1 Kings 19:9-14
At [Horeb, the mount of God,][Elijah] came to a cave, and spent the night there. Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” He said, “Go out and stand on the mountain before the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Now there was a great wind, so strong that it was splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence. When Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. Then there came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”
Matthew 14:22-33
[Jesus] made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side [of the Sea of Galilee], while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
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Pastor Chad and I were in Atlanta this past week at the first ever ELCA Rostered Leader’s Gathering, which is basically a Youth Gathering for pastors. 900 of us gathering for worship and for workshops and speakers and activities and service projects and music and even dancing.
It took two flights to get there and two flights to get back, and every time I fly, I seem to like flying less and less, because for as many things as I understand about the world, I cannot for the life of me understand how airplanes work, and how you can get up into the air and then stay there for two hours without falling out of the sky, even though there is nothing that you can see underneath you holding you up. When the flight is smooth, I can lull myself into a false sense of security, but let there be even the tiniest bump of turbulence, and I become acutely aware all over again that I am sitting in a large metal tube, hurtling through the sky. And I get afraid.
I’m not all that different than the disciples in today’s gospel, many of whom were fishermen who’d been on a boat hundreds of times, unafraid, until the storm rolls in, and the boat starts to bump around, and then they become acutely aware of the power and the danger of the wind and the waves and they start to fear the deep water beneath them and doubt its power to hold them up.
Peter is afraid. The storm has been battering the boat the whole night. It shows no signs of letting up. Desperate, he peers out of the boat, looking for a calm corner of sky, and instead he sees a ghost. Or at least something that looks like a ghost. Peter and his companions grow yet more terrified. They cry out in fear. And the ghost-figure says to them, “It is I, Jesus, take heart, do not fear.”
But Peter isn’t satisfied with the answer and why should he be? Death and destruction are all around, and the last time Peter saw Jesus he was seeing off the last of the crowds and hanging back to pray for a while. So Peter, who is always quick to leap before he looks, offers up a challenge: “if it really is you, command me to come out and walk on water!”
These, my friends, are not words of faith, even though they might sound like it. And these are not words of courage. These are words of fear.
Peter is afraid of the storm, and Peter is afraid of the figure out on the water, and he is and afraid because the boat doesn’t feel safe, and afraid because the people he loves and trusts are in peril, and afraid because not one of them have the power to make things better, to right the ship.
Peter offers to step out of the boat, not because he is brave, but because fear has double-dog-dared him to test the waters, literally. Fear makes our brains and our hearts fuzzy enough to believe that this might be a good idea. Fear leads us to chase ghosts and fear makes us skeptical of the truth, and even when the truth says that you can stand in a boat and you cannot stand on water, Peter still chooses the water. Fear tell us that we can’t trust our friends and we can’t trust our boat, and that nobody understands what we’re feeling, and that maybe we’re better off without them anyway. Fear tells us to head off alone, even into the churning water or into the wilderness.
This is exactly what happens with Elijah. He has been obeying the call and command of the Lord, which has made him immensely unpopular, and the king’s wife Jezebel has now put a bounty on his head, and Elijah is afraid. And even though God has empowered him and preserved him and enabled him to do amazing and impossible things in his ministry so far, Elijah, in fear, forgets God’s faithfulness, or perhaps rejects it outright, and sets off into the wilderness by himself. In fear, he takes matters into his own hands. He turns away from his calling, because are you really still a prophet if you are in the wilderness with no one to hear you? And he finds a cave. And he hunkers down. And then he complains about being all alone.
Meanwhile, Peter has stepped out of the boat by himself and is standing there on top of the water, and he’s getting rained on, and he, like Elijah, begins to regret his decision. Because of course a storm feels worse when you are standing in it, and - holy buckets! - you’re standing on water, and - wait a minute! - that’s impossible! - and Peter starts feeling more out of control than ever…and he starts to sink.
Fear does that to us as well. Overwhelms us. Makes us feel out of control. Makes us feel like we are sinking.
Today, I’m overwhelmed and scared and sad and sinking beneath the news reports coming out of Charlottesville, Virginia, where hundreds of white nationalists marched with torches to a pro-confederacy rally, where KKK and neo-Nazis and white supremacists clashed violently with counter-protestors who were singing “This Little Light of Mine” and defiantly shouting, “Love has already won” over the din of profanity and racial slurs being hurled against them.
I am afraid. I am afraid of hardened hearts that continue to claim one race as superior to others. I am afraid of violence. I am afraid for the lives of my brothers and sisters. I am afraid that hate will triumph over love. I am afraid that goodness and peace and justice will be silenced by bigotry and by the selfish human pursuit of power. I am afraid of those who would wish me harm or wish others harm for speaking up and speaking out for justice.
The storms are brewing, the winds are blowing, the waves are rising up, and here we are. Standing on the water. Wondering what is going to happen next. And I’m afraid. Peter and I, we are sinking.
Jesus, however, is not.
Jesus is walking across the churning waves without so much as stumbling. He is impervious to the storm. He is bigger and stronger than that which scares us. He is bigger and stronger than storms and turbulence and violence and evil and sin and even death. And he is walking directly toward us.
Jesus reaches out his hand, and steadies Peter, and says to him, gently, “Ah, you of little faith,” as if he were a parent reassuring a trembling child. Jesus isn’t judging Peter, or trying to tell him that if he had more faith, he wouldn’t be sinking. Jesus is reaching out his hand to say, “have faith in me, even a little tiny bit, because I am here to save you.” Jesus takes Peter back to the boat, and then Jesus gets into the boat, and then...all is quiet.
Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton preached on this gospel during our closing worship in Atlanta and she said, “The good news is not that Peter got rescued or that the storm calmed, but that we see here what God has constantly done for God’s people: it is God’s instinct, inclination, and loving desire to come to us.”
God comes to find us. God gets into the boat with us. God goes with us. God brings us peace.
And after the earthquake, after the wind, after the fire, after the tempest, after all of the trembling of the earth and our spirits, there is God, in the sound of sheer silence. In the sound of a still-small voice. In the hush of still waters and in the quiet of a storm coming to rest.
God is not in the storm or the earthquake or wind or fire...God is with us during the earthquake and wind and fire. And it is God’s good intention to bring all things to peace. To be our still-small voice of hope.
This sound of sheer silence might seem insufficient good news in a volatile time such as this, when we are so desperate for the world to change that we’d really rather God show up with his fists up. We want vindication. We want God to show up like a hurricane. We want God to show up with power. But maybe that’s not how God works.
I mean...God came to earth to bring his kingdom by showing up in the still-small voice of a tiny, helpless, infant. Without fanfare. Born in a stable, to nobody-parents. Heralded by sheep and shepherds. And yet he struck terror in the hearts of kings and nations. And Jesus wasn’t martyred in some grand, dramatic fashion. He died like a common criminal on a common cross. And yet he struck terror in the hearts of sin, death, and evil, trampling them underfoot.
Jesus doesn’t come to beat the world at its own violent game. Jesus doesn’t come to out-storm the storm. Jesus comes to subvert the ways of the world in order to save the world from itself. Jesus comes to us and he brings love and peace, which might seem quiet or weak, but love and peace are the very things that have the power to overcome fear and hate.
Have you watched the video above from yesterday’s counter-protest? A line of clergy, fully vested, arms linked, walking down the street in silent protest before breaking into song. This is God, showing up in the sound of sheer silence. God, linking arms with peacemakers who feel like they’re sinking. God, taking the hands of our brothers and sisters of color and lifting them up and walking with them through these storms of hate and promising them peace and salvation.
My siblings in Christ, I do not know what it is that you fear today. Maybe you fear nuclear war. Maybe you fear the advance of a terminal illness. Maybe you fear your demons. Maybe you fear disappointing your loved ones, or even disappointing Jesus. In one way or another, we all fear for our lives.
But know this good news:
Even when fear is isolating and paralyzing and powerful, Jesus is more powerful. Jesus is stronger than all the things that scare us. Jesus comes to us in the storm. Jesus reaches out to us, no matter how small, trembling, feeble, or failing our faith. Jesus restores us. Jesus gets into the boat with us. Jesus weathers the storm with us, and Jesus brings us peace.
Take heart, you who fear.
You will survive the storm.
You will not sink.
Because God comes to you.
God is with you.
Amen.
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