Loading...“Fear” is an interesting word in the Bible. In some places we hear that someone “feared the Lord.” And in other places we hear “Fear not.” As I said. “Fear” is an interesting word.
Fear of the Lord means the individual has great reverence for and appreciation of God. It is an attribute of having faith and trust in God’s presence.
Conversely, when an angel or Jesus says, “Fear not.” They are saying not to be afraid of whatever danger or uncertainty may be present.
I think these are important definitions to be reminded of, especially when our readings today give us reason to “fear” God and to “fear not.”
In our first lesson, Joseph is thrown into a hole and then sold as a slave. That seems like something to be afraid of, yet because he feared God—trusted in God’s presence with him—it may have helped him to “fear not” whatever was about to happen to him.
In today’s Gospel, the disciples have been strongly directed by Jesus to get into boats and take them out and cross the Sea of Galilee while Jesus retreats to continue his quiet time in prayer with God. It’s been a busy, emotional day and he needed this time to pause after hearing of the death of John the Baptizer and then preaching and then directing the disciples to feed the crowd of thousands from five loaves of bread and two fish.
At the “fourth watch,” the darkest part of the night, after a storm has taken nearly every last ounce of energy from the disciples to keep afloat, Jesus joins them. Not on a boat, not on still waters, but walking through rain and waves, lightning and thunder all around him.
It is during the worst moment of the storm when Jesus shows up. At the time when these men are most afraid—they are afraid for their lives—they are probably not giving a second thought to whether God was with them or would protect them. They were at risk of losing their lives in turbulent waters. They are experiencing extreme fear.
I can understand that. We have all encountered and will likely experience again, some level of fear. Sometimes it might feel irrational, other times it could be explainable. But we carry fear as a response to something that is often out of our control, dangerous, strange, or difficult to understand.
Oftentimes in scripture the image of rough waters—on an ocean, a lake, or a river even—is used to describe a moment of chaos. Something that is confusing, disorderly, out of control. We might even consider moments in our emotional lives or our lives in community as chaotic, uncomfortable, unfamiliar, or out of order.
Imagine what was happening on those boats. Consider that some of these men were fishermen before joining Jesus on the road. Men who knew how to navigate through storms. But this storm, this torrential, windy, storm was not only extremely dangerous, but it also exhausted experienced fishermen by forcing them to use everything in their physical and mental power to stay afloat.
I want to stop at this point in the story before we go on to imagine what these men were thinking and feeling in this moment. I don’t know if I can pinpoint a moment when my fear was that strong, but I have experienced fear and I have experienced uncertainty that can only be described as fear-based. Have you?
Like these men must have done as their boats were tossed violently on the waters of the Galilee, I bet most of us would try to figure out what we are able to do to change the circumstances. Is there a physical act, a breathing exercise, a way to avoid danger, a place to escape to? Do we scan the area, looking for anything that can assist us? Do we brace ourselves for impact? Do we have the skills and abilities to save ourselves? To save others?
The immediacy of this kind of fear might leave us making desperate decisions that we would never make if we had time to consider our options.
This is the scene when Jesus walks up to them, on the rough waters, in wicked winds, and pouring rain, to help. Of course, the men were afraid of what could only be considered an apparition—a ghostly figure. What else could this be?
And Jesus, nonchalantly tells them, “Have no fear. Do not be afraid. It’s just me, catching up with you.”
What?
It is our beloved Peter, the one least afraid to say what is on everyone’s mind, who asks the urgent question. “Really? It’s you? Prove it. Tell me to come to you, tell me to walk on water, just like you.”
How often do any one of us forget, or even doubt, that Jesus is with us when we are experiencing something complex, complicated, hurtful, damaging, or even frightening? What does it take to be reminded that Jesus won’t let us go? Do we listen and truly believe it when Jesus says, “Don’t be afraid. Have no fear. I am with you. Trust me, I will not leave you. Come.”
That brings us back to the other biblical definition of “fear.”
Peter and the other disciples are in mortal danger on these rough, unrelenting waters, in a storm that is so strong that they have expended every ounce of energy just to keep the boats afloat. They can only focus on the moment, their adrenaline rushing through them, fighting against the current, the waves, the wind, because there is no place besides the dangerous water to run away to. They have no choice but to choose fight over flight.
There is no time to place blame on Jesus for sending them into this perilous situation. For telling them that they needed to go ahead of him, to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, while he took some quiet time on the mountain. They did what they were told to do, because they followed Jesus. They trusted that what he said was true. They were obedient, reverent, and devoted to God. They feared God, so they followed Jesus’s demand to get in the boats and go to the other side.
I look at this story and feel for the disciples. Maybe you feel for these disciples, too. They are committed to Jesus, even if they don’t really understand that Jesus is the Son of God until the end of this story. We are here today to learn and grow in our faith, to express our commitment to God through worship, even though there may be times we don’t really comprehend all what faith in God, in Jesus, might mean.
We fear God, but are, hopefully, not afraid of God.
When Peter takes those first risky steps out onto the water, he seems confident that Jesus will protect him, or is thinking, “I can do this. I can. It’s just one foot in front of the other.” I suspect many of us have taken risks, confident that we can do it, or that we will be protected, too.
Then, reality rushes in as the water churns and the wind buffets and the rain pours down, and Peter, while he may fear God, while he may trust that God will protect him, is overcome by the perils of the risk he has just taken. He realizes that he just stepped into more than he thought. His doubt, his fear, was more likely in his own ability than it was doubt or fear in God. It seems, in those precarious moments, he was looking more at the storm than at God.
We may never try to walk on water, unless it is frozen, but I know each of us has taken risks, trusting in ourselves and our own abilities to survive. It might look like any decision we might make in our lives, big or little, that impact family, business, athletics, leisure activities, even driving are all examples of stepping out in ways that might look a little dangerous, or a little difficult, but still manageable, only to find that we may have taken on more than we really are capable of doing. We might trust in our own gifts and talents, forgetting that we need to trust in God to reach out a hand and protect or save us from ourselves.
In the version of this story we read today, Jesus seems a little terse when he asks Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” It feels a bit shaming. A bit scolding. In The Message, Eugene Peterson put it this way: “Faint-heart, what got into you?”
I sense gentleness in that question. An understanding that every human can have moments of doubt, or self-reliance, or even cockiness that does not make us faith-less, but maybe more faint of heart. When Jesus asks, “what got into you?” it makes me feel like Jesus recognizes that sometimes the world gets into me, to you, to us, and we might, for a moment or more, forget whose hand is reaching out for us to grab.
We fear God. But we are not afraid of God. At least I hope not.
I hope we understand that our commitment and reliance on God is our acknowledgement that God loves us and will protect us, even when we put that to the test. When we are burdened by fear that comes from the world or from our interactions with the world, like the rough waters during a thunderstorm on the Sea of Galilee, I hope we will hold onto our fear: that commitment to, that trust, hope, faith and joy in, and our love for our Jesus, our God, to help us through.
I hope, that when we recognize the power of God to protect us in the eye of whatever storms we face, we will take the hand that is reaching out to us, allowing us to be led back to safety, to the calming of that storm.
I hope when we make it back onto the figurative or literal solid shore and our breathing and heartrates have slowed and our muscles are relaxing, we can, like the disciples, remember that Jesus will always remain with us, and we can faithfully proclaim, “Truly, you are the Son of God.”
Let us pray.
God of our hearts, our souls, our minds, help us remember that when we rely on ourselves more than on you, we might encounter storms to remind us that you are God and we are not. When storms come, and they will, help us remember that we fear you—we have faith in your power and reverence for you—but that we have no reason to be afraid of you. For you will remain present, holding out your hand, reaching for us to take it, ready to be pulled into your arms to know you will always protect us, save us, and love us. In your life-giving name we pray.
Amen.
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