When the Bosporus waters stalled the entourage, Xerxes commanded his engineers to float a bridge over the gap. But when their temporary pontoon structure was ready, the fickle European weather turned and a grand storm piled up the waters until they swallowed the link.
Xerxes was livid. How dare the god of the deeps challenge him? In a rage, he ordered the waves to be lashed with whips, tied with chains, and sunk beneath the surface. While this may have placated the king, in reality it failed to harm the deeps one whit. They would rise again and again to challenge others who dared to test their uneasy face.
Dangerous Waves In Galilee
Like the disciples of Jesus, out that lonely night on the Sea of Galilee, the storm that rose was a double whammy for them. Only hours before they had been front and center in another of Jesus' amazing magical acts. The crowds had followed this young rabbi out into the wild places where he was wandering, just to listen and look for miracles.
He certainly gave them a good one -- it had been well past mealtime, with no fast-food restaurants in sight when Jesus took the lunch a mother packed for her young son and turned it into a feast that everyone could share. That's when they, Jesus' special deputies, were put in charge of the distribution. No one among the milling men could fail to notice that these fellows were important. They were handpicked agents of this great man, and got to spend all day every day with him. Envy skittered around them as they moved with humble pride to serve these poor folks.
But then Jesus had left them. He had just walked away and gone off into the hills by himself, as if he didn't want to be around them, as if they didn't really matter that much to him. They retaliated and ran from him in the other direction, shoving off across the lake in a boat. Conversation among them, over the waters, must have skittered between rehearsals of their afternoon greatness and pouty uncertainties about Jesus.
They were fisherman, though, and this rowing across Galilee was good therapy. They knew these waters well. Some, like James and John, could probably see the lights in the windows of their parents' home over in Capernaum. Fickle fortunes may challenge them, but they could always come back to the sea. It was their home. They were masters of these acres.
And that's when the second wallop hit them. Their friend, Galilee, rebelled. It caught them by surprise. The winds changed. The horizon melted and sky merged with sea in a toxic soup. They thought they could play this lake like a dance partner, but she kicked them in the shins and was coming back with a kidney punch. They turned the boat into the wind and rowed with passion. They were more than a little scared, even if they wouldn't admit it.
Terror And Tightrope Walking
Then, suddenly, their fear turned up the volume. Like the bow of a ghost ship emerging from a fog bank, something was aiming for them out of the storm. A phantom? Another boat about to be thrown at them by the wicked winds? A premonition of death? They were terrified. And amazed as well, for there was an eerie calmness surrounding this apparition. No waves bounced it, no breezes billowed whatever rags it might own. Swirling about it were the claws of death, but they could neither claim nor impede this water walker.
And certainly it seemed to be striding across the surface, for there was no question now that it was headed toward them. Between gasps of futile rowing and spits to get rid of the spray, they began to make out the form of a man. "It's Jesus!" cried one, and the breathing of their oarsmanship hiccupped. Peter yelled out, "Is it you, my Lord?"
A familiar voice cut through the tempest, as if it were on a different frequency altogether. "It is I! Don't be afraid!"
Things like this don't happen every day, even for disciples of Jesus who are getting used to a winning string of miracles. Surprised by his own giddiness, Peter called out, "Is it really you, my Lord?"
Then, to confirm his passionate boldness, he begged for a chance to find the footing Jesus knew atop the waves. "Come!" commanded Jesus, and Peter stepped gingerly out of the boat.
It was amazing and intriguing to feel the cold softness against his bare feet form in place like a shoe's gel insert. He suddenly had an unusual place to stand!
He tested his left foot against the flood and found he could walk! Gingerly, he shuffled toward Jesus, wondering when he would come to the edge of the wet precipice. But the terra aqua held firm.
Still, the storm had not abated. In fact, it seemed almost as if the wind packed a new punch in its insistence that these strange events not take place. Peter was pummeled by gales that sneaked in from every direction without pattern. He bobbled and turned to beat back his enemy. It was then that his feet slid. The water became slippery, with pockets and holes that no longer supported his footfalls. He felt himself tipping and twisting, and groped the air for non-existent supports. The deep knew his name and was laying claim to his body heel upward.
"Lord, save me!" he cried in panic. And Jesus took his hand. Jesus took his hand and the footing was firm. Jesus took his hand and the waves were tamed. Jesus took his hand and the winds calmed.
They chatted together as if it were a walk in the woods, nothing unusual. Jesus chided his friend for losing focus so quickly, and the two of them stepped into the boat together. Around them the others gaped wordlessly. What do you say when nothing makes sense and yet everything is okay?
More quickly than it had blown in the storm whimpered away. Suddenly the skies were clear, the stars bright, the air fresh and the sea shimmering as it reflected sentinel fires on the shore.
Living With A Story Too Big
What were the disciples to make of this? Nothing, really. You just get on with your life, and tell the tale over drinks every chance you get. For a while at least. But then you begin to hold it and review it and wonder at it. Not so much the freak storm, or even the strange thing Peter did, although, looking back, you wonder how it ever happened. Who, in his right mind, would get out of a boat on a stormy sea and think he could walk on water?
But the recounting of the story would begin to feel weird, as if you were violating some sacred trust. Because you told the story at first out of sheer exhilaration at the experience, and then later because it was such a good story and it made you kind of proud to have been there. But now you know that the story can't be about you. It was always about Jesus. The storm came because Jesus was not there. The winds blew in because the disciples were becoming overconfident in their Superman status. The seas rebelled because, for a moment, everyone and everything had lost focus when Jesus stepped up into the hills by himself. Without Jesus at the center everything becomes dark and brooding and chaotic.
This, then, is why Matthew made sure to tell the story as he did. Not with great embellishments of flair or excitement, but in straightforward simplicity. For the meaning is not to be found in the extraordinary things that occurred, but in the place Jesus must have at the center of every picture.
I think of Madeleine L'Engle's fine story, Dance in the Desert. It begins with a caravan of people traveling in hurried fear through a trackless wilderness. They seem to be running from something, and turn furtively to check the movement of shadows at the edge of their peripheral vision. Particularly noticeable among them is a young family, a husband and wife along with their tiny boy.
Night falls and the travelers establish a camp. All gather around the huge bonfire which is lit as a repellent to the darkness and whatever beasts and demons it might hold. From huddled security near the flames, the community shivers at growls and hisses that emanate from the unseen world beyond the licking of the fire. Now and again the piercing reflection of strange eyes looks at them out of the black void and they quickly turn back to comforting small talk which helps them pretend at safety.
But they will not be left alone. The shrieks and warning snarls edge closer. Then a paw appears, or a sniffing nose, only to be withdrawn before spears can poke or arrows be aimed. More fagots are thrown on the fire.
Yet, the beasties and wild things will not be stopped. Growing more daring, a bear steps into their circle and a bold viper slithers in from the other direction. There is panic in the camp as all scatter and leap and search for weapons. In the commotion, the young husband and his younger wife are separated, each believing the other has grabbed their little boy to safety.
But the child was left behind. He faces the wolf and the lion and the bear and the snake and the other wilderness creatures alone. Only there is no distress in his voice, no panic in his cry. Instead, he coos and clucks with delight at these mighty furry and scaly toys that have come to play. He claps his hands and bounces his feet and giggles with animation.
As the caravansary is suddenly pulled from its panicked zigzagging by the tinkle of the child's good humor, all the adults stop and turn, expecting the wild things to tear limb from limb and demolish this human plaything they have abandoned. But it is not so. Instead, the child has brought some kind of intelligent direction to its strange play. His chubby arms are actually orchestrating a symphony of animal cries, and his hands are directing the choreography of a marvelous beastly dance. The bear is on its hind legs, not to swipe and strike but to gyrate with the tempo of the child's clapping. The snakes slither in pairs forming artistic designs in the desert sands. Above, the vultures and hawks swoop and turn and bank and dive in aviary formation. The lions and tigers nod their heads as if in rhythm to celestial instrumentation.
Slowly, and with mesmerizing fascination, the adults creep back to their places by the bonfire. They become the audience in the greatest show on earth. The child whoops and tips and giggles and sways and claps his hands in time with the music of heaven, and the animals of earth dance around him with delight. Even the big people begin to hear transcendent melodies, and the night has become as friendly as dawn or daylight.
Eventually the child tires, as all children do, and the cooing stops, the clapping ceases, and the animals slink away. But they are no longer predators, and the fear of both man and beast has vanished. All that is left is the child. And those who linger in awe know that there is a new center of gravity in the universe.
I cannot reflect back to all of you today what storms and beasts and dark places you are fearing. You know them all too well. They have become, for some of you, a house of horrors from which you would move if you could but you can't. You step out into the weather of each morning wearing a facade of faith and trust, believing you are able again to walk on water. Yet too often, before the day is half finished, and often in full sight of your friends and coworkers traveling with you, you slip and slide and sink.
I do not have any quick-fix solutions for you, no faith waders, no emergency life rafts, or instant pontoons. All I can say is what Matthew, in recounting this story for us, wished to affirm. You've got to keep your attention focused on Jesus, not as an iconic talisman, but as the center of meaning around which everything else begins to revolve and resonate.
At The Center, Jesus
A friend of mine had a wonderful dream some years ago. As he slept, his subconscious imagined him walking along a wide chasm with vertical sides and no means to cross. The footpath was safe enough, but like all of us he was drawn to the edge of the gorge.
Up ahead he noticed a peculiar sight. There seemed to be something yellow billowing just at the overhang of the cliff. Intrigued, he strode ahead to take a better look.
Soon he noticed that it was actually a tent made of yellow fabric. Most fascinating, however, was that it appeared to be hanging in space immediately beyond the limits of terra firma.
As he came close, a man emerged from the tent and greeted him personally, like a dear friend. He knew he recognized the man, but he was unable to remember how or why, or even the man's name. So he played along, fudging his way through a seemingly familiar round of greetings and pleasantries.
The man noticed that my friend was glancing often toward the tent, still amazed at what kind of contraption this might be. "Do you want to try it?" the man asked.
"What do you mean?" my friend responded.
"Well, just come on in," the man said, and stepped into the tent, pulling my friend along.
The floor of the tent was as yellow as the rest, and felt spongy as they went in. My friend dreamt that he was very nervous, and almost pulled back. But the man radiated confidence and drew him along.
As they moved into the tent it bobbed and swayed a bit, and my friend stumbled against his guide. The man steadied him however, and soon my friend got his "sea legs," or whatever it was that one needed to walk easily on this strange surface.
Then they began to fly. My friend didn't know how it was possible, or what propelled the tent along. All he knew is that they were flying and soaring and gliding and sailing. It was awesome.
Quickly my friend lost his fear. Then his curiosity needled him until he had to ask, "How does it fly? What makes it go?"
Instead of answering directly, the man said, "Would you like to try it?"
"What do you mean?" responded my friend.
"Just think about where you would like it to go," came the reply.
So he did. At first there were some jolts and abrupt shifts and dizzying ups and downs, but soon he got the hang of it. They were flying, and he was piloting the tent!
After what felt too short a time but could well have been many dream hours, the man guided the tent back to its place along the cliff. But my friend was not yet ready to relinquish the freedom of the craft, nor his power to control it. So he scuffled with the man, and threw him out onto the cliff. "There!" he cried in victory. "Now I can go wherever I want!"
Immediately, however, the tent began to collapse in on itself and started to plummet into the abyss. No matter how my friend tried to think and force his will on it, the craft dropped like lead.
In spite of his urgent fear my friend knew instantly who the man was. It was Jesus!
"Help me, Jesus!" he cried.
Immediately, Jesus was in the tent with him, and it billowed out and steadied. The fall ended as quickly as it had begun, and they were flying again.
"What happened, Lord?" my friend asked. "Why couldn't I make it go?"
"My child," said Jesus, "didn't you understand that all along I was its energy and its guide? I wanted you to share the flight with me, but it was always propelled along by my will."
So it is wherever we might find ourselves. Unless Jesus is at the center of it all, no craft will convey us along safely. If we try to row the boat without him, all hell eventually breaks loose. But once he comes to us across the waters of our fears, the storms and the beasts are tamed. Amen.
