“It is I”

A sermon by Currie Burris

Matthew 14:22-36

August 7, 2005

            Jesus had just heard the news: John the Baptist, his cousin, the boyhood friend, the one he grew up with, played games with, the one who saw in him what no one else saw, the one who baptized him and witnessed the blessing of the Holy Spirit upon him, the one person he was closest to in all the world—had been killed, murdered by Herod. Surely he was overwhelmed with grief. Plus there were some that were saying that Jesus, here in his active ministry, was John the Baptist reborn. If they killed John would they not also try to kill Jesus? Jesus was grieving and he was afraid for his life. Therefore he was trying to get away, trying to find a place to retreat, a place to be alone.

            His first attempt at retreat failed. The crowd found him, thousands of people looking for something from him. Instead of sending them away, he ministered to them. He talked to them, he taught them, he healed their diseases, and then finally at the end of the day, he fed them—all five thousand of them and more. A miracle of feeding, a miracle of sharing, a miracle of abundance.

            At the end of that long day, Jesus sought solitude again. He put the disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee and told them to row across to the other side, and he went up into the mountains to pray. As the disciples made their way across the lake, a great storm blew up.  The Sea of Galilee is not really a very big lake, but the combination of mountains and valleys surrounding it, make for erratic weather. Violent Storms can blow up out of nowhere.

            This was very frightening for the disciples. Their boat was small. It could easily be capsized. Very few people in those days knew how to swim.  Even fishermen often did not know how to swim. The sea, the ocean, the water was a very ominous place. In their minds, the sea was a mysterious place, full of dangerous sea creatures, and leviathans of the deep. The sea was a place of chaos and death.  It was a bottomless pit where evil and horrors resided. A storm at sea was not just a danger to life, but it was the rising of evil forces, unleashed from the deep.

            I have experienced something of what these disciples did. Thirty years ago, I was just out of college and had no idea of what I wanted to do with my life. That year, I took numerous jobs—driving a taxi, selling door to door, working construction, standing in the sun all day holding a surveyor’s pole.

            One day I saw an ad in the paper: “Wanted: commercial fishermen, no experience necessary.” Sounded interesting to me, so I hopped in my car, drove down to the coast, and before I knew it, I was on a boat headed out into the Gulf of Mexico for a ten-day trip, fishing deep water for grouper and snapper. I spent the first three days totally sea sick, losing everything I ate overboard. But there was no stopping, just fishing every day, all day from sun up to sun set, until the deck was totally covered with fish.

            It was just a small boat, with a four-man crew—the captain and three others counting me.  At the end of each day we cleaned the fish and iced them down, while the captain made dinner from one of the groupers. At night we anchored wherever we happened to be, always very far from shore. And we took turns on watch, while the others slept. On the fifth day out, we were some 200 miles out into the Gulf. I had the fourth watch, three to six in the morning, just like the time in this story with the disciples. A storm blew up from out of nowhere. It started with rain, and then wind, thunder and lightning. Our tiny boat rocked up and down waves and swells that rose much higher than the boat itself. They must have been twenty feet or more.

            For some reason, no one else on the boat woke up. I was alone on the deck of this rolling vessel in the middle of a storm far out to sea. I could visualize the boat sinking under the crash of the next wave. I saw myself clinging to a scrap of lifesaver or deck railing. I asked myself, “Is this it? Is this how my life will end?” Finally I just prayed, calling out to God for help. “Save me!” I called out of my desperation and need to the one who was indeed coming out across the waters of the night to me.

            The disciples were beset by the same fears. And then they saw him, moving out across the waves, coming toward them. Who was this? Is it a ghost? A dream? An illusion? It was Jesus. And then he said to them, “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

            “It is I” Three words in English, but in Greek, just one: First person singular of the verb “to be.” “I am, me, I. . .” It reminds us of another single statement of being. Moses on Mt. Sinai before the whirlwind asking, “Who are you, what is your name?” and God answers, “I am who I am.” Jesus comes to the disciples in the midst of a swirling storm of doom and chaos, and the forces of destruction rise all about, and simply says, “It’s me. Here I am. I am here.” Jesus comes to those who love Him in their time of deepest need and deepest fears and assures them of his presence. He is with them in the midst of the storm.

            The call came to me unexpected, my sister calling from a hospital in Florida. Come quickly. He is failing. He might not make it through the night. I didn’t realize my father was so sick. Apparently he kept the progression of his disease, cirrhosis of the liver, a secret from us, his children. He had fallen, been taken to the hospital, and now was delusional, hardly coherent at all. I got on the next plane, and arrived at the hospital in the evening. He was yellow looking. I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. I think he recognized me, but I am not really sure.

            But I held his hand, stroked his brow, and I prayed. I prayed for healing for my father, I prayed for peace for this dear soul from whom I came. I prayed for the one who raised me, who loved me, the one I look like, the one I love. I prayed to God to save my father. I prayed to God who was right there with me, holding my hand, holding my sister, my father and me as surly as the storm of coming death swirled around us in the raging storm.

            You see, that’s how it is. In the midst of all the storms of life, raging disease, injury and death, suffering, heartbreak, horror and fear, in the middle of all the rises to hurt and harm, to swallow us up in senseless chaos and destruction, God never abandons us, never leaves us on our own, never consigns us to the deep. God is with us—now and for always—God is with us.

            But Peter was not so sure.  It looked like Jesus, but how can it be? So he asks, “If you are really him, then bid me to come out on the water with you.” An odd request, and a familiar one as well. Remember the last time someone said to Jesus, “If you are the Son of God, then turn these stones into bread . . . If you are the Son of God, then throw yourself down from the pinnacle of the Temple . . . If you are the Son of God . . .” Familiar words from the tempter’s mouth. Not so strange then that a few verses later Jesus would tell this same Peter, “Get behind me Satan!”

            Jesus responds to Peter’s test by simply saying, “Come.” Peter steps out of the boat, takes a step or two, but of course, the wind blows, the waves rise, and Peter begins sinking down. “Lord, Save me” he cries. And Jesus reaches down and pulls him out of the waves. Together they get into the boat.

            “Oh, you of little faith” Jesus says. We often take that to mean that if Peter just had had more faith, he would have been able to walk on the water with Jesus. If his faith had been stronger, Peter would have moved above the swirling chaos below. His faith would have saved him.  But that is not what Jesus meant. Peter would never have been able to walk on water. Never. He always was going to fall. Only God can walk on water, and Peter was not God. No, Peter’s lack of faith was his failing to trust that it was indeed Jesus who had come to them in the midst of the storm. Jesus said, “It is I” and Peter said “I don’t think so, I’m not sure, prove it to me.”

            God comes to us in the midst of the storms of life, when death threatens, the hurt seems to overwhelm, and the loss seems forever. God is there with us. Take heart. It’s me. Don’t be afraid. The test of faith is not whether miracles happen, not whether healing comes, or death is denied. That is not up to us. That is what God does. Faith for us is knowing that we are not alone, not abandoned, but lifted up and given new life, new hope, new joy by the one who was always there for us.

            And when they all were back in the boat, the storm subsided, the winds calmed, and waters stilled. And they all fell on their knees and cried out, “Truly, you are the Son of God.” Let it be for us as well. Amen.