A Source of Celebration

Genesis 1:1-2; Matthew 14: 22-33

Preamble:

I had intended to continue with Mark’s Gospel story this morning and preach on the scene that follows Jesus and his disciples arriving on the other side of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus encounters a man possessed with a demon named “legion” for “we are many,” it says. This man was cast out of his community. Jesus casts the demon out of the man so that his relationship with his community can be restored. I’d wanted to talk about demons, and be able to recognize them not as scary shadow beings (as they might be portrayed in the movies), but as the counter energy to God’s will. Any person, or leader, or power, or law, or institution, or country can become demonic when it believes itself to be self-sufficient and ceases to be inspired, and encouraged, and shaped God’s will for love and compassion and creation. Demons restrict our ability to live as God calls us to live, with love and compassion as fully-human beings.

I wanted to offer the example of how our own constitution represents the hope of the founding fathers to establish a country in which the demons they had experienced under the rule of the empire could be cast out. And not only this, they wrote the constitution in such a way that it allows for the perpetual casting out of “demonic” laws and principles which are recognized as no longer humane and replaced with laws that allow for a greater experience of love and compassion for all of this country’s citizens: the abolition of the demonic institution of slavery, the establishment of voting rights for women, and so on, and so forth.

That was going to be my sermon, but then two things happened. First, a supreme court justice announced his retirement and the nation spiraled in to debate over the future of Roe v Wade, which legalized abortion, should this inhumane and demonic law be cast out or it was it established to cast out a chauvinistic demon that possessed us in the first place. Had I written that sermon, rest assured it would have been amazing and life-affirming and choice-affirming and none of us would have left feeling like our feathers had been ruffled.

But then the second thing happened: I got sick. I woke up Friday morning with a sore and swollen throat. I spent enough time awake to go to Patient First, get diagnosed with Strep, and pick up antibiotics…then I went back to sleep. I had my own demon to cast out. I did not feel up to the task of writing a faithful sermon on such a touchy subject. So I’ve made a few changes to a sermon I wrote many years ago. A sermon based on Matthew’s version of the story we heard from Mark last week: Jesus calming the storm.

The prayers and liturgy for this week represent an assumption that we’d be talking about demons, and the inner voices that compete with God’s voice. The sermon however…well, let’s just say we have all been saved. And in that sure and certain knowledge of salvation, let us prepare our hearts and minds to worship!

Sermon:

(Originally Composed: August 7, 2011; Edited: July 1, 2018)

204 years ago a young American lawyer watched in awe as the sun arose over the Baltimore Harbor to illuminate a fluttering flag above Fort McHenry. All night long, bombs had shaken the sky, land, and sea as battle raged between the British and American forces. Only weeks prior, the British had attacked Washington, D.C., burning the Capital, the Treasury, and the President’s house.

The young lawyer watching this scene was none other than Francis Scott Key, who had boarded the flagship of the British fleet to try and persuade them to release a friend of his who had recently been arrested. His tactics were successful, but because he and his friend had gained knowledge of the impending attack on Baltimore, the British did not let them go. They allowed them to return to their own vessel, but continued to guard them. And from that boat on the sea, Key and his friend watched in horror as the barrage on Baltimore began, the sun set, and bomb bursts shattered the star glow.

Given the scale of the attack, Key was certain the British would win, the sun would rise, and the British flag would wave over Fort McHenry. But that was not what he saw by the dawn’s early light, the star-spangled American flag was still there. And hence the rising sun transformed a scene of terror, and chaos, and tragedy into a source of celebration.[1]

7 years ago I was babysitting a 3-year-old named Kate. She and I decided to take a walk to the rec center down the street and go for a swim in the pool. By “take a walk” what I really mean is that she insisted I push her half a block in her stroller. And by “go for a swim” what I really mean is that we spent a good 30 minutes while she jumped from the edge of the pool into the water where I was waiting to catch her and then hold her hand to keep her afloat as she kicked and splashed her way back to the ladder climbed out, and did it again. Kate was quite literally jumping in over her head. She could not touch the bottom of the pool, nor could she swim. And yet, time and again she would jump right off the edge all the while grinning from ear to ear. And I smiled right along with her. She wasn’t thinking about how deep the water was, or how she couldn’t swim. Why should she? All that needless worry would have gotten in the way of our purpose at the pool: to have fun together and celebrate life.

Being tall and as strong a swimmer as I am, I easily overlook the impending danger of jumping into the deep end. I still have records on my summer swim team’s top-10 board. But I wasn’t always a strong swimmer. had to learn. I used to jump off the edge of the pool into my father’s arms. Then I advanced to wearing “water-wings.” Do you remember these? Water-wings are inflatable armbands worn around the upper arm to keep struggling swimmers afloat. Mine were bright orange. Mom would sit in a deck chair and blow them up breath by breath. Then she’d slip them over my arms at which point I’d race to the edge of the pool and jump into my father’s outstretched arms. But he wouldn’t catch me, and so I’d bob beneath the surface for a fraction of a second only to be lifted back up by nothing other than the air of my mother’s breath—contained in the water wings.

I would have never gained the confidence to swim had my father not been there to catch me at the beginning when I was jumping in over my head, unable to touch the bottom, and unable to swim. Nor would I have learned to trust my own abilities to swim had my mother not inflated the water-wings that kept me afloat. The outstretched arms of my father and the breath of my mother willed me into realizing my full potential.

It is in this realization that my smug sense of self-sufficiency in my current ability to swim encounters the humbling truth that I was not, am not, nor will I ever be self-sufficient. My ability to swim was largely willed into being by my parents. This is true for many of our gifts, skills, and talents; you might recognize it as your ability to do long-division and the will of your math teacher, your ability to swing a bat and the will of your softball coach, or your ability to knit and the will of your grandmother. Or to put it another way: every ability of ours, whether it be swimming, math, playing sports, knitting, preaching, loving, or anything, has at some point, by someone, been willed, encouraged, and inspired into being.

The Bible shows us over and over how God wills us into being, the struggles we face when we abuse our free will to disobey God, God’s forgiveness that picks us up when we fall, and God’s steadfast love that never gives up on loving us into obedience. Today’s scripture illustrates these four points: we are created by God, we are disobedient to God, we are forgiven by God, and we are still loved by God and hence, willed, encouraged, and inspired into being who we are called to be.

We are created by God. We do a disservice to ourselves if we allow our smug sense of self-sufficiency to prevent us from encountering this with awestruck humility. Think back to the story of Creation in Genesis: before God speaks light and life into being, we read that “the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep (Gen. 1:2a).” This image of darkness covering the face of the deep is intended to paint a scene of the most utterly terrifying place imaginable. Pitch blackness flush against deep waters. This is over our heads, and if we can’t touch the bottom, and we can’t swim, then darkness on the face the deep is a frightening image of certain death. But we haven’t reached the end of the sentence, yet. “The earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters (Gen. 1:2).” With a gust of wind, God changes everything. The word for “wind” here is ruah. And this is not just any old ruah but ruah elohim, the ruah of God. Other translations call this the Spirit of God, or even the breath of God. What is most important to recognize is how the presence of God immediately transforms a scene of terror into a source of celebration.

Matthew’s story describes a similar transformation. Following a long day of teaching and a feeding the multitudes, Jesus sends the disciples on across the lake without him. Jesus stays behind to dismiss the crowd and then climbs to a mountaintop to pray. Meanwhile, the disciples have found themselves in a bit of a mess. They’re in a storm-tossed boat in the middle of the night, stuck between darkness and the deep. All of the sudden, a figure appears out of the haze sweeping toward them across the surface of the water. In that time and culture, bodies of water were thought of as the place where spirits and demons dwell, so is it any surprise that in their fear and panic the disciples misinterpret this figure as a ghost? It is a scene of terror. “But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Be courageous, it is I; do not be afraid.’ (Matthew 14: 27).” The presence of Jesus transforms a scene of terror into a source of celebration. Or at least, it should have…

The way Peter responds leads us to believe that he’s still not certain that it’s Jesus out there. Peter boldly requests an invitation to join Jesus, to which Jesus replies, “Come.” In obedience to his Lord, Peter steps out in faith. And for a few brief moments Peter’s obedience to Jesus’ command satisfies the water’s thirst and the seas abstain from swallowing him. And if water represents a source of terror in this story, then we too should take heart that if we walk as Jesus calls us to walk and follow Jesus’ commands we, too, are able to walk with confidence above our fears. But then Peter notices the strong wind and becomes frightened. And Peter, once filled with faith, now fills with fear and he begins to sink. Fear fights back. How quickly the fear factor can cause our faith to falter.

Can you imagine how this story would have been different if instead of Peter who stepped out, it was Kate, the 3-year-old? With a beaming smile she would jump overboard and run to Jesus’ side. Jesus often praised the faith of children, and I can’t help but think that it had something to do with their ability to cast off doubt and fear and just believe. Have you ever told a story to a young child? You’ve gotta be careful what you say, because they believe anything; they’re so trusting. And yet they’re always asking questions, always wanting to know more.

As we “grow-up” we learn to label child-like innocence and fearlessness as being gullible and irresponsible. Questioning what we believe is too often looked down upon. We live in a society that sees changing one’s mind as a lack of resolve and a mark of poor character instead of as a willingness to learn and a sign of having the courage to grow. When Jesus cried out to the disciples to “be courageous” and to “not be afraid” he was essentially telling them to change their minds. “Stop believing in your fear and believe in me.” Jesus calls on his disciples to refocus their faith.

Being a follower of Christ means that we are constantly calling on the Lord to change our hearts and minds. This takes faith, courage, and focus. Admittedly, not all change is good. Look what happens when Peter loses focus on Jesus and instead sinks into fear. But this is where I see the best part of the story! “In the moment of most dire human need, there is but one cry, just as there is but one source of salvation.” As soon as he began to sink, Peter cried out “Lord, save me!” And immediately, Jesus transformed this scene of terror into a source of celebration. But Peter gets a hard rap for this, doesn’t he?

I suppose it’s just human nature to point the finger at other’s mistakes in an attempt to draw attention away from our own. And so we’re drawn to bolster our smug sense of self-sufficiency by joining with Jesus in his questioning of Peter’s faith.

This story should be our encounter with the humbling truth that we were not, are not, and never will be self-sufficient. God encourages and inspires us to grow in faith. God wills us to walk out onto the waters of faith where we have all gotten cold feet at some point. We know what sinking feels like. And, as I’ve mentioned in previous sermons, we know what it feels like to be in over our heads. But God doesn’t let us drown. God calls us to refocus our faith. “Peter cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ And Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ (Matt 14: 31).” We can believe in fear, and it will smother us between the darkness and the deep. Or we could believe that the presence of the Lord is in that place, and allow our scenes of terror to be transformed into a source of celebration.

We’re not supposed to criticize Peter, we’re supposed to relate to him. When Jesus relates to us in our weakness and shows compassion to us, he is willing, and inspiring, and encouraging us to relate to the least of these and to show compassion for them. But too often, I think we interpret Jesus’ question to Peter for more than what it really is. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” First off, “you of little faith,” is not a judgment, it’s merely Jesus stating a fact. Jesus doesn’t say, “You of little faith, I think less of you for it.” Jesus simply tells Peter, “I know that your faith is faltering, because I know who you are.”

So why does Jesus ask Peter why he doubted? And if we’re supposed to be able to relate to Peter, then what intention would Jesus have in asking us why we doubt? Peter doesn’t answer the question, but I’m sure it gave him something to think about. Jesus asks Peter why he doubted while holding him in the safety of his arms; Jesus asks Peter why he doubted as he rescues him from his fear; Jesus asks Peter why he doubted as he leads him back to the boat. “When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshipped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God (Matt. 14: 32-33).”

When we realize the truth that Jesus knows who we are but doesn’t condemn us, our lives will be transformed. We will be rescued from fear and set on the sure path of our calling, the path on which the gifts, and talents, and skills with which God has imbued us can be used to love and serve the world. Just like Francis Scott Key watched the sunlight transform his worst fears into his great joy, and the disciples watched Jesus Christ transform a storm into a gift of faith, may the light of God’s love continue to be a source of celebration, willing and encouraging and inspiring and transforming you into the best that you can be! Amen!

[1] Story courtesy of the Smithsonian Institute, [https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/the-story-behind-the-star-spangled-banner-149220970/]