“Another Maalox Moment”

Matthew 14:22-33

Please forgive me, but I just couldn’t resist the temptation to begin this morning’s sermon with one of the most overused clichés ever employed by writers, “It was a dark and stormy night.” If this were a screenplay, at this point there should be the sounds of loud thunder, sizzling bolts of lightning, gale winds, torrents of rain, and crashing waves in the background. To really set the mood there should also be the forlorn sound of a foghorn somewhere in the mix. Thus we would know that bad things are about to happen: things that will terrify the cast as well as the audience.

In terms of the climax of today’s text it really was a dark and stormy night: a night happening in real time in the real world. Jesus’ disciples were in a small boat on the Sea of Galilee, far from land and being tossed about by the wind and waves. They were scared. Even those disciples who had fished the sea for most of their lives and were experienced seamen were afraid. Things did not look good. They were right up against the edge of a disaster. They were indeed having a Maalox moment.

But then out of nowhere comes Jesus, walking toward them through the storm. Please note: He was walking in the wind, in the rain, in the fog, and in the waves. But as for the water itself, he was walking on it – on the very top of it. And he was not sinking.

The disciples’ first reaction was to be even more scared: “… they were terrified, saying, ‘It is a Ghost’.” And they cried out in fear.” Already fearing death by drowning now they had to deal with what they imagined to be some ghostly apparition seemingly gliding across the waves toward them.

But Jesus said to them, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” It’s worth noting here that the phrase “It is I” was the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew words by which the Lord named himself to Moses: “I am.” The Lord was with them. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was coming to them in the person of Jesus Christ. They were in the presence of the great “I am.” They were witnessing a miracle not a ghost.

What a relief that should have been. But it wasn’t enough for Peter. As was his usual style he had to push the envelope. So he asked Jesus to prove himself. If he was who he said he was, then he would prove it by asking and enabling Peter to walk on the water to him. If I were writing this as a scene in a movie, I would picture Jesus rolling his eyes and saying in an exasperated, “here-we-go-again” voice, “Well, come on; get your hard-headed self over here.”

Scripture, of course, doesn’t convey any sort of tone of voice. Jesus simply said, “Come.” And Peter, impetuous, well-meaning, hard-headed Peter, climbed out of the boat and started walking toward Jesus. Again, if this were a scene created in Hollywood, Peter would have bravely and resolutely walked straight over to Jesus. They would have met with one of those dramatic, tear-filled hugs as the music triumphantly and majestically swelled, the storm came to an end, the sun came out, the other disciples cheered, and the credits rolled. In the background Annie would be heard singing, “The sun’ll come up tomorrow.”

But in the words of Lee Corso, “Not so fast, my friend.” Peter’s bluster and bravado only got him a momentary reprieve from drowning. He heard the wind and rain and looked down at the extremely choppy water beneath his feet. He was distracted by all that and took his eyes off of Jesus. And down he went. No triumphant reunion with Jesus while his colleagues cheered. Just a mouth full of saltwater. Peter’s limited faith and false courage let him down.

But then he finally did something right. He asked the Lord to save him. He entrusted his life to Jesus. He put his faith in his only hope of salvation. And Jesus reached out his hand to Peter and kept him from going under. I’m sure Peter was relieved. He’d been rescued just in the nick of time. But it wasn’t all seashells and balloons. His Master had some hard words for him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

We don’t get to hear Peter’s reply. We have no idea how he responded. Maybe he pouted. Maybe he was ashamed. All we know is that he and Jesus got in the boat. The storm ceased. The disciples worshipped Jesus, declaring him to truly be the Son of God. Then they were off to Gennesarat, where Jesus continued his mission. Jesus probably used the F.I.D.O. approach with Peter, “Forget it, drive on. It’s over, let it go.”

But before moving on, we should give Peter some credit. At least he was willing to try walking on water. Nobody else in the boat was willing to give it a shot.

Ultimately Peter would become the rock solid man of faith who held the infant church in Jerusalem together. He would stand up for Jesus when it counted. He would follow Jesus to the cross – literally, becoming one of the Church’s earliest martyrs. Even when Peter did some of stupid things he did his heart was usually in the right place. His head, however, was often who-knows-where. There were times when Peter didn’t have a clue.

And sometimes neither do we. As Paul wrote, we all sin and fall short of the glory of God. We all get distracted and wander off the trail blazed by Jesus. We all make sincere promises that we cannot keep. We’re all impulsive at times, confusing bravado with courage and feelings with faith. We all have our fears. We all have our doubts. We all fall down on the job that is discipleship.

That, as I often say, is the bad news. Now for the good news, or as Paul Harvey puts it, “the rest of the story.” In his commentary on today’s text William Barclay had this to say about Peter – and about us, “… a saint is not a man who never fails; a saint is a man who gets up and goes on again every time he falls.”

And I would add, saints are people who know they are sinking in the often self-inflicted stormy seas of sin, tragedy, disaster, and darkness but also know that their only hope – in this life and the next – is Jesus. Sometimes we have no other recourse than following Peter’s example and crying out in despair, “Lord, save me!” And always, in one way or another, sometimes in ways we neither expect nor appreciate at the time, the words of an old hymn become a reality. “But the Master of the sea/Heard my despairing cry/From the waters lifted me/Now safe am I. Love lifted me!”

If the Lord could use ding-dongs like Simon Peter and company to do his work, he can use us. Peter and those other disciples prove that we don’t have to be perfect in order to serve Jesus. We will fall. We will fail. Sometimes our hearts will be in the right place but our heads will either be in the clouds or else in a place I can’t mention from the pulpit. We will often blunder around as if we have no clue, the reason being that we, in fact, don’t have a clue. The lights are on but no one’s home. Jesus loves and uses us anyway.

One of the things often left unsaid about today’s text is that the disciples were obeying Jesus. They were in that boat because he had told them to be in it. Trusting him they did his bidding. But neither their trust nor their obedience exempted them from earthly realities like stormy seas. Because they were obedient to Jesus they wound up in high winds and higher water. Because they trusted him they found themselves in peril.

Following Jesus doesn’t always mean playing it safe. Following Jesus can get us in trouble. Following Jesus, if we’re being truly faithful about it, can be downright dangerous. There will be moments of fear and doubt. There will be times when we are threatened. Not because we did anything wrong. Not because we were reckless. Not because we sinned. But because we did the right thing; and for Christians doing the right thing can put us in harm’s way.

The Church, meaning the whole Body of Christ at work in the world, is often depicted in nautical terms. The Church is a ship or boat. The world is that smooth, placid sea that can suddenly and without warning try to capsize our boat. Sometimes it’s simply the sea being the sea; it can be a stormy place. Sometimes it’s the sea – the world – rejecting us because we don’t play by its rules. Sometimes the storms come because we have trusted Jesus as our only Lord and Savior and sought, by faith, to do his bidding.

When we are caught up in such storms our Master, in the person of the Holy Spirit, will always be with us. The storm itself may not stop. It will inflict on us whatever damage it can. But only in an external and mortal way. The storm might kill us. If we are in Christ, it cannot destroy us. Therein lay our peace and assurance. Worldly storms may win many battles in evil’s war against Christ’s Church. But the war itself has already been won. And as God’s people we already share in the victory. Love has indeed already lifted us into the eternal Kingdom of God. Amen.