creative reflection based on Matthew 14:22-33
Dear Diary,
Sometimes it’s easier to make sense of something by writing it down. At least that’s how it is with me. I tend to be a bit impulsive, and in the moment, I do things that don’t always make a ton of sense. Taking time to reflect on my actions and experiences afterwards doesn’t always stop me from being impulsive again, but sometimes it means I learn or relearn something about myself.
A few days ago, something happened that I’m still trying to make sense of. Honestly, there have been a few things over the last week that sort of have my head spinning. I’ve been part of the group following Jesus for a while, and we’re beginning to find a familiar rhythm. We’re figuring out our roles in the group, and the way Jesus operates is more familiar. I’m not saying I understand him all the time—either what he says or what he does—but it doesn’t surprise me the way it used to.
Or at least it didn’t. I guess now I’ve gotta admit that this man refuses to be limited by whatever box we might try to put him in. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Like I said, it’s been a week. We got word that Herod killed John the Baptist, which I could tell really shook Jesus up. He tried to stay calm and steady and focus on the journey ahead. But when he thought no one was looking, I saw the shadows of exhaustion and sorrow in his slumped shoulders and vacant gaze. I feel for him. He believes so strongly that God’s way will lead to healing and restoration, but then the very real power of political leaders who can just demand someone’s head on a platter shows up and it all feels a bit futile.
Anyway, Jesus mentioned to us that he needed some time away, so we headed out of the city to the hills. We’re getting pretty good at sleeping wherever we land at the end of a day, and between us, we can usually make a fire and find something to eat. So the idea of spending a night under the stars wasn’t that bad. But, sure enough, the crowds found us. And of course, Jesus, being the guy that he is, gave us that look that made it clear that we were going to be here for a while, and he began doing his thing. I don’t even know exactly how to describe what “his thing” is, but I just know that people who come up to him leave differently. Sometimes they’re just holding their head up a little bit higher. Other times there’s a more visible difference. But whatever their need, it seems that he has a way of connecting with them and meeting it.
Anyway, long story short—this isn’t even the scenario I really wanted to make sense of in this journal entry—the end of a long day, the crowds are hanging around, and everybody’s starting to get hungry. We asked Jesus if we should call it and send the crowds away, but he insisted that we find something for them to eat. Again, I can’t exactly explain what happened, but somehow between the few loaves of bread and the fish that we were able to locate, everybody—and I mean everybody—was fed. It didn’t really make sense to me, but I’m learning that there are things about Jesus that don’t make sense.
So, there we were on the hill that rises above the lake, and Jesus tells us to go ahead of him in the boat. The crowds were finally thinning, and the sun was dipping beyond the horizon. He told us that he just needed to stay back for a bit and spend some time on his own. We were to go in the boat across the lake, and he would meet us there.
I tried to object because I could see some clouds forming in the distance. I’ve been on my fair share of boats when the wind changes, and it’s not my favourite. I offered the idea of waiting until the morning, but Jesus was insistent. We needed to get in the boat and cross the lake. He would meet us. That’s all he kept saying: I will meet you. I promise. The guys and I looked at each other and shrugged as we turned to go down the hill. When Jesus is in one of those moods, it’s not easy to say no to him.
At first things went fine. We’ve been on boats together enough to no longer fight over who’s going to do what. Everybody knows their job, and we work together fairly well. But it didn’t take long for someone to notice that the wind was picking up. And then it started to rain. And then we were doing everything we could to keep the boat from capsizing. We are not small guys, and several of us grew up on the water. But I gotta say…there were moments during the night when I honestly thought this was going to be the end. I’ve been through some storms, but this one felt a bit more like a test. I think all of us were probably doing a bit of reckoning and hoping that if this is how it all ended, we had done our best with the life we’d been given.
Somewhere between pulling on a rope and throwing my weight into a post to resist the wind, the story of Jonah flashed through my mind. Had someone done something to upset the very force of nature itself? It was probably me. I have this way of acting before I think that gets me into trouble. If anyone had inadvertently caused a storm by angering God, it was probably me. I tried to scream my confessions and apologies into the thunder and lightning, but I’m not sure anyone…or anything…heard me.
After midnight, in that darkness that swallows time and there isn’t even enough space to count seconds between thunder and lightning because the storm was right on top of us, energy began to lag. Some guys started letting go of their ropes and poles and just curling into whatever corner they could find. A few of us tried to yell something like motivation and encouragement to one another, but it all felt pretty hopeless. I’ll admit, I wondered whether it would be better to just give ourselves over to the storm.
But then someone pointed out a light shimmering over a wave. Someone else saw it too, and for a minute we forgot the storm as our attention was captured by some sort of apparition hovering above the water. I didn’t think we were close enough to the shore for it to be a light from land…and what kind of light would reach this far, anyway? I thought again about Jonah, and about the moments before he threw himself into the water. Were we just that far gone that we were seeing things that weren’t there? When someone suggested it was a ghost, I’ll admit I considered the possibility.
But then a voice. Coming from the light. A voice I have begun to recognize as one of wisdom, comfort and conviction. A voice that called me by name when I felt invisible and insignificant. A voice that I now recognize in a crowd and that cut through the waves. A voice that has a way of saying exactly what you need to hear. A voice saying, “I am. Do not be afraid.”
What happened next will probably be something I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make sense of. I’m sure the guys are still talking about it, and who knows what they’re saying or how the story will change when they tell it to others. But here’s what I know. I saw that light that began to look like Jesus coming towards us on the water. Yes…ON the water. I saw it. And then I heard his voice say those words that were said to Moses and to the prophets of our history. “I am. Do not be afraid.” I heard the rumble of thunder and felt the exhaustion of fighting the storm all night. And I guess I just wanted to know if Jesus was who the deepest part of my soul wanted him to be. I wanted to know if he would do for us what I’d seen him do for so many other people and make everything better. I wanted to know if I could trust…like, really trust…him in the midst of the storm. And also, I’m the guy who says something without really thinking. So I asked him to prove himself by inviting me out of the boat.
Now, did I really think he would take me up on my challenge? Probably not. Did I think I would actually try it if he did? Probably not. What did I think was going to happen? I’m not sure I could tell you. But he called me out of the boat, so then what could I do? The rest of the group was staring at me. The storm was still blowing all around us. What we were trying wasn’t working, and we were desperate. I thought one more time about Jonah, and I remember saying to myself, “here goes nothing” as I threw my wet cloak onto the deck and stepped over the edge.
And here’s the part I want to write down so I have it on record later when I doubt my own memories of this night: I didn’t sink right away. I mean…I sank—my name is Peter, which means ‘rock,’ so what did I expect? But not right away. For a minute that seemed like much longer, I was walking on the water towards Jesus. I have no explanation, but what I know is that I did not sink right away. My heart rate was racing and beating so loud in my ears I almost forgot about the wind and the waves and the lightning and the thunder and the overwhelming fear that this was how it all ends. For a minute, all I could hear was the sound of my heart, and all I could see was the light stretching its hand towards me. For that minute, all my insecurities I rarely admitted and tried to hide behind a mouth that spoke too quickly were set aside, and I felt confident and capable of doing anything.
But then the moment was interrupted by one of those lightning strikes that illuminates the entire sky, followed by a sound that felt like the whole world was cracking. And suddenly I realized where I was. Jesus was a few steps ahead of me just out of my reach, and the boat with all the guys was a few steps behind me. And I was standing in the darkness, alone, in the middle of a storm. And I guess it all just became too much. What was I thinking? How had I gotten myself into this situation again? Why did I always act before really thinking through the consequences of my behaviour? What did Jesus even see in me in the first place? I was inevitably going to mess everything up.
I felt myself begin to sink. I felt the water come up around my legs and reach up to my waist. All I could do was cry out in desperation, “Lord! Save me!” certain that he had every right to wash his hands of my ridiculous attempts to earn his approval.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but the next thing I remember, I was back in the boat with Jesus, and the storm had calmed. The deck of the boat was littered with scraps of sails and splinters of poles and ropes that had broken through the night, but the storm was over. The guys were standing around us in a circle, faces filled with looks that varied from disbelief to awe to confusion to wonder. Someone reached out to poke me, I assume to make sure I was real. Jesus chuckled and shook his head as he looked at me. And I’ll never forget what he said as he put his hands on my shoulders to get my attention. He said, “Oh you of faltering faith, why did you doubt? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
The whole situation was pretty intense, and I’m still trying to make sense of it. Jesus did not seem as phased about the storm as we were. He said something about promising to meet us and then began cleaning up and putting things that had tipped or rolled back where they belonged. The rest of the guys drew in closer and began peppering me with questions about what it felt like when I was out on the water. For once I didn’t have a quick response…I just leaned against the side of the boat and stared off into the water as the sun finally began peeking through the clouds with a reminder that the night never lasts forever. I heard a few of the guys muttering to each other as they watched Jesus make his way around the deck, “That guy is something else. Truly. He must be the Son of God.”
We got to the shore, tied up the boat and then made a quick fire to warm up and dry out a bit. It took a while for the usual banter to return, and we just sat in silence and stared at each other and at Jesus. I can’t speak for the others, but I know I was thinking about that moment when I cried out to Jesus to save me. Was that a moment of doubt or belief? I think it was kind of both. Was my doubt about his ability to save me, or was it more about my doubt in myself? Maybe his statement about faltering faith didn’t have to do with my confidence in him, but my faith in myself? Maybe what he wanted me to believe is not that he could save me…which, let’s be honest, he clearly can. Maybe what he wanted me to believe is that I deserved saving.
And if what Jesus has said in other moments is true, then the important thing is not whether I BELIEVE enough. The important thing is that I AM enough. In the midst of the storms when I don’t have the energy to save myself, I am enough. In the midst of the ridiculous things I do and say that don’t always help the way I want them to, I am enough.
The important thing I’m taking from that night in the storm is that he did what he promised he would do…he met us, he saved us, and he calmed the storm. I would suspect there will be more storms, and there will be moments when it feels like we do not deserve saving. But we can always…always…always cry out to him. And whether or not we think we deserve it, I think he will do what he did on that water: he will meet us, he will save us, and he will be with us until the storm is over.
I think that’s something he keeps trying to teach us, and we have a hard time believing it. I wonder if it’s because there’s a part of us that doesn’t think we deserve that kind of grace. But we do, and he will keep proving it to us.
So, Diary, at least today, until the next time I forget and act out of impulsiveness, self-doubt, fear or insecurity, I choose to put my faith in that reminder of grace that I received in the midst of a storm. And let’s be honest—if Jesus asks me to do something that feels scary and overwhelming, and that I’ll probably mess up—I’ll probably do it.