“Staying Afloat”              Dr. Julie Adkins

                   Text: Matthew 14:22-33

 

SERMON

 

There is a story from the Zen Buddhist tradition

          that tells of a disciple who thought

          he could demonstrate his newly-won enlightenment

                   by emerging from a cave,

                   in which he had spent the last twenty-five years in meditation,

                             and walking on water.

He emerges from the cave, and,

          without even testing the temperature of the water,

                   plunges in.

Two monks saw him there, walking across the water.

          One monk says to the other,

                   “Who is that?

                    Look at him, walking on the water!”

“Pity,” said the other monk.

          “The ferryboat only costs a quarter.”

                             (Barbara Brown Taylor, quoted in Pulpit Resource)

 

There’s another story about the two long-time elders

          in a little, rural Presbyterian church

                   who had a long-standing tradition of

                   inviting the new preacher to go out fishing with them.

Since they were a small congregation,

          a new preacher came along about every two or three years,

                   so this was a chance for them to get to know the new kid on the block,

                             and make him feel welcome,

                             and also to make sure that he got their view of things early on.

Well of course, one day it happened.

The new preacher came and it was a she, not a he,

          and they were all in a stir.

“Surely she isn’t going to want to go fishing with us.

          My wife doesn’t like fishing.  Does your?”

“Well, no …  Probably she won’t want to go,

          but you know she’s going to find out that we’ve taken all the other preachers,

                   and won’t that make us look bad if we don’t take her?”

So, round and round they went,

          and they finally decided that the best thing to do would be to invite her,

                   but not to be too surprised or disappointed if she said no,

          and maybe she could think of an alternative.

Actually, they were quite surprised when she said yes,

          she would love to go fishing with them,

                   and when did they want to go?

So they picked a Monday morning – since that was her day off –

          and real early they came by the manse to pick her up,

                   and they all crowded into the pickup truck, pulling the boat trailer,

                             and headed for the lake.

They launched,

          and it while it was still barely light in the sky

                   they were out there baiting their hooks,

                   drinking some nice hot coffee,

                             talking quietly so as not to scare the fish.

“You know,” says the preacher,

          “it was really dumb of me to leave my sweater in the truck.

                   I forgot how it’s always cooler out on the water.

                   I guess I’d better go back and get it.”

One of the elders says,

          “Oh, we can’t do that.

            Here, you take my sweater.

            If we go back to shore to get your sweater

                   we’ll lose a half-hour or more of good fishing.”

“Not to worry,” says the preacher with a grin,

          and handing her fishing rod to one of the elders,

                   she carefully eases herself over the side of the boat so as not to tip it,

                   and walks across the water,

                             back to the truck to get her sweater.

The elders just stare at each other,

          mouths hanging wide open like a pair of wide-mouth bass.

Finally, one says, “I knew it!  I knew this was going to be a problem!

          You get yourself a gol-durned woman preacher

                   and she can’t even swim!”

 

Why is it that jokes about walking on water

          are so popular in religious circles?

-- and perhaps other places, too?

It isn’t a particularly funny topic –

          not like making fun of Presbyterians,

                   or some other easy target like that.

No, I suspect that we make, and laugh at,

          jokes about walking on water

                   because deep down it makes us very uncomfortable.

Here this story is, in the Bible, our sacred book,

          and we don’t know what to do with it

                   because everybody knows it’s impossible.

Nobody can walk on water,

          except maybe dragonflies and other little bitty critters.

There isn’t enough surface tension to support our weight.

Even little kids know it can be lots of fun to walk in water,

          but nobody can walk on water.

Okay, maybe Jesus, we know he was different,

          but Peter?

Nonsense.

It’s impossible.

Yet the story is in the Bible,

          demanding to be taken seriously.

And if that doesn’t make us at least a little uncomfortable,

          then we aren’t paying attention!

 

We like our God a little more domesticated.

If we can’t explain it,

          we don’t want God doing it.

Even miraculous healings, when we hear about those –

          we may be profoundly grateful at one level,

          but we are profoundly disturbed at another,

                   because God appears to be breaking the rules

                   of the orderly universe which God created.

Rules which, of course, we are sure we understand completely!

But what if we decided to believe that we could walk on water?

Not literally, of course,

          but figuratively.

It wouldn’t do us any good to go out for a stroll across the Trinity …

          if anyone saw us, they’d just assume we had a great special-effects team.

Everybody knows people can’t walk on water.

But what if we did some other things that are impossible?

Impossible for us, anyway … maybe not for God.

 

What if Jesus is somewhere out ahead of us, calling to us,

          and the only way to get to him is to walk on water?

What if he wants –

          what if he needs –

                   for us to do something we think is impossible?

Something like,

          forming a community of faith

                   with believers who are different from us in significant ways?

Something like,

          experimenting with changing up some things

                   that we believe can never be changed?

Something like,

          trying something we’ve never tried before,

                   and we aren’t sure anyone else has ever tried before,

                             and for which we have no guarantees

                                      that it will “succeed” by any earthly standard?

If Jesus says to us,

          “Get out of that boat where you are way too comfortable,

                   and come over here to where I am,”

          what will we do?

Remember in the story,

          that the disciples in the boat were being battered by the waves,

                   “for the wind was against them.”

How’s that for an apt description of mainline Protestantism

          in the twenty-first century?!

Especially mainline churches in urban areas.

The winds are against us right now.

          At some time in the future they may well change;

                   historically, that does seem to happen.

          But probably not soon enough to rescue our boat.

And the seas are rough …

          where we think we might like to go

                   is a place where we cannot get.

We can try to steer that direction all we want,

          but wind and waves conspire to make sure we can’t go there.

So what happens when the invitation comes

          to leave behind the boat as we know it,

                   and walk across the water to Jesus?

 

It doesn’t help, does it,

          that after Peter took a few steps on the water,

                   he started to sink?

Not very comforting,

          if we were thinking about leaving the boat!

But Peter did it to himself –as he so frequently did.

Peter forgot where he was heading,

          and took a hard look at where he was,

                   and he got scared.

Jesus was over there …

          the boat was too far behind him for comfort …

                   and he was out in the wind and the waves!

AAAAAAAAA!!!!

I can’t be doing this!  This is impossible!

And so, he begins to sink.

As long as his eyes are on Jesus, however,

          Peter can walk on water.

 

Do you remember the first time you ever rode a bike

          without the training wheels?

Your mom or dad helped to hold the bike while you got on, probably,

          and then as you started pedaling down the sidewalk,

                   they ran alongside, holding onto the back of the seat maybe,

          and you got going faster, and then a little faster,

                   and a little voice inside you says,

                             “This is impossible! Dad can’t run this fast!”

          so you turn around to look,

                   and sure enough, Dad is a couple of houses back,

                   with a big grin on his face, waving at you,

                             and you promptly fall off your bike.

Or maybe you manage not to fall,

          but there’s a moment of pure panic there.

Walking on water is kind of like that.

When you’re focused on the goal,

          you can do it.

You can keep walking toward Jesus.

If you look down and see the wind and the waves …

          if you look back and see the safety of the boat, or Dad, far behind you …

                   you’re gonna sink, or fall, pick your metaphor.

The only way to stay afloat

          is to look ahead at Jesus,

                   not at scary things around you,

                   or familiar things behind you.

 

This fall, we are going to be asked

          to exit our boat, at least for a little while and a little ways,

                   and to learn how to walk on water.

No water skis, no water wings,

          no life vest, not even a comfy air mattress.

Just Jesus, coming towards us,

          beckoning us to join him, where he is.

If we start to worry or to look back,

          O we of little faith!

                    -- we’re going to sink.

If we keep our eyes on Jesus,

          we’ll stay afloat.

We might even start to enjoy the wind and the waves.

We might even start to enjoy the walk.

Do not be afraid,

          but come.

 

Amen.

 

© 2002 Julie Adkins (e-mail: DrJAdkins@trinitypresdallas.org)