Some thoughts as we continue to wade through the pandemic…

There really is something about the wee hours of the morning—those dark hours before dawn. It was a long time since we laid our heads on our pillow, but it is still a long time until sunrise when light returns to our world. Why is it that in those hours the storms come? Why is it that in those hours, we toss and turn? Why is it in those hours that our fears, worries, and trepidations get the best of us? There is just something about those dark, dark hours…

So, of course, it comes as no surprise that the disciples are storm-tossed at 300 in the morning. They, too, are worn, weary, and worried. What must have seemed like a lifetime ago, they had left with Jesus to go on a retreat, but, as we know, from last week, those plans got derailed. A crowd materialized and the retreat vaporized. Having fed thousands of people and ministered to them, the disciples still need a retreat, but instead Jesus sends them on their way. So, they take their boat and head for the far shore, back where they first started. And—no surprise here—they run into a storm that swamps the boat, throws them about, and threatens to undo them. Of course it would—it was 300 in the morning…

Why is that?

What does bad luck always seem to come in a pack?

Why does life seem to pile it on?

There is no answer to those questions. It just is the way it is.

But notice something…

As the disciples fall into trouble, Jesus comes.

Jesus responds. Right then. Right there.

He comes striding across the waves.

One of the most important proclamations the story of creation tells us—something that carries through the whole scripture narrative right on through to us hearing it again this morning—is that God orders chaos. Chaos is all that threatens to undo us. It is everything that deconstructs all of our carefully laid plans. It is all that sends willy-nilly the wrong way down a one-way street. It is all that shakes the foundations beneath us. It is everything that upsets us. But God orders it. God takes control of it. God redeems it. Always. That is the way of God. That is the secret to God’s creative power and will.

The symbol of chaos is water.

Jesus strides across the waves.

For Jesus, water is the sure foundation. 

Jesus orders chaos.

We call that grace—amazing grace. Jesus takes what we are, as we are, and orders it. 

The disciples, though, can’t see that truth right away. Remember, its 300 in the morning. At 300 in the morning, our worsts fears seem real. Being overwhelmed is a lot more experienced than not at that hour. They see a figure walking across the water, and they see a ghost! They see one more thing to terrorize them. They see one more sure sign they will drown.

Jesus calls out in the constant refrain in the gospels, “Fear not!” He knows something about fear—it blinds us. It keeps us from seeing what’s right in front of us. It keeps us from understanding what we are seeing. So, for the disciples to see, they need release from fear—“It is I!” Look, it’s me! 

Ever noticed a child able to switch immediately from terror to calm just by a parent saying, “Hey! It’s me! I’m right here!”

But Peter remains uncertain. Of course, he does. He decides to test the veracity of the ghost—“If it’s you, let me join you!” 

One wonders if he assumed no invitation would come. It would be natural to ask an impossible request because then the assumption of danger would be validated. Sure, it’s you! Why I just come and join you, then? Sarcasm, pure and simple. 

But Jesus says, “Come on, then!”

Jesus offers the improbable. Jesus offers the impossible.

Jesus offers us to join him.

And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the core invitation of the gospel. We assume Jesus invites us only to join in the end result—the trip to heaven, the taste of salvation—but the gospel actually tells another story—yes, that is part of it, but the real core of the gospel is the call to join Jesus in the work of salvation, to be his hands and feet upon the earth, to join him in ordering the chaos all around us, and to build the kingdom of God, not in heaven, but here on earth. Right here, right now.

Peter hops out of the boat and starts walking. Impetuous, impulsive, instinctive Peter acts first, thinks later. He begins to walk atop the waves toward Jesus. 

Faith so often starts with high enthusiasm. It’s all we can think of—the zeal of a convert burns bright and hot. It consumes us. So many folks join a church afire, ready to tackle the whole world, bursting with ambition. 

Then Peter realizes what it is he walks on—water—water! The waves still roll and roil beneath him. The spray still soaks him. It’s still so dad-blamed chaotic!

Faith then runs into reality. We meet the church folk that we wish we hadn’t—the ones who seem to own the place and don’t let newcomers join in any church folk games. We meet the overwhelming need of the world, realizing in an instant we are just ordinary people with ordinary gifts. We meet the difficulty in being faithful in overwhelmed, too busy, and often too chaotic lives. In short, we meet the cross. 

Like Peter, we sink.

But Peter does the wisest thing any person could ever do—“Help, Lord, save me!” 

The simple confession that brings redeeming grace.

The simple statement of blind need.

The cry for help.

Immediately—immediately—Matthew tells us, Jesus stuck out his hand, grabbed Peter, and raised him up. 

That’s how close God is to us. That’s how near grace waits for us. 

Trust that to be true.
Stake your life on it.

It is a sure foundation.

The storm stills. Day breaks. All is at rest.

Jesus is Lord.