(Preacher’s note: this sermon was written for the congregation of Holy Comforter Episcopal Church in Burlington, NC, in response to events in Charlottesville, Virginia, last Saturday, August 12. I had another sermon written, when suddenly the news broke. I had friends, colleagues in Charlottesville, and the news was personal to me as well as completely alarming for the country. It was clear that I had to scratch my prepared sermon and start again.
The sermon is an oral tradition, not really meant to be read as literature or blog, but I submit it in hopes that you will hear it—somehow—in your own voice with the same passion with which it was originally delivered. Jan Fuller)
Matthew 14:22-33
22Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. 23And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, 24but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. 25And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. 26But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. 27But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” 28Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” 29He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. 30But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” 31Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” 32When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. 33And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” (NRSV)
As a child I snorkeled in the Red Sea, on the world’s most beautiful coral reefs. The sharp and colorful coral seemed close enough to cut me as I floated over it. The fish darted in and out of the coral, just out of range of my touch. A few times I saw poisonous dart fish, and swam backwards away. It was all awe inspiring and exhilarating, frightening and lovely. And then, suddenly, I would float off the edge of the reef and the bottom dropped out. As far down and away as I could see was the darkest deepest coldest water I could even have imagined. I can still, just describing it, feel the sensation of falling in the pit of my stomach. I was so frightened, thinking about all the miles of empty water below me, the infinite unknown creatures there in that sea with me.
And I confess that distinct sinking feeling yesterday watching the news in Charlottesville. Lord save us, my heavy heart was praying while thousands of white supremacists poured into Jefferson’s city to express their messages of hate that they claim is Christian. It was full daylight, they were uncovered, unembarrassed and proud, carrying Nazi flags and symbols of exclusion and hatred. It was violent even before the violence began. It was like watching the bottom falling out of the ocean. I’m sure God wept. This is a moment that helps us understand the disciples’ fear and Peter’s impulsiveness.
We may feel that primal fear of sinking into the unknown
In the ancient world of the Hebrew Bible, the sea was called “the deep.” The “waters” in the ancient stories of creation are the substance of the nothingness and they remind us of destruction, chaos, even powers that might be against God. In creation, God gave the waters limits, shores, and boundaries to hold back the chaos that threatens always to break through the order of God’s world. But the deep waters are still scary and threatening. We see that power and fear in hurricanes and other storms, and when we imagine what’s down there under our ocean liners or small boats or kicking feet. We may feel that primal fear of sinking into the unknown, into chaos and disintegration today.
In our gospel, the disciples have been with Jesus as he fed the 5000, an impressive show of power, a miracle. He sends them ahead into a storm on the Sea of Galilee. The other side of the sea was the gentile section of the country, the areas where they would regularly encounter the “other” and “unknown.” Their destination may have stirred a fear of rejection about being out in a land where they were not understood, where they stood out as different. There was racism in Jesus’ day and the sight of Jesus on the waves startled them; he appeared as a stranger.
So Peter asks Jesus to call him to come out on the waves. I confess that I am annoyed with Peter, insisting that he “play Jesus”, asking for proof that it was Jesus out there walking on the waves of the storm. This is the impulsive disciple who claimed that he would die with Jesus, but instead denied him three times. The others sat frozen in the boat, perhaps embarrassed by Peter, or annoyed. But in the presence of the Holy, Peter wants and needs to do something hard. He wants to act.
Do you know that the shape of Christian churches comes from the shape of a boat? The congregation sits in the nave. But Peter isn’t satisfied with watching from the boat. And we, too, must get out of the boat and use our faith for more than just our private comfort.
Friends, we are in a storm right now. It’s been there all along, under the surface of the water. Now, it’s roiling and storming and we’re in it, like it or not.
Our Christ asks us to make our faith visible in action
Our faith calls us to feed the hungry, to welcome sinners and the poor, to stand against evil and hatred, to seek those “on the other side” of the lake, the tracks, racial and ethnic lines, even political and worldview ideology, those who are different, who are challenging to us, and always to serve those with less than we have. Our faith asks us to risk giving it all away. Faith doesn’t pad our life so we can be better off than others. It calls us to offer life rafts to those who are drowning, hurting, and those who are afraid, to all who are made in the image of God, to stand up to the forces of oppression, to those who would create an order first and foremost for white people, as if they are the only ones who matter, who would denigrate and push down black and brown sisters and brothers, and blame them for their own suffering. Our Christ asks us to make our faith visible in action, by serving the dignity of every person, even if it comes in fear, even if we fall in and get wet. It’s easier and safer to wait in the boat for someone else to do it, to sit here pretending that nothing is wrong. And even if we lament that the world is in trouble, if we sit here long enough, then our complacency has begun to serve the very forces we lament. Peter refuses to wait. He gets out there, and falls in.
We’re afraid…so we sit silently in the boat.
We won’t be able to walk on water either. We, frankly, spend a lot of time and energy acting like we can, trying to convince others that we are secure and able, that we don’t need help, that we might not even need a Savior. We might rather others think of us as faith heroes and not the weak, sinful, and confused people we really are. But I suspect that the church is the last place we will admit that we are sinking in debt, or addiction to alcohol and other drugs that prop us up. And there’s shame, doubt, sin, illness, sleep deprivation, or sorrow, to name a few of the deeps we live within. We might never admit that we don’t know how to take the first step in opposition to racial inequality, that we’ve never examined our own thoughts and behavior. We’re afraid we might appear faithless if we cry out for help, so we sit silently in the boat.
Paul’s message to the church in Rome, another community also in racist peril from valuing one kind of human over another, is “There is no distinction between Jew and Greek” (Romans 10:12, NRSV). Racism is not a Christian value. White supremacy is not the message of Jesus, who himself was a brown skinned penniless Jew who died to change the world, toward justice and inclusion for all of us. You and I are gentiles; the radical upending of the first century culture of exclusion is the only reason we are included in the promise of salvation, the only reason we are sitting here today.
Peter, upon sinking, cries out for God, Lord, save me, and Jesus catches him. Jesus, the just, is the one for whom we must always reach out our hand. He is the one who will strengthen us with all goodness and who will give us the courage to persevere against the fear that keeps us in the boat while others drown around us—in Charlottesville and here in Burlington.
God still owns the winds and waves.
Whatever it is that reminds us of our need for God, God still responds. God is with us in the difficult storms of life. Sometimes we don’t see God yet, but God still owns the winds and waves.
I know that we are going to see God in the storm, coming toward us. And the question today is, will we be sitting in fear, letting somebody else do it, or will we get out of the boat to try to make a difference, to join God in the waves? Our worship is empty if we offer each other peace and never stand against prejudice, if we feast on bread and wine, without speaking up against what is wrong, if we silently share a faith without entering the messy waves of dialogue and understanding. It seems impossible. We’ll sink and flounder in the deep water, but we will feel Christ’s hand pulling us forward toward those we want to keep away. This is the challenge and also the good news.
Let us pray:
O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth, that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord (For the Human Family, Book of Common Prayer, p. 815).
May it be so. Amen.