Tenth Sunday after Pentecost August 9, 2009 “Walking in Faith” Reverend Michael D. Powell Matthew 14:22-33

A few years ago Anni and I led a group of United Methodists on a tour of Greece. For the most part it was a wonderful trip, but there was one particular part we could have done without. The trip was billed as “Walking in the Footsteps of Paul,” and since Paul did some traveling on the Mediterranean Sea, part of our trip involved taking a cruise. Now, I’d never been on a cruise before, so I didn’t really know what to expect. But to the more seasoned travelers among us, just as soon as we laid eyes on the boat, there were some immediate red flags going up. It looked fine to me. It looked big. But, I guess it really wasn’t. This so-called “cruise liner” was small and apparently didn’t have ballasts. I didn’t even know what ballasts were, but I discovered they’re pretty important. The sea was rough, and practically every one of us got seasick. I gained a whole new appreciation for the intestinal fortitude of the Apostle Paul.

You don’t have to be out on the water to experience that kind of unsettled feeling in your stomach, however. The past month or so has not been a particularly placid time in the life of our church family. It has not been smooth sailing. We have been buffeted by gale force winds of tragedy and crashing waves of uncertainty. I think we’re probably all ready to hear those comforting words of Jesus, “Fear not, I am with you.” I think we’re about ready to hear Christ offer a calming word, to still the storm and restore the peace

Every one of us has felt restless and unsettled, perhaps a bit queasy in the stomach when it had nothing to do with the high seas. Usually those are feelings that come from a sense of despair, fear or insecurity. Sometimes it just feels like things are out of control and it’s hard to feel joyful or confident or optimistic. Storm clouds seem dark and threatening and it’s hard to know peace. Certainly outward circumstances play a significant role, but the internal storm of our emotions is really where the damage to our spiritual equilibrium is done. We need ballasts!

When I’ve experienced those feelings, the thing that gradually helps settle the racing of my mind, slow the rapid beating of my heart, restore depth to my breathing and calm the churning in my stomach is to simply wait, with patience, for the gradual return of the assurance that the inner presence of Jesus Christ is breathing through my breath, loving through my heart, claiming the thoughts of my mind, and calming my internal storm of insecurity.

Two weeks ago, when I was out with an infected kidney stone, a group of you dealt very skillfully with John’s version of this story. But this morning’s version is from the gospel of Mark and it has some variations that are significant. It starts out the same as we read, “The disciples went down to the sea, got into a boat, and started across the sea to Capernaum.” You can almost feel the storm clouds gathering. And, sure enough: “The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing.” Alone, far out to sea, in far over their heads, they are afraid. And then they see Jesus, coming to them, walking on the water. “It is I;” he says, “do not be afraid.”

Now, Jesus walking on water doesn't even begin to square with a literal understanding of the way we see things working in the natural world. But, there's a deeper meaning to the story. The message is not about a literal miracle that Jesus did 2000 years ago. It’s about the miracles that we, through faith in Christ, are able to do today. The disciples were sailing on some pretty uncertain seas, but we have our own storms, our own uncertainties.

The storms of nature are part of the natural world, and the emotional storms of the heart and mind are a natural part of the human condition. But in the scripture Jesus comes, calmly walking in faith, peacefully strolling over the chaos of the storm-tossed sea. And, just as soon as the disciples invite him into the boat the seas became calm. This is a teaching about presence, about prayer, and about the faith that calms our fears. It's a story for each of us to take to heart in our own lives. It’s also a story for us collectively to take into the heart of our church.

The variation in Matthew's version comes when Peter says to Jesus, "Lord, if it's really you, tell me to come to you on the water." Jesus bids him come. Peter, joyfully confident, steps out in faith upon the churning sea and then, immediately, an entirely rational, instinctive fear-based response kicks in. "Oh, my God," Peter thinks to himself. "Now what have I done? I can't do this." And he begins to sink. Can you identify with that? I certainly can.

It can happen in the most deeply profound, and also in the most mundane of ways. To share a mundane example, I vividly remember a big green Ford V8 station wagon that I bought in Boise one time. It looked good as I laid my money down with confidence, but the moment I drove it off the lot I started getting queasy. I started hearing noises and feeling vibrations and I could feel myself getting sick with remorse. I even tried to take it back but if you’ve ever tried to return a used car you know how far I got with that. They just laughed at me. I was in over my head. I’d bought it and I was now responsible for paying for every clunk and rattle I heard as I drove it home. In this morning’s story, when Peter feels that sinking feeling, Jesus reaches out, takes him by the hand and lifts him up. It took a while longer for me to recover from my queasiness.

We’ve all felt that queasy feeling, and sometimes it’s far more profound than simple buyer’s remorse. It may come following a medical report that underscores just how fragile and uncertain life is. It may come from the disappointment of a strained relationship that makes us toss and turn in the night, playing and replaying the tapes of what we could have done differently. The common denominator is the feeling that things are out of control. It may have started out so well, like stepping out onto the churning waters perhaps downright cocky with confidence, but then, like Peter, we experience that very human, practical insecurity that is always second-guessing and counting the cost. “O God, I can’t do this. I’m in the middle of a storm and I feel frightened and alone.”

The point is - we need the presence and the saving power of Christ. If truth be known, we are always setting out on uncertain seas, and we always need to make very sure he's in the boat with us. We always need to be reaching out to the Christ who takes our hand and is able to lift us up in those moments when own navigational skills inevitably falter. That’s what it means to walk in faith. There is chaos all around and often within us. That’s just part of the human condition. The question is – how do we maintain our awareness that Christ is with us? How do we remember his words, spoken to our hearts, "Do Not Fear. I am with you."

I think I know. I believe that we remember the presence of Christ by taking on the heart and the mind of Christ, by loving one another and by being Christ to one another. And sometimes it takes a lifetime of practice before we begin to get it right, but I believe that’s what it means to walk in faith. Walking in faith is simply practicing our faith, practicing and practicing until, someday, by the grace of God, we live into the reality of right relationship with both God and one another. And, sometimes, walking in faith means being called to step out of the boat!

I’ll close with a true story.  After his death, the wife of a seminary professor collected some of his papers and had them published.  In one of them, the man traced the stages of his ministry.  He said:

“When I began I thought of myself as standing on the banks of the stream of life shouting instructions to the swimmers who were down below. I was the expert. The second stage of my ministry I thought of myself as the rescuer. If I saw someone going down for the third time, I would plunge into the water, rescue them, get them started in the right direction again, and then I would return to the bank. But the last 10 years of my life I was in the water, and we were fellow-strugglers with arms around each other, trying to help one another make it to the shore.” (Thanks to Rev. Mark Trotter)

We are all walking in faith. We are all fellow strugglers with arms around each other, just trying to help one another make it to the shore. That’s what it means to love one another. That’s what it means to be a church family. Thanks be to God. Amen.