The Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe

August 3, 2021  •  Tuesday of the Tenth Week after Pentecost

The Anglican Centre, Rome

Text: Matthew 14:29: “So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus.’”

The world around the disciples is in turmoil. They have lost the security and stability of their homes. They are constantly on the move. People are talking about them. The crowds pressing around them are getting bigger and bigger—and sometimes more and more demanding. 

Now, they are in the middle of a storm. Their boat is just about swamped. Jesus isn’t with them, and then suddenly he is, or at least it looks like him—walking toward them on the water. It must be a vision. It can’t be real. 

The world around us is in turmoil. We have lost the security and stability of the things that were familiar. We are constantly being disoriented by the speed of change. The big things we thought were certain suddenly seem unsteady and endangered. Democratic ideals seem threatened. Basic human rights are ignored and denied.

And now, we are in the middle of a storm. A virus is stalking us. People are falling ill. Communities and societies are being torn apart arguing about it. Our little boat seems to be getting thrown around, with the water of discord around us washing the deck. 

And in the midst of all this, once in a while, we think we glimpse Jesus. We are reminded, we are en-couraged, by the reminder of what God’s love looks like, what God’s hope looks like, what God’s call sounds like. But then we wonder: Is it real? Or is it just a vision?

We all remember what happens in the story. We all remember that Peter gets frightened, and begins to sink, and is caught up by Jesus. We were taught to hear those words from Jesus as a rebuke— “You of little faith! Why did you doubt?”

But I am not so sure that’s how we’re supposed to hear those words. Imagine instead, just for a moment, that as Jesus is reaching for Peter and pulling him back up out of the chaos, he’s not scowling—he’s laughing.

Don’t you know what you can do? My gosh, don’t you know what you are capable of? What if those words are encouragement, not judgment? What if that’s how we’re supposed to speak to those who are drowning in doubt and despair?

It’s easy to be so focused on what we think Peter’s failings are in this story that we miss two important examples he gives us—two things about him that we would do well to reflect on.

The first is, even in the middle of that storm, even in the depth of his fear—existential fear—when Peter catches a glimpse of the hope of God, he gets out of the boat. He leaves the safety of what he knows for the hope God has set before him—even though he isn’t completely certain what that means. He acts in faith. He doesn’t wonder. He just gets out of the boat.

We all know that Peter is impetuous. He declares before any of the rest that Jesus is the Messiah. He yells at Jesus once for being incautious, and he gets rebuked. In a moment of weakness, he denies Jesus.

But we also know that later in life, he gets out of the boat of his own safety again and again. He goes to the house of a gentile. He proclaims that the life of reconciliation given through Christ is not only for the Jewish people. He ends up in prison—and then gets out of that boat and follows an angel out of prison. He even ends up here, in this city, being crucified by Nero—choosing to leave a place of safety to face the church’s first persecution.

Peter may not have perfect faith, but he has faith again and again to get out of the boat. Do we?

There is a second thing to remember about Peter’s story. It’s not just that he gets out of the boat; it’s that he knows what his boat is. He knows exactly what is his place of safety and comfort. Said differently, he knows exactly what it is he has to leave.

Do we?

It’s not an accident that we often speak of the interior of a church as the nave—the “navis.” The church is meant to be our boat in the storm of life. It is meant to be the vessel carrying us through this life to our life with God. 

But it is just possible that the church is also our boat—that place of safety and security that we’re so desperate for. And because we are, even when we catch a glimpse of God’s hope somewhere on the waters of the storm, we prefer to hunker down.

Peter has faith to get out of the boat. And in order to do that, he must first know what the boat is that he is leaving. He must know that what appears to be a lifeboat is instead a limitation. 

He knows that even though it seems to be the only place of safety, even though it seems like the only good place to be in a storm, to respond to God’s call he must leave it behind and reach. Ultimately his hope in God is greater than his love for the boat. May it be the same for us. Amen.