Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

          If you’re like me, when you hear this familiar story of Jesus walking on the water and beckoning Peter to join him, you are transfixed just by that: by the mere fact that Our Lord was walking on the water, and more than this, that Peter was also able to do the same – something we know to be physically impossible.  I think we are captivated by the miracle of this even, but sometimes we stop there.  We say, “Okay, Jesus is God; He can walk on water; got it.  Peter has faith, so he can walk on water too; got it.”  We tie it up with a nice little bow and put it back on the shelf until the next time this passage comes around in the cycle of readings.

          But there is something more.  Upon deeper reflection on this familiar passage, the really captivating thing for me is not that Jesus walked on the water, or even that Peter did, but that Peter stepped out of the boat at all!  I know that if it were me, I would be clutching the sides of the boat for dear life, afraid of being tossed out by the violent waves.  But somewhere even in the midst of this almost paralyzing fear, Peter summons up the courage to swing one leg, and then the other over the side of the boat and take that first step toward his Master on the sea.  That to me is the greater miracle here; not the physical act of walking on water, but the triumph of faith and courage over fear and despair.

          If we’re honest with ourselves, at times we all feel a bit like Peter in those seconds before he stepped out of the boat.  We all have moments when we are fearfully clutching the side of the boat, but somehow we say to ourselves, “Okay, here we go.” 

For some of you this feeling may be coming from that fact that you are starting college.  For others, even returning for a second, third, or fourth year, it’s still a little scary.  For our student athletes, I would guess there is something of this feeling in those seconds before the start of a game or in those clutch moments as the clock is winding down, in that second before you start your backswing, or standing ready for the sound of the pistol at the starting line.  For me, personally, I have a bit of this feeling right now, as I begin this new ministry as Chaplain and Director of Campus Ministry at St. Ambrose.  People have been asking me for months, “How do you feel about your new assignment?”  And for months, I’ve been telling them, “Excited, but a little nervous.”  I suppose they are closely related feelings.  My point is, we know this feeling of Peter in those seconds before he sets foot on the turbulent seas.

          And something of the same, I think, is happening in the first reading too, in this story of Elijah.  Elijah is fleeing for his life.  Having just successfully challenged the prophets of Baal, he is now pursued by the servants of Ahab and Jezebel who have threatened his life.  He’s “getting out of dodge” and seeks refuge in the caves of Mount Horeb.  In his fear, he stays safely in the recesses of the cave, but is then beckoned forth by God to come to the entrance of the cave, which we might imagine as a sheer cliff; a pretty scary place.  And once he summons up the courage to go to the entrance of the cave even more scary things happen: a strong wind send rocks hurdling down the mountain; then there’s an earthquake and a fire.  But it was for none of these things that God called Elijah to the mouth of the cave.  It was in none of these dramatic signs that God chose to reveal Himself, but rather in a “tiny whispering sound.”

          In both of these stories, about Elijah and Peter, we see that in the midst of their very understandable fear – and really despite their fear – they are able to find in God, not only confidence and courage to go forward, but also great peace.  Once Elijah resolves to venture forth from the safety of the depths of the cave; once Peter resolves to abandon the safety of the boat, both trusting the Lord who is calling them, they encounter God in a profound and peaceful way, and at least for a few moments, their fears melt away.

          Of course, for Peter, it is not long before he begins to sink.  So what is going on here?  I think it could be one of a couple of things.  Perhaps a few steps out from the boat, Peter started to look around himself at the turbulent waters.  He felt again the force of the wind against his body; he saw all that was going on around him and he allowed himself to (once again) be overcome by fear.  He despaired.  In the same way, I think that whenever we begin to falter in our faith, like Peter, it is often because we become too focused on all of the things going on around us, many (if not most) of which are beyond our control – we start to look around and see the turbulent waters; we feel the force of the winds against us, and we wonder “How can I possibly go forward?”

          Or perhaps another explanation for this, and another cause of our failing in faith, is exactly the opposite: that is, we get cocky.  We don’t know exactly what was going on in the mind and heart of Peter at that moment when he began to sink, but I wonder if it could be that he starting to think to himself, “Look at me. I’m walking on water,” as though he was the one making this happen.  In other words, he let his pride get the best of him, and then “bloop,” into the drink.  In the same way, whenever life is going well and we begin to think that we are the cause of the good in our lives, whenever we lose sight of God’s sustaining action in our life and cease to be grateful to Him, whenever we begin to think that we don’t need God, it is usually then that we fall flat on our face.

          As I say, we don’t know exactly what was going on in Peter’s mind and heart that day, whether it was despair or pride, but in either case, it was a lack of trust, a lack of reliance on God.  In fact, these two things, despair and pride, are oddly related to each other in this way.  St. Thomas Aquinas says the two sins that are opposed to the theological virtue of hope are these: despair and pride.  Despair says, “God can’t help me,” and pride says, “I don’t need God.”

          But the Good News is that the antidote to both of these can be found here, in the Eucharist. Once we swung our legs over the side of the bed this morning when we got up, or approached the door to our house or dorm room, and resolved to step forward in faith to come here this morning (perhaps even despite great fear), we began something astonishing.  We placed our trust in God and ventured forth. 

And here in the Eucharist the God who can do all things chooses to reveal Himself to us not in great signs and wonders, but under the humble form of bread and wine, our “daily bread.” Here we find peace in a violent, turbulent, and troubled world and the confidence to keep moving forward. My prayer for all of us, especially in the coming weeks, as we begin a new academic year, is that we will not turn from God or lose sight of Him, but that we may set aside all fear and walk forward in that confidence which is born of genuine hope.  In other words, let’s step out of the boat!