An Evening Stroll

(From Matthew 14)

I was in the boat with the others. And I saw what the others saw. And like the others, I had a hard time believing it, even though we were all witnesses to it. I still do have a hard time believing it, in fact. Overall, this was one of the strangest nights I can remember.

 But first: who am I? You might not remember my name, but I was one of Jesus’ closest disciples, one of his twelve. We were called “apostles” and after following him for three years, we were sent out by Jesus to proclaim the good news. Of course, if you read the Gospels, you’ll know a lot about Peter, James and John. And a little about Andrew, Thomas, Matthew and Philip. And of course, Judas. The rest of us? Hardly mentioned at all. And the Gospel writers couldn’t even fully agree on our names!

 I’ll just leave it at that, remaining anonymous. All you need to know is that I was there, with Jesus, for the three years of his ministry. And like the others, I was chosen by him. That’s right, he chose me, not the other way around. So, if you learn virtually nothing about me from the four Gospels, that’s all right with me. After all, none of us got into this for the recognition. Well, maybe Peter did just a little bit.

 First, let me set the scene for this story. It began out in the middle of nowhere, near the shore of the Sea of Galilee, with a large gathering of people, literally in the thousands. I know that you’ve read about how Jesus miraculously fed the multitudes (more than once!), but this was the first time. It was truly shocking. 

 You had to be there to fully appreciate what a miracle it was. No one had heard of a miracle of this magnitude since Yahweh had rained manna down from heaven. And that was thousands of years ago. 

 Let me just say that the crowd was greatly impressed. It would be more accurate to say that they were in awe. And most of them, quite naturally, felt the need to respond in some way.

 I don’t know who started it, but someone in the crowd began to chant something about making Jesus a king! A king! And some of us, Jesus’ disciples, heard it and thought to ourselves, “Yes!”

 Making Jesus a king sounded awfully good to us, though none of us had the slightest idea how it might actually come about. I have to add that for at least a few of us, the image of Jesus on a throne suggested that some amount of his glory might trickle down to us as well. It would not be the last time that some from Jesus’ inner circle entertained thoughts of personal acclaim. 

 But Jesus would have none of it. In fact, the notion so disturbed him that he quickly dismissed the crowd and sent them on their way. I’m sure he feared that their reaction to his miracle was getting out of hand. And don’t forget that he was in the habit of reminding us that everything he did was at the bidding of the Father, and that his words and deeds were always commanded from above.

He must have also been concerned about us, I mean the twelve. Our enthusiasm for anointing him king clearly did not fit his plans and it may have surprised him. Although he did not call any of us out, he was awfully quick to dismiss us too, telling us to return to Capernaum. Now!

We had a boat at the ready. It belonged, I believe, to one of our party whose former life was spent as a fisherman on this same Sea of Galilee. I guess we all just assumed that Jesus would walk back, around the shore, though he didn’t say. We had learned, the hard way, never to predict what Jesus might do.

For now, all he seemed to want was to remain behind, alone, and to pray. We knew by now, not to argue with him when he retreated into prayer. It seemed that there was little more important to Jesus than prayer.

I did not like this. Not at all. Night was falling and I was not an experienced boatman. And while the Sea of Galilee is not terribly large, its weather can quickly change as winds swirl out of the surrounding hills. Storms can suddenly appear out of apparently calm skies.

I suppose we could have bedded down on the shore until morning. That wasn’t exactly what Jesus commanded, but surely, he’d understand. In any case, we didn’t do that, and so we began our journey, rowing across toward Capernaum, somewhere on the other side, in the blackness of the night.

My fears were soon realized as we began to encounter a strong headwind. By now, we were quite a distance offshore and out of sight of land on all sides. You can’t imagine how dark it was! We were literally blind, rowing toward an unseen destination on the far shore.

There seemed little thought given to turning back, though if we did, the wind would be favorably behind us. I wondered a bit if it was only the pride of our seasoned fishermen, who assured us that all would be well, that kept us from turning back.

They certainly knew the waters here, having literally grown up on them. But our strain at the oars belied their experience. Was this strong headwind something unusual, something beyond their years on the sea? Perhaps even something beyond nature itself?

The wind came stronger and stronger. Despite our straining, I couldn’t tell if we were moving forward or being blown back. And it wasn’t just the wind, but of course, also the waves that were kicking up, now crashing into our bow, creating a spray that repeatedly stung us. What’s more, the noise of the wind was, if nothing else, demonic, shrieking in our ears, rendering our shouting useless against it.

With all the strength we could muster, we strained at the oars. Several of them actually broke in two, victims of the current running against us. The boat was now literally shaking, as if its timbers were about to splinter and fall apart, casting us into the blackness of the waves.

As for me, I was losing hope of ever seeing Capernaum again. And in the dark, in the face of the howling wind, there was no ability to communicate, even to the next man, just inches away.

That’s when we saw him. At first glance, it seemed unreal, a mirage of sorts. It was hard to see anything, with such a spray of water pelting our eyes. My attempts to clear my vision succeeded enough to reveal a figure, on the sea, approaching our boat. A figure that appeared to be Jesus. A figure that appeared to be literally walking. And not only that, he was gaining on the now-stalled out boat, which was filling with water.

One by one, each of us saw him, pointing at the ghostly figure. In the pitch dark, an odd light seemed to illuminate him, but only faintly. All attempts at rowing ceased. As he continued moving forward, our little boat began to retreat, yielding precious, hard-won progress.

And now he began to pass us, as if he were literally walking to Capernaum, not around the sea, but across it! Didn’t he even see us, floundering in distress? I couldn’t tell.

Before I could cry to him for help, Peter called out, “Wait! Wait, master!”

Jesus turned toward us, not uttering a word. 

After a long pause, he spoke. And the odd thing is that despite the roar of the wind, the wind that rendered our speech all but lost, we could hear his every word:

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, “I am with you.”

But as comforted as we were at his presence, we nevertheless were very afraid, and uneasy about his appearance in the dim light, literally on top of the water. What could explain that?

And he repeated, “Don’t be afraid. I am with you.”

At that, Peter cried out, “Lord, if it is really you, bid me to come to you.”

Jesus, at some distance away from the boat, replied, “Come.”

You might think that the wind had somewhat died down by now, but that was not the case. Not at all, in fact, it seemed stronger than ever, and the boat was drifting further away from Jesus.

But Peter, to the surprise of us all, clambered out of the creaking, rocking boat and began to walk toward Jesus. Yes, he did! He was, like Jesus, walking on the water!

However, it didn’t last. All it took was one strong gust to extinguish his faith. And too far from the boat to easily return, Peter began to sink.

“Lord, help me, help me!” he cried. By now, Peter was desperately thrashing in the turbulent water.

An Evening Stroll

Illustration by Sharon Collins @becominghismasterpiece.com

Jesus walked toward Peter as he was sinking, and extending his hand, gave Peter the lifeline that he so urgently needed. Peter grasped Jesus’ hand for all he was worth, pulling himself up from the waves that threatened to overwhelm him.

The two of them came to the boat and climbed in. Only then did the wind cease. Now we were all safely in the boat, which had finally stopped shaking. The wind was calm. We, drenched as we were, sat for a long time in silence, attempting to put our minds around what we’d just experienced.

We could not do it. Our minds fell short of any rational understanding. Feeding the thousands on the hillside was miracle enough. But this, this was personal. We were not just hungry, as the multitude that he fed. We were sinking! Dying! And he came to us, telling us not to fear. And then he quieted the wind and saved us.

Each of us had the very same thought: who is this man who can quiet the wind and the sea? Who is this man who can save us from disaster?

To me, our thoughts about making him a king suddenly seemed childish, inadequate, even foolish. This man, Jesus, was more than a king. Actually, he was more than a man! He was beyond definition. Categories would not define him. Words could not capture him. He was far above all of that, and there was no reason to even attempt to describe him. Any description would fall short, so short that we must give up and just worship him, have faith in him and love him.