Walk on the Ocean
19th Sunday of the Ordinary Time – Walk on the Ocean
In my line of work, I meet a lot of folks who are angry with Jesus. They often say things to me like: “Why did he let this happen? Where was God when I needed Him? He knew, and yet he still allowed me to stumble and fall.” You can hear their heart-breaking often underneath the outward, more-visible anger.
It does sometimes seem as though God allows – even purposely sets up – the conditions for a good old-fashioning sinking, doesn’t it?
I’m taken by the opening sentence of today’s Gospel from Matthew: Jesus made his disciples get in a boat and go without him to the other side of the lake. Notice: he made them. No, they couldn’t wait for him to come aboard. No, they had to sail right then, regardless of the weather forecast. Jesus, in a sense, set them up for difficult journey ahead.
And it was. The “fourth watch” that is mentioned indicates that dawn is just on the horizon, so these disciples have been seemingly alone and storm-tossed for hours in the dark. No relief. No help. And Jesus knew. His divine will permitted this to happen to them. Why?
The greatest of saints throughout our 2000-year tradition have always said that our Lord allows us to share in his suffering in order to grow in holiness. Teresa of Avila, the 16th century Carmelite reformer once said: “In this life, the people that God loves so deeply carry the most trials.” She’s not wrong. He longs for us to be formed into Him – to become other Christs for the world. The only way to do this is to get in the boat and face the storms head-on.
Seemingly, these storms can break and destroy us. They can be used by the power of the evil one to shake our confidence in God, one another and ourselves. They can exhaust us and make us question faith, lose hope and doubt love. But let it be known: whatever the storm, no matter how long it lasts: it never wins, even if it seems to the world like it has.
Into every tempest, Christ comes. And although it is dark and the winds howl and it is hard to tell where you are much less where He is, God is present in the very places where the wavescrash and the wood of the boat creaks and strains. I find great comfort in Matthew’s telling of this tale that Jesus came to them at just the right moment; he did not wait for them to call upon Him.
Back in the early 2000s, right around the time of the Twin Towers terrorist attack, there was a popular song played across many radio formats in which the male singer sang to his wife and child who were missing him terribly and wanting him to come home: “I’m already there, take a look around. I’m the sunshine in your hair and the shadow on the ground. I’m the whisper in the wind and I’ll be there to the end. Can you feel the love we share – I am already there.” A love present in the midst of heartache and loss. A love that shows up – and is there – in the storms of life.
Jesus shows up, as he always does. But remember this about our faith: God never leaves us as we are, nor does He want us to stay where we’ve been. He wants us to grow in faith and trust, in love and courage. He made us to conform our lives – our wills – to His, and so if we are to be in a genuine faith relationship, it is only in the storms where we find our real selves in the Light of his Love.
Think of this: if there weren’t a storm, would Peter have had the opportunity to trust more deeply in God? If there was no storm, would Peter have even seen what real faith in Christ could do for him?
If he never faced the wind and the waves, then he never would have said: “Command me to come to you.” All of this was so that Peter could grow in faith and trust and love with the One who would lead him to face even bigger moments of water-walking in his life: moments where he led a group of scared disciples; moments where he ran to the tomb seeking the Risen One; moments in which he preached to thousands about Christ’s love and forgives; moments that he himself accepted that same mercy; and one particular moment where he gave his life for these very same things.
This storm gave Peter the courage to face other storms that would come, knowing that no matter how many times he was nearly destroyed, he never had to face it alone.
When I would hear this story as a child, I would often pity Peter for sinking, thinking to myself, “I never would have doubted. I would have made it.” But then I lived life – and I realize now from a whole different perspective just how courageous Peter actually was as he sank into the storm-tossed lake. He could have cried out to his shipmates instead of the Lord. He could have tried on his own to swim back to the boat. He could have in hopelessness and pride – mostly pride – just allowed himself to sink to the murky depths. But he didn’t. The only thing he did was cry out: “Lord, save me.”
Jesus didn’t care that Peter sank. Jesus doesn’t mind when we do, either. He knows we will; he is not surprised. But he does demand one thing every time we do: we cry out, Lord, save me.” Save me from sin. Save me from drowning in selfishness and hate. Save me from my lesser self. Save me. We make that cry at the start of every Mass; every time we approach the confessional; every time before receiving Eucharist our words begin: “Lord, I am not worthy.” Save me, O Lord.
It’s the only reason why Jesus came, and the reason why He went to Calvary: to save. It is God’s hand that reaches into the depths to pull us out, not our own. Peter never even raised his arm to Christ. He just cried, “Lord, save me.” We need to make that cry our own as well.
And take heart: although it would appear as if Christ is shaming or admonishing Peter for doubting, I don’t think this is the case at all. Rather, unlike the storm, it is a quieter invite – the whispering sound – to go deeper, to trust God implicitly in all things, and to live in the Lord’s divine will. God is inviting Peter to become the person God made him to be and that Peter wants to be: fully alive; fully in love; fully free, without fear.
Interestingly, the best translation for “Oh you of little faith” is actually this: “Beloved, don’t make fear your roommate.” What a beautiful, loving way for Christ to speak to a disciple who was bold enough to step out on the water in the storm. What a heartfelt, authentic way to call Peter into a deeper relationship and surrender to Divine Love. What an incredible challenge for further growth in faith and relationship with the God of Love. In the end, it’s Jesus’ call for Peter to love in such a way that his “Save me” cry leads to a resurrection which returns to the boat in order to sail again with others who were too afraid to walk on water themselves.
And the invite is offered to us, too – in every storm, no matter what – as long as we cry out “Save me, Lord.” He will make sure we never make fear our roommate.
Face the storms. He’s already there, and His Love never lets us go.