Bible reading: Matthew 14:22-34.

There’s an old children’s hymn – some of you will know it – which goes like this: “Jesus’ hands were kind hands, doing good to all; healing pain and sickness, blessing children small; washing tired feet and saving those who fall: Jesus’ hands were kind hands, doing good to all”. I’m sure that the line about “healing pain and sickness” makes us immediately think of Jesus’ miracles, such as enabling lame people to walk, giving sight to those who could not see, healing a woman who had a persistent bleed, curing those with leprosy or other disfiguring skin conditions, even restoring life to people who had died. All these actions weren’t just signs that Jesus was the Son of God; they also demonstrated his care for people. For the folk he touched weren’t just cured medically but “made whole” and brought back into the mainstream of society which had often shunned them in the past.

However there are some miracles which were a bit different and didn’t involve healing. There were unexpectedly large catches of fish. There was the prediction that a coin with value equivalent to the Temple tax would be found in the mouth of the next fish to be caught. There were, as we heard last week, feedings of both 5000 and 4000 hungry people – hugely symbolic for Jews whose history was founded on the flight from Egypt and journey through the wilderness to the Promised Land. And then there was Jesus’ very first miracle, a sign of his power yet strangely trivial and domestic, as he changed water into wine and spared the blushes of his host who’d miscalculated his drinks order.

And then we have today’s story of Jesus walking on water which is hugely puzzling, even if you are prepared to believe that it literally happened as Matthew tells us – for, of course, people have tried to explain it away in lots of different ways. For what did this miracle, which one commentator calls “useless” and another “outrageous” and “not for reasonable people”, achieve? Was it merely a spectacular feat of magic? If so, that seems totally out of character for Jesus. So we need to delve deeper into the story; and, as we do, we find that we encounter other puzzles as well.

Let’s set it into the context of this Gospel. At the start of the chapter Jesus has been shocked and horrified to hear of the cruel death of John the Baptist. He’s tried to get some time to mull over and pray about the situation, but he hasn’t been very successful: although he crossed the lake by boat the people worked out where he was going and were waiting for him when he arrived. A demanding, and perhaps unwelcome, day of healing ensued; however at its end thousands of people were still seeking his aid and were, moreover, getting hungry. In response Jesus miraculously feeds them with fish and bread but that isn’t the end of the story. Desperate to bring proceedings to a close, Jesus tells everyone that ministry has now finished for the day and that they must go home. He forces (a literal translation might be “shoves”) the disciples into a boat – perhaps, as it was getting dark, he hopes that no-one will have noticed that he wasn’t with them. At any rate, Jesus slips away and finally manages to have some further time alone, communing in prayer with his Father in heaven.

And then a storm blows up. The boat carrying the disciples hasn’t yet reached the far side of the lake; they are about as far from the shore as they could be. Perhaps the boat isn’t designed to carry twelve people so it’s low in the water, with water beginning to slop over the sides. Perhaps everyone is tripping over each other and those twelve baskets of food, left over from the meal. Perhaps the landlubbers among the disciples are panicking and generally getting in the way of the experienced fishermen. Perhaps no-one can really see what’s going on as it’s so dark and their lamps have blown out. All that is conjecture: but we can be sure that the disciples are pretty terrified.

And their terror increases. For, dimly glimpsed in the first light of dawn (we’re told that this was the “fourth watch” which in Roman time means between 3 and 6am), they see a figure coming towards them, apparently walking calmly across the rolling waves. Of course no-one can do that: what the disciples are seeing is a phantasm, a ghost. They already probably believe that the storm has been caused by demonic powers – so is this the Grim Reaper purposefully striding towards them to tell them that their last hour has come and that their boat is about to be lost with all hands? It certainly looks like it!

But as the figure gets nearer and the light grows stronger, their fear begins to turn into amazement. For the shadowy figure starts to look familiar – yes, it’s … can it be? … can they be sure? .., is it Jesus? Has he (and they can’t figure out how) heard their cries for help and come to rescue them? What’s going to happen next? What does it all mean? And then they hear Jesus’ reassuring voice saying: “You don’t need to be frightened! It really is me!” – words which in the original aren’t just emphatic but, I think, also say, “Yes, I truly am God”.

As so often, it’s Peter who makes the first move. What he says can actually be translated in two different ways. Most English Bibles say something like, “If it is you, Lord, tell me to come to you over the water”. In other words, if Jesus commands Peter to come, that will be the proof that he is who he says he is. However this verse can also be translated as, “Lord, because it is you, command me to come”: which implies a much greater level of belief on Peter’s part. Perhaps, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter which translation you prefer; for Jesus does indeed say, “Come”. Peter takes his life into his hands, steps over the side and – incredibly – starts walking towards him.

Remember, though, that this is hardly water-ski-ing weather; in fact it’s still blowing a gale and the water is swirling around. So, once the initial euphoria of “I can do it!” has worn off (in about ten seconds, I reckon!), Peter realises the peril of his situation. For here he is, standing on top of a rough sea without a life-jacket … well, it just can’t happen, can it! He is hit with the reality of the situation, his faith in Jesus flies out of the window, and he starts to sink. (John Wesley, the Methodist, suggested that, as an experienced fisherman, Peter would have been a strong swimmer. I suspect that the opposite is true as I understand that many fishermen don’t learn to swim as they’d prefer to drown quickly rather than prolong their agony in a futile struggle against the sea. Can any of you confirm that?)

Well, you know the rest of the story. Peter shouts out to Jesus for help, Jesus grabs him by the hand, and the two of them clamber into the boat, although not without Jesus giving Peter a stern ticking-off for not having had sufficient faith. (That, to me, seems rather unfair: after all, Peter had at least tried walking to Jesus when none of his companions had had the courage to do so). In an echo of the other ‘storm on the sea’ story in the Gospels, the wind dies down as quickly as it had sprung up. Calm ensues and the boat reaches the far shore – bearing, some relieved, puzzled and overawed disciples.

I find that there are some interesting parallels (and huge differences) between this story and another that we encounter in John’s Gospel. Both involve Jesus appearing at a distance and Peter getting out of a boat to come to him, but the circumstances were very different. I’m thinking, as you’ll have guessed, of that night, shortly after Jesus’ resurrection, when some of the disciples went out to fish but caught nothing. As they come towards the shore, tired and frustrated, they catch sight of someone standing on the beach – as it’s not yet fully light, they can’t quite make out who it is. He shouts out to them: “Cast your net on the other side of the boat”. The fisherman wonder if there’s any point in listening to this landlubber, but they’ve nothing to lose. They put out their net – and it fills with so many fish that they can’t even haul it into the boat but can only tow it behind them.

So far, the two stories have little in common. In one, Jesus walks across the water while, in the other, he remains on dry land. In one, the boat is being used as a means of transport while, in the other, it is being used for fishing. And, of course, one is about a raging storm while the other takes place on a calm morning. So how can I say that the two stories contain similarities? Well, in both cases Jesus appears but is not initially recognised. Both involve miracles: walking on water and the amazing catch of fish which went against all probability. And both involve Jesus making what appears to be a ridiculous command.

But in both stories Peter gets out of the boat after he is sufficiently certain that the mystery person he can see is Jesus – either walking on the water or wading through the shallows. He’s certainly exhibiting greater faith and enthusiasm than his comrades. Does that merely show that he is naturally more of a risk-taker than they are? Perhaps. Or does it show that, despite the obvious weaknesses, imperfections and errors of his faith, he’d actually understood who Jesus was better than anyone else so was more prepared to trust him? All I can say is that I’d have been reluctant to get out of that boat on either occasion!

Let’s try to sum up. I’ll be honest and say that this tale of walking on the water is both hard to believe and somewhat bizarre; however it was clearly circulating in the early Church and was important enough for Matthew to include in his Gospel. Indeed, it’s been suggested that the early Christians, a beleaguered tiny minority in a religious and political environment which was often hostile, found great comfort in this story: that they regarded the boat as a metaphor of the Church, the “ark of salvation” carrying them through the stormy, uncertain and threatening waters of the 1^st century Roman Empire. We live in very different times: yet our world is also stormy, which makes it hard for us to maintain our confidence in God. We, like Peter, try to walk on the water but we, too, often find ourselves frightened and sinking.

For that’s inevitable: no matter how good we think we are at walking on water, there’ll be times when we’ll start to sink. Whether we feel that our faith is firm or fragile, the waves will splash our legs, the fear will break through our vision of Christ, and we will begin to sink like stones. It’s only human. Yet, in our moments of peril, we cry out to God and hope he will stretch out a reassuring hand. Does that always happen? I wish I could say, “Yes, of course”, but I can’t, for anyone who has been a Christian for any length of time knows that there are times when, it seems, we are inexplicably left to sink. Nevertheless I still believe that Jesus is our friend and our help in the storms of life. All we can do is hope that, as we reach out our hand, he will grasp it. For there may well be no-one else we can turn to for help.