Trying to swim back to shore I kept getting farther and farther away. Starting to panic a voice beside me said, “Dude, the beach is this way.”

It was a lifeguard. I followed him in and was soon lying on the beach exhausted. Had the lifeguard not been there that day, I would not be here. I knew then as I laid in the sand as he resumed his perch, and I know it now as I stand in mine.

I respect water, even see it as ominous. There is nothing like a flooded house to make you see water in a different way, or the power of a rapid sending you cascading down a river to make you reimagine the churning water. I am in awe of water’s power.

I was reminded of this on my first visit to the Jersey shore. Standing at the water’s edge I looked with contempt on the small waves cresting and crashing a few feet from me. And then, a wave lurched forward and knocked me down. Just barely keeping my head above water, the wave pushed me back about ten feet. It was as if the ocean said, “You’re in Jersey pal.”

When people come to Israel for the first time, almost everyone is unimpressed with the size of the Sea of Galilee. It is not uncommon to hear, “This is just a lake really.” And this is true. The other name for the Sea of Galilee is Lake Gennesaret. And it is the more accurate name. This is not a large body of water.

The Sea of Galilee is of such a size that scholars have been skeptical about the stories in the gospels of fishermen who were afraid or in peril. There is no time on the Sea of Galilee where you cannot see the shore. And the mountains surrounding the body of water make it feel even more confined. Yet, it is those mountains creating the danger. The wind being funneled into the lake can create real danger, shipwreck danger. Waves can swamp and sink a fishing boat in an instant.

Like the waves I swam in as a boy, they can change from fun to fright in an instant. The water has this power to change. On the Sea of Galilee, the change was the wind. The tranquil lake would change by the force of the wind into a treacherous, life-threatening moment in an instant.

In our reading today this is what is afoot. They tried to make it across the lake all night and they could not as the wind was against them. After struggling for hours, they catch sight of a ghost only to discover it is Jesus walking on the water.

Jesus walking on the water has been a big deal in the modern era. This is one of those miracles that gets people all twisted up. People don’t walk on the water. Not possible. And part of the challenge here is how little importance this story seems to have. It is a bit of throw away. Jesus walks on the water to get to the other side of a lake. There is no Exodus here. It is much like the floating ax head of Elisha. “It was borrowed!” The miracle of it floating seems inconsequential. Hence, do we really need to believe the miracle of Jesus walking on the water? Is it so important that we need to suspend the laws of physics? Not really.

That Peter was bid to join him and walked on the water, though, that is important, very important. And what is even more significant is that he sunk. Peter saw the waves and he was frightened and started to sink. This is big.

This is big for two reasons. The first is the ability, the power, to walk on the water was Peter’s. It wasn’t a magical spell Jesus cast upon the water or a supernatural skill Peter was given; he came out on the water. The second piece is the power of fear. Fear overwhelmed his faith. Jesus walking on the water? Sure. Peter walking on the water for a time before sinking, fear overpowering faith. This is not a matter to dismiss regardless of our skepticism of miracles or the mundane quality of the story.

Again, we know from rather exhaustive studies that the winds coming through the mountains around the sea created enormous waves. This was not a swell in the water that made Peter afraid. Think tall wave cresting and beginning to fall on you. Big wave hitting you. This is a healthy moment of fear, something quite powerful and deadly.
At the pool tucked behind my grandmother’s apartments the shallow end was no more than four feet deep. There was no reason why Chuckie could not stand up, head above water in the shallow end, and not be afraid of drowning. Hence we coaxed and cajoled him. Tried again and again to get him into the water. There was really no danger.

Yet, what we could not see, but Chuckie could see was that the deep water was just a few steps away, the place where he could drown was actually close at hand. Sure, he could stand on the edge in the shallow end, but then what? This is what the wave at the Jersey shore offered as a reminder. This is the ocean, pal. Don’t you forget it, don’t underestimate it. As I was tumbling on the sand in clothes that were not for bathing, my mind went back to the words of the lifeguard, “Beach is this way.” It was a humbling moment.

In our reading today there is a lesson, a teaching about following Jesus that doesn’t require water. Which is good news for those who do not enjoy swimming. It is the same lesson I watched young Chuckie learn through the many summers it took to get him into the pool. And he did make it. The lesson is: Faith can overcome fear, or fear can overcome faith. It cuts both ways. There is no time where we have faith with no fear. We can claim to be fearless, but this is not true. We live in the tension of these two possibilities all the time.

Eventually we coaxed Chuckie into the water where he would always keep one hand on the side of the pool. And then, with incredible fear, he would take a hand and let go of the side of the pool for a moment, but he would rush back, pull you toward the side. The moments got longer and longer, but it was not quick, and he was ever looking over his shoulder, ever vigilant for danger. He grew in faith despite his fears.

This is the lesson and the teaching of Jesus in the walking on the water. Our faith grows despite our fears. Perhaps even more importantly, our faith only grows in profound ways when we are clear about what it is we are afraid of. Until we know our fears our faith remains as a wish, a nostalgia or sense of wonder.

We are ashamed of fear. We don’t like to project fear. We see it as weakness. And perhaps this is true. Our fears can be strong, but they do not make us strong. They rob us of strength more than not. To confess a fear can be debilitating. What will people think of me if they know my fears? And to be honest about fear can be quite unsettling because the fear may be true. What if my fears of not being a good person are true? What if my fear of hurting others is proven to be true? Will everything fall apart?

As part of my recent role in the presbytery I have had to read the lawsuits people are bringing against the Boy Scouts. They are terrible to read, and I will not drag you into their brokenness. But there is one thing that has become very transparent in the reading of the allegations that we should ponder. People in leadership of the Boy Scouts were terribly afraid of what would happen if people knew, if people understood what had happened for nearly a century?

For ninety years the leadership of the Boy Scouts kept a file of thousands of cases of abuse and kept the file secret. It was only in 2007, when a judge in Oregon said, “This is now a public record,” only then did the list become known and the depth of abuse become clear. Through the better part of a century people were told to be quiet, to go away, to trust this was dealt with and it was a terrible injustice. Yet, in addition to being an injustice it is also a very transparent moment of fear. Lives of children were sacrificed to protect an image, a brand, a reputation, so a fear would not be realized. If people knew about the abuse, they would not admire the Boy Scouts, support them any longer. That was the fear.

That Peter had the power to walk on the water is a very profound mystery. To consider such can take us down a path of the supernatural or the amazing or the miraculous. But what if the power to walk on the water was simply a matter of faith overcoming fear? Because the opposite is made clear. The power to walk on the water is lost with fear. Peter was afraid and he began to sink.

Faith can overcome fear, and fear can overcome faith. In 1915 a decision was made to hide the allegations of abuse for fear of what the publicity would do. That was a terrible decision. Hundreds of thousands of children were hurt because fear overcame faith.

Perhaps the most difficult question for a person or community, let alone a generation, perhaps the most difficult question to ask is this: what am I afraid of? It’s a daunting question, debilitating, something that often causes great anger. For you know anger is an expression of fear.

It’s a hard question. What is my true fear? Yet, what if it is the key to growing in faith, to become faithful, to live in the freedom of faith? If we do not ask, honestly ask, of what are we afraid, faith remains weak, magical, naïve. We cannot be rid of fear, but we can overcome it. Faith can overcome fear. Chuckie learned to swim. So can we. Amen.