During the fourth watch of the night, Jesus came toward them walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. “It is a ghost,” they said, and they cried out in fear. At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” After they got into the boat, the wind died down.” (Matthew 14.25-31)
Thirty-three years ago, on the morning of March 18th, 1990, two men dressed as police officers entered the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston and stole Rembrandt’s famous oil-on-canvas painting of the Storm on the Sea of Galilee. Painted in 1633 by the famous Dutch painter, the masterpiece was purchased in 1898 by Isabella Stewart Gardner and hung in a room that she called the Dutch Room.
At the same time that the thieves took the famous painting, they also stole twelve other famous works, their theft making it the largest art theft in American history. A decade ago, the FBI stated that it knew who had done the crime, but to date no one has been arrested. So, for all intents and purposes, the painting has disappeared.
Interestingly, there are several versions of the story in the gospels that were the inspiration for the painting. The oldest is found in the Gospel of Mark, the first of the canonical gospels to be written, composed probably around 70 A.D. The evangelists Matthew and Luke, writing a decade-and-a-half later, borrowed freely from Mark’s gospel, both including a similar story. The evangelist John also has something of the same story in his gospel.
However, as I said, there are several variations, the common element being a storm on the Sea of Galilee where the disciples suddenly find themselves paralyzed and frightened for their lives. Matthew, whom we hear from today, actually has two tellings of the story in his gospel, this being the second of the two that he shares.
In one version, the more common one, Rabbi Jesus is asleep in the boat when the storm surfaces, the disciples disconcerted, not only by the storm, but by the fact that their leader seems unbothered by the harrowing situation. Matthew tells this version in Chapter 8 of his gospel, telling it in much the same way as Mark had and as Luke will in his gospel.
In the second version, Rabbi Jesus is not in the boat, but outside the boat, walking on the water towards the disciples, the fishermen petrified, not only by the storm, but the sight of what they think might be a ghost. The evangelist John uses this version in his text, as does Matthew today in our text found in Chapter 14 of his gospel.
If these were not enough variations, Matthew provides an addendum to this second version, telling the story of Peter jumping into the water and attempting to walk towards Jesus, but, looking down into the deep, becomes terrified, and cries out to the Rabbi, “Lord, save me.” Rabbi Jesus stretches out his hand and catches Peter, bringing him back to the boat, where they rejoin the others. And, as Matthew says, “After they got back into the boat, the wind died down.”
So, what are we to make of these disparate stories, some elements agreeing, other elements not in agreement? As I see it, we begin with what everybody agrees on. And it is that there was a frightening experience in which the disciples and Rabbi Jesus were caught in the middle of a storm on the sea, not an unusual occurrence in itself.
The Sea of Galilee measures about thirteen miles in length and eight miles in width. Matthew says the boat was a few miles offshore when the storm came up. John says the disciples were in the middle of the sea. Either way, they were in trouble, as anybody caught in a bad storm onland knows, and in double trouble because they were on the sea.
As we find throughout the gospels, the evangelists tend to take the core elements of a common story and tailor them to meet the objectives of their overall text. Using this as a guide, we can often detect the purpose of the text by looking at how a particular evangelist uses it to fit his purposes. As a result, as one scripture scholar admits, “It is difficult to know precisely where to draw the line between symbolism and history.”
For my part, I tend not to become distracted by the details, preferring to look at a story with a telescopic lens rather than a microscopic one. In other words, I stay with the big picture. And what fascinates me in this second telling of the storm on the sea that Matthew shares with us is the addendum, the add-on about Peter jumping overboard and attempting to walk on the water.
In many ways, the point seems to be the same as in the other versions. Here, Peter in particular becomes frightened, resulting in Rabbi Jesus’ telling him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” This is much the same thing he tells all of the disciples in the other versions. So, it serves as a similar platform for urging the followers of Rabbi Jesus to have more faith.
In this way, I find it to be another “doubting Thomas” story, pretty much all the same elements found in it as we find in the post-resurrection story of Thomas who swears up and down he won’t believe in the resurrection unless he puts his fingers in the wounds of the crucified Lord. Here, we hear Peter say to Jesus, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Like Thomas, Peter is demanding proof of identity.
We shouldn’t have any difficulties identifying with Peter, or Thomas, for that matter, our moments of doubt more than enough to make those two look like amateurs. And when Jesus tells Peter he has “little faith” or says to Thomas “blessed are those who have not seen and have believed,” we get the point. We’ve been there, our circumstances different in some ways, but looking much the same as both of those disciples who have their doubts in moments of crises.
Surely, Matthew provided this addendum particularly for his listeners who had found themselves in a storm of trouble because they believed in the Risen Lord and wanted to follow his ways. Ridiculed and rejected, persecuted and prosecuted, they knew what it felt like to be in the middle of a storm, holding onto the sides of a boat for dear life.
In telling this story, Matthew urged the early followers to hold onto their faith, to believe that the Risen Lord can and would calm the storm and save their lives. Using Peter as a stand-in for all disciples–present and future–Matthew puts front and center the question, “You of little faith, why did you doubt,” in this way making a call for greater faith from those who claim to be followers of the Crucified Lord.
All things considered, it strikes me as a straightforward story, beseeching us to behave like people of faith instead of weak-kneed disciples scared stiff when the storms of life encircle us. It’s good to be reminded of this fact regularly, given the reality that storms are ever-present in our lives and we are easily–and rightly–frightened by them, whether we’re on land or on the sea.
And, were I to boil the meat off the bones in this story, I find it in this one line–”Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter.” That, in my opinion, is the most important part of the story. When Peter thinks everything is lost and he yells at the top of his lungs, “Lord, save me,” he finds a hand coming out of the darkness, reaching for him, and pulling him to safety.
For anybody who has found themselves in a similar situation where they’re drowning in a sea–literally or figuratively–the storm swirling around them, beating down on them, the sight of that hand means the difference between life and death. And anybody who’s been there isn’t bothered by the details of this story or its variations. All they want to know is that the Good Lord is going to stretch out his hand and catch them.
In 1932, the former blues musician and then church choir director and composer Thomas Dorsey was asked to sing at a revival in St. Louis. Living in Chicago at the time, with his wife Nettie expecting their first child, he didn’t want to go, but Nettie told him that he should. So he drove their old Model A to St. Louis where he performed. While he was still on the platform, a boy brought him a telegram that informed him that his wife had died giving birth to their son.
Dorsey found somebody to drive him back to Chicago that night. When he arrived back home, he saw that his baby boy seemed to be doing fine. However, within hours, he also died. Dorsey buried Nettie and the baby in the same casket. Despondent, the darkness surrounding him, he struggled to breathe, much less to survive.
A few days later, he went to visit an old friend of his on a local college campus. After a while, they walked into one of the music rooms. His sadness about to burst his soul, Dorsey sat down on the bench and began to pick at the keys. And as he played, he began to say the only words that would come out of his mouth, “Blessed Lord, blessed Lord, blessed Lord.”
His friend walked over to him and said, “Why don’t you make that precious Lord?” So Dorsey began to sing, “Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, help me stand.”
In a short while, he had composed a song that stirs the souls of listeners to this very day, a prayer that fell from his lips as he suffered through the storm on the sea. The lyrics to the song, now known as “Take my Hand, Precious Lord,” surely are familiar to a good many of us and leaves no doubt that he, like Peter, knowing he was sinking into the depths, could only cry out to the Lord.
“When my way grows drear/ Precious Lord, linger near/ When the light is almost gone/ Hear my cry, hear my call/ Hold my hand lest I fall,/ Take my hand, Precious Lord,/ Lead me on./ Precious Lord, take my hand/ Lead me on, let me stand/ I am tired, I am weak, I am worn/ Through the storm, through the night,/ Lead me on to the light/ Take my hand, Precious Lord,/ Lead me home.”
Clearly, those are the words of a person who has experienced the storm on the sea and who, in his desperation and despair, prays that the Good Lord will stretch out his hand and catch him, as he did Peter the apostle when he also found himself sinking into the depths of the raging waters, struggling to stay afloat, his arms flailing in the air.
If you’ve been there, and many of us have been, then you know the deep down fear that freezes you in place, the panic that robs the breath out of your chest, and the hopelessness that blackens the sky overhead. And, in that moment, if we can’t say anything else except, “Lord, take my hand,” as Peter did, it will be enough.
Because, even if we also have little faith, I promise you a hand will reach out to grab your own, and if you ever had a doubt in the world that Jesus could walk on water, it will be wiped away when you feel his hand take hold of your own, leading you on, leading you to the light, leading you home, as the winds slowly die down and the sun gradually breaks through the clouds.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 