Waves Upon Waves
On walking with doubt
For this Lenten season, we are revisiting familiar stories from the Gospels. Use your Biblical imagination with me as we seek to encounter Jesus. This week’s story comes from Matthew 14.
I’ve known these waters my entire life. I learned to read the waves and the sky when I was just a boy, helping my father fish. I know how quickly conditions can change.
I didn’t see this coming.
The boys and I…we've rowed for half the night. It was supposed to take just a few hours to cross, but the hours continue, and we’re fighting the wind. I’m completely baffled…and a little angry…as to why Jesus would ask us to go on without Him. But after nearly two years with Him, I’m learning not to question everything.
Here we are, caught in a squall. Soaked, desperately tired. We cannot stop. The waves would have their way with us, so we keep rowing. The wind whips around us. Water hits my eyes. I cannot see anything but rain. Andrew cries out to us, encouraging us to keep going. I can hear Matthew whimpering.
At least Jesus isn’t in danger. Then again, if He were here, He could stop this. We might die out here. This could be how it ends…
I think about the day we met. I was on the water that day, too. Up all night, desperate for a catch. It had been days since Andrew and I caught anything. I tried every trick I knew. Nothing. The Sea of Galilee was empty of all fish.
Until He came. Without stepping on the boat, or even holding a net, He called forth more fish than I caught all year. He fixed my problem. I began to believe maybe He could fix me.
But living with Him these last couple years has been maddening. He heals lepers, restores sight…I even saw Him bring a little girl back to life. That kind of power, He’s got to be God Himself. Right?
Except. Except He doesn’t always use that power. Sometimes He walks right past the sick. We’ve sat shiva for people who died. He made no attempt to bring them back. He will let Himself go hungry, when I know He could turn stones to bread. He doesn’t always answer my questions. Sometimes, He doesn’t answer me at all.
Shouldn’t He be God all the time? Shouldn’t He be the God I expect and need Him to be? Why would He want me to struggle? Why would He ask me to suffer?
Why would He tell us to go to the other side of the sea alone? Why could He not stop this storm?
The fourth watch of the night. My arms ache. Everything is numb. Philip is slouched over in front of me. James groans. But it was Judas who saw it first:
“A ghost! It’s a ghost!”
Panicked cries fill the air. I try to look through the sheets of rain. Lightening surrounds us for seconds at a time, casting light over the distance. What was that? A shadow on the water.
“It’s going to kill us! We’re going to die!
Suddenly, I see Him. Jesus.
But how?
“Don’t be afraid!” He shouts.
His voice is distinct. Unmistakable. I squint through the sheets of rain and see Him. He’s standing on top of the water.
No, He’s walking, step by step, over the waves. He draws near.
Have we all gone mad?
“Don’t be afraid! It’s me,” He says.
No. No, I cannot trust this. Surely, if this was Jesus, He would just command the waves to stop. He’s done it before. This can’t be Him. This is a trap.
“Lord, if it’s really you, call me out to you,” I shout into the wind.
“Peter, no! Don’t do this,” Andrew cries.
“Come,” He replies.
He stops some distance away, holding out His hand. I can see His face more clearly now. It’s calm. Resolute. It’s the face of my Master.
Holding tightly to the side of the boat, I step out. At first, I expect my foot to fall into the water. It stops. Solid. Andrew and the boys gasp.
"Peter stop!”
“What is this magic?”
“You’ll drown!”
I ignore their protests. Slowly, I swing my other leg out of the boat and find myself standing on the water. I face Him. His hand is waiting.
The rain pelts me. The wind pushes against me. Yet, I step. Then, step again. But the waves crash around me. I feel water pooling around my feet. Below me is the sea. Below me is certain death.
What is all of this is a dream? What if the miracles I’ve seen…the healings and resurrection…what if none of it is real? What if I’m really just a struggling fisherman, forgotten by God? What if all the things broken around me and inside of me cannot be fixed? What if we’re forever doomed to be oppressed by tyrants and punished by God?
My feet sink. Water rises to my ankles. I feel myself falling. I’m too far away from the boat to hold on. I’m too far away from Jesus to be caught.
“Jesus, save me!”
I manage to shout the words before I plunge into the water. I sink fast, thinking how quiet everything is under the water. Maybe dying wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.
Moments later, a hand grabs my tunic. A strong arm pulls me quickly to the surface. His arms are around me. I am standing on top of His feet, like a child.
“Peter, your faith is so small. Why did you doubt me?” He asked.
He speaks quietly in my ear.
His words were not a rebuke, but an aching question.
“I’m so scared. I’m afraid of what I’ve seen you do. I’m afraid of what I hope. I’m afraid of what you won’t do. I’m afraid of losing control.” I cry to Him, holding Him close to me.
“There are no waters I would not cross to find you. No fire I would not walk through. You are mine. I will not let you go,” He whispered.
I thought about all His recent talk of dying and coming again to life. I don’t completely understand the things He says, but wherever He is going, I know He’s going there for me.
Somehow, we made it back to the boat. Once settled in, the storm stopped. The waves were calm. The sky cleared with the reds and pinks of dawn. The boys stared silently, gasping for breath.
“Jesus, you really are the Son of God,” Andrew said.
He did not answer, but simply looked at me. I felt such shame for sinking, but I knew His eyes were on me. I glanced up. His eyes locked to mine, daring me to believe these words were true.
Love this line: Shouldn’t He be God all the time? Shouldn’t He be the God I expect and need Him to be?