The Mayberry Preacher

WHERE THE ARK GETS PARKED

2 Samuel 6: 1-5, 12b-19
Psalm 132: 1-9, 13-18
Steve Lindsley
September 18, 2011

 You ever heard this prayer?

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change
Courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.

Man, isn’t that the truth!  I sure wish I knew when to let things be, and when I should step in and take action. Life would be a whole lot simpler if I could figure that out!And the wisdom to know the difference.

I remember hearing about a Congregational Church on the coast of Maine a few years back.  For a number of years, the church debated the pros and cons of relocating its sanctuary, which sat just a few feet from a busy intersection in their small town.  Back in the days of horses, ox carts and gravel roads, when the church was built, the road was no big deal.  But now, with asphalt and busy intersections, it had become a bit of a safety concern.  The church hired an architect to draw up plans to move the sanctuary some 35 feet back from the road; but the plan got kind of lost in church busy-ness and other more pressing needs.

 That quickly and decisively changed one Sunday morning, when at some point in the first half of the service, sometime during the second stanza of “Blessed Assurance,” an unwelcome stranger made his way through the sanctuary doors.  Now it was rare for this church to scorn a visitor – it had always been a very open and inviting place, much like you all.  But the worshippers had their welcoming skills put to the test when a red Nissan Pathfinder, having failed to negotiate the intersection outside, rudely thrust its front bumper through the sanctuary doors and into the narthex – where car bumpers do not belong, and are not welcome.  Not surprisingly, the decision to act on the previous plan to move the church came pretty soon after that!

 So yes, there are times when you need to have the wisdom and fortitude to make a needed change.  On the other hand, there are instances when the best advice is to settle down and set up roots.  Take, for instance, our scripture reading this morning.  We find David, King of the Israelites, near the beginning of his reign.  This was a man who was blessed by God with, among other things, wisdom to know when it was the right time to change. God’s people had gone through some chaotic change over the years.  And what David wanted to do was unite his people and, at the same time, provide them with a sense of consistency in their lives; a center to rally around.

 And I imagine God almost whispering it into his ear; bringing to mind that which had been with God’s people for hundreds and hundreds of years; that which would command the uniting of everyone in this blended family: the Ark of the Covenant. 

 Point of clarification here – this is not, as one embarrassed Sunday school teacher heard their students tell their pastor, the boat in which Noah carried the animals during the flood.  This is a different kind of ark!  This is the wooden case that held the sacred tablets of the Ten Commandments – the very pieces of stone that Moses received on Mount Sinai.  It was made of acacia wood, overlaid with the finest gold.  It measured approximately four feet long and a foot and a half deep.  It was carried by two wooden bars that jutted out the front and back.  Attached to the top of the Ark were two cherubim; and, depending on which source you use, they were either standing or kneeling.  They, like everything else on the Ark, were coated in gold.

For a long time the Ark held a very esteemed place in the Israelites’ psyche.  And while it was never confused with being an object of worship, as surrounding nations had their idols, it still represented the very presence of God in their midst.  And the fact that it was portable – able to be carried by six men – it served to constantly remind God’s people that no matter where they went, no matter what kind of change they went through, God would always be there with them.

The problem, though, was that over the years, especially as the Israelites settled in the Promised Land, the Ark kind of faded into the background.  You know how you get a Christmas present, and at first it stands out and has your attention, but over time it kind of blends in with everything else in the house?  That’s kind of what happened with the Ark.  It was stored away in a small town about seven miles outside oJerusalem, pretty much forgotten.  For a while it was even captured by the Philistines. 

All that changed, though, when David came to the throne.  David recognized something special about the Ark – not only what was inside it, but the powerful symbol it could be for the people, like it once was.  And so with the craftiness of a politician and the sensitivity of a new pastor paying homage to the past, David and thirty thousand men processed to the small town of Kiriath-jearim and brought the Ark back to the temple in Jerusalem, where this grand celebration and worship service took place that would rival the Macy’s Christmas Day Parade.  And David, King David himself, was right in the thick of it – dancing and singing and showing everyone that this was something to celebrate.  That now finally, God’s people had arrived home.

You know, as I read about what David did, about how he found that common focus that everyone could rally around, it reminds me of how fractured our society is today.  How we live in a fast-paced, 21^st century world where people are always on the go, where change is an accepted part of life, where the reality of “home” is a bit of a novelty.  How our immediate focus in relationships is often not on what we share in common, but what sets us apart.  How our very culture, it seems, is geared toward avoiding the “Ark” in our lives, much less even knowing where that Ark is.

He is an executive in a large corporation, and he works on the 33^rd floor at the high-rise in town – corner office.  He has a wife and three kids, but his life, for all practical purposes, is consumed by his work and the lifestyle he maintains.  He makes a healthy salary, and the country club membership and beach condo were perks when he signed on.  But now they seem more like burdens, serving to sustain an image of privilege and prestige that, frankly, he’s tired of.  He can’t remember the last time he made one of his son’s soccer games. 

She is a single mother, ever since her husband walked out on her, her two daughters, and the family dog.  He never said why.  Her meager salary barely provides for the family, and she has no idea how she’ll pay for college for her high school sophomore.  She is still amazed and hurt by the disapproving and judgmental looks she gets from people in the neighborhood and even at church.  It’s been six months since she really had someone to talk to about all that’s gone on in her life.

He is 42 years old and lives underneath the highway overpass in town.  He lost his job at the factory seven years ago, and his apartment a year after that.  Now he is sustained by the local food bank, the homeless shelter that provides a warm lunch, and the occasional handout from a kind person walking on Main Street.  He has tried to find work, but everyone wants a recent work history and a valid driver’s license, and right now he has neither.  Just yesterday the police made him move once again, so he is out pounding the pavement, desperately searching for a place to call home.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how those three people couldn’t be any different; and yet all share one big thing in common: in their own way, they’re searching for the “Ark” in their midst.  They’re looking for a “centering” in their lives.  Looking for home.  And the thing is, home is about so much more than just a roof over our heads.  Those Israelites before David’s time wandered in the wilderness for 40 years looking for their home.  And yet how ironic, that it was with them all that time – The Ark; a symbol of God’s very presence.  Life would continue to change and be in flux for them.  But they would never again be separated from their home.

Sometimes it makes me wonder if we in the church today have lost a sense of our home.  And I’m not talking about doctrines that divide or amendments that ruffle feathers.  I’m talking about losing a sense of the divine presence in our midst.  Perhaps, just perhaps, David himself shows us a way to reclaim that presence – a presence that hasn’t really gone anywhere, but a presence that we’ve led blend in with all the other things in the house.

I mean, look at what David does in our passage – did you notice. He does three things.  The first thing he does is bring the Ark back.  He finds the center.  So what’s that center for us?  You know, the funny thing is, I think I’m looking at that center right now!  You remember that thing they taught you as a kid in Sunday school?

Here’s the church / Here’s the steeple
Open the door and there are the people!

Kinda silly, I know.  But the things is, these ten fingers tell a powerful message – a message that, while the focus is sometimes on the building itself, what really makes the church the church is the people inside it.  You, me; we all are what makes up the body of Christ – the center in which we in the church today find our home.

So when we find that center, what comes next?  Just look at David – he goes nuts!  Look at him jumping and dancing and running around; singing and yelling and making a fool of himself.  But he’s making a fool of himself for all the right reasons – he’s celebrating the home of his faith!  And we need to do the same thing.  And no, it won’t always involve jumping and dancing and yelling, but it will involve an attitude of celebration in everything we do.  Worship, study, fellowship, prayer, mission – all of it, a grand Macy’s-Christmas-Day-Parade-like celebration!  And if David shows us anything, it’s that no one is above the celebration.  No one is too high and mighty to kick up their heels.  As God’s people, we all need to celebrate the church a whole lot more than we do.

There’s one other thing David does, and we almost miss it, because the dancing thing kind of distracts us.  But did you notice what David does at the very end of the passage, after he’s done celebrating?  He gathers the people around the Ark – their center, their home.  He gives thanks to God.  And then he feeds them.  He feeds them!  No speeches, no sermons.  Not even a word from the sponsor.  He – King David himself – hands out bread and meat and raisin cakes to every Israelite family.  Every last one of them!  So the celebration goes from being a personal expression of joy to an outward expression of grace.  And that’s the only way to go with it, isn’t it?  Because when we find our joy as the people of God, it makes no sense to keep that joy to ourselves.  We can’t help but want to share that joy with others, by feeding everyone else around.

Finding our home in God.  Celebrating that Home.  And then sharing that Home with the world.  How cool is it to think that God calls this church to do those three things from an obscure Old Testament passage?  Our lives are constantly changing; constantly in flux.  Thank God that God does not change.  Thank God that we can celebrate.  And thank God that we can share our joy with the world.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

FILLING THE WORLD WITH A 10,000-TALENT GRACE

Exodus 14: 19-31; Matthew 18: 21-35
Steve Lindsley
September 11, 2011

There was a special worship service held in this sanctuary on the evening of Wednesday, September 12, 2001.  It was called the “Trust In God Service,” and I have a copy of the bulletin right here. You may recall that, at the time, this church didn’t have a minister – Bob Bruce had departed in June, and interim minister Benjamin Williams wasn’t due to arrive until October.  So this service was put together by Shasta, David Beal and Lynn Rigney in the office. 

Around 50 people gathered here at 7:00 that evening.  There was a lot of music in the service.  The congregation sang the national anthem and hymns like “Blessed Assurance” and “O God, Our Help In Ages Past.”  Mark Brown gave a personal interpretation of Hymn #289, “O God Of Every Nation” – which we’ll sing in a bit.  Legh Beal offered up “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands,” a song that speaks to any age.  A love offering was collected for the Red Cross, and Shasta led the lighting of the Christian Unity Candles.  The late Sandy Beam played the organ.

There was scripture read that evening, of course.  David Beal shared the 27th Psalm:

The Lord is my light and my salvation – whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life – of whom shall I be afraid?
When evildoers assail me, they shall stumble and fall.
Though war rise up against me, yet I will be confident.

One thing I asked of the Lord,
To live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.
For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble;
He will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
He will set me high on a rock.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud;
Be gracious to me and answer me!
Your face, Lord, do I seek – do not hide your face from me.
Teach me your ways, O Lord,
And lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
Do not give me up to the will of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And they are breathing out violence.

I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage;
Wait for the Lord!

Perhaps no other psalm could capture more eloquently what God’s people were going through back then.  Because we were living in fear in those days and weeks following 9-11.  We were living in fear.  Those malicious pilots and the planes they flew did more than cut through glass and steel and concrete and flesh and bone.  They cut through our very soul.  And they made us afraid – afraid of flying, afraid of going to big cities, afraid of people who looked different, afraid of what we knew and what we didn’t know.  It’s been debated in the ten years since, but something felt like it changed after 9-11 – how we see ourselves, our country, our world, our God.

A "watershed moment" is what some call it.  A point in time when everything that follows is categorically different from what came before.  The phrase itself speaks to a river or stream where, at some point, the waters diverge and will not intersect again.  Time, like the water’s current, flows in the same direction always.  There is no going back. 

Our scripture today is about a watershed event – literally and figuratively.  In an odd twist of fate, today’s lectionary passage was the same one my minister in Lexington preached on on at our church’s day-after-9-11 worship service.  It’s a powerful example of God’s presence even in the most devastating circumstances.  Those Israelites were on the verge of something catastrophic; caught between the vast and un-crossable Red Sea in front, and the powerful, vengeful Egyptian army behind.  You know the story.  Moses raised his hands and during the night the waters parted to the side – a clear path across.  God’s people made their way to the Promised Land.  And when all of Israel was safe on the other side, the waters receded and the Egyptian army drowned. 

It was Israel’s “watershed moment” – an undeniable testimony to God’s deliverance in the face of terrible circumstances.  And we keep running into it throughout the Old Testament – in the Psalms, in the voice of the prophets, even in the laws themselves.  They all speak to a God who parted the waters and delivered the people.  And just like the 27th Psalm that talks about “taking courage” and calling on God to “defeat our enemies that breathe out violence,” this was what we needed to hear in those days and weeks after 9-11.  We needed to know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that God would be with us.  We needed to know that evil would never have the last word.

We still need to know those things, of course.  We always will.  But on this tenth anniversary of our country’s most recent watershed moment, I wonder if it is time for us to hear another message.  I wonder if it’s time for us, descendants of those who walked through parted waters long ago, to greet the 11th day of September every year with a new sense of God’s presence. 

Because, contrary to much of the vitriol that surrounded that day and still rears its ugly head every now and then, our faith is not one which preaches and teaches an “us-versus-them” mentality.  Our faith is not one which dares to claim that God is always on “our side.”  And our faith is not one where the “enemy” is to be forever shunned and hated.  That’s because our faith is grounded in Jesus Christ, who did none of those things.

Jesus excelled at creating watershed moments, not only in his actions but in the stories he shared.  Jai read one to us earlier.  Some claim it’s nothing more than a parable on forgiveness.  But I’m thinking it’s much more than that.  Jesus tells us: there’s this man, and this man owes a tremendous debt to the king.  Ten thousand talents, we are told – which means nothing to you and me, because the only kind of “talent” we’re familiar with is the talent we see on “America’s Got Talent,” which is questionable talent at best. 

But back in Jesus’ day, a talent was a large sum of money, equal to a typical labor’s earnings over ten to fifteen years.  Which means this guy in Jesus’ story owes the king an absolutely ridiculous amount of money that’ll take him some 100,000 years to pay off!  It can never be paid back – which is exactly the point. The man does the only thing he can – he begs the king for mercy; begs the king to cancel the debt outright, all of it.  And the king does.  No more debt – grace abounds!

Of course, that’s not the end of the story.  Jesus goes on to tell that immediately after this amazing act – immediately – that same man goes and finds another person who owed him a much smaller sum.  Something that could be repaid.  He can’t pay it right now, he tells him, and asks for mercy.  But our man throws him into prison.  No grace is coming his way; no grace from the one who was the recipient of immeasurable grace himself.

The story goes on for a bit longer, but honestly, I think Jesus meant for us to stop here.  I think he wanted us to get stuck for a bit in this uncomfortable place, in this little quandary of faith; where a man who received so much could fail to return even a small portion of it.  It leaves you and me asking the obvious: why the disconnect? Why had that man experienced nothing of the benefit of grace – nothing?  It hadn’t changed him one bit.  He was untouched by the grace.  Why?

Living in a post 9-11 world has certainly tested the limits of our forgiveness, no doubt.  But it’s done something else, too.  As recipients of an amazing grace from our God – a 10,000-talent grace – we live in light of the transformation of Jesus Christ; a transformation of our very hearts.  And this cannot help but affect how we interact and work and live with all people in this big world of ours – not just those who still cling to hate and fear over love, but those in our lives right now from whom we feel distant and unattached.  And if God’s grace doesn’t affect how we treat those people in our world, then we’re making the same mistake as our man in Jesus’ story – so disconnected from God’s 10,000-talent grace that we can’t be grace-filled ourselves.

The story of the Red Sea drills it into our heads: God delivers us.  But y’all, God delivers us to something; God delivers us for something.  Deliverance is never without a destination or a purpose.   It’s not just about escaping the clutches of the army behind us.  It’s about getting to the other side as delivered, grace-filled people, and then working to deliver and fill with grace our very world!
And sad to say, I don’t think we’ve done that yet.  Sometimes it feels like you and I are still standing there on the other side of the Red Sea, still clutching close that amazing grace.  Still living scared – in our communities, in our religion, in our politics, in our families, in our world.  Biblical scholar Peter Gomes hit the nail on the head when he said this years ago:

Perhaps the greatest tragedy of September 11th, 2001…..is not the loss of the human lives or the buildings, tragic as those losses were and painful as they are to recall.  The greatest tragedy may be that we have since been programmed to live by our fears and not by our hopes.  Once we were a people defined by our compassions; today we are more and more a people defined by our fears.  And to be defined by our fears is to accept the lowest possible level of emotional intelligence. (from The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus by Peter Gomes - New York: HarperOne, 2007, 10).

Somehow, my friends, we’ve got to get beyond that.  Somehow we’ve got to understand that we have been delivered in order to deliver and fill with grace everyone around us.  On this tenth anniversary of 9-11, we need to mark today not just with glorious monuments and memorial services and documentaries, but with changed lives.

I love it when someone rises to the surface with their changed life so we all can take notice.  Phyllis Rodriguez and Aicha el-Wafi are two such people.  Both women lost sons in the aftermath of 9-11, but for very different reasons.  Phyllis had a son in one the Twin Towers that morning as it crumbled to the ground.  Aicha’s son is Zacarias Moussaoui, convicted of playing a major role in the attacks.  These would be the last two people on earth you think would come together.  But in an amazing testimony to the power of love over hate and fear, these women met and forged a powerful friendship born out of unthinkable loss.

I want to play a recording of a keynote that Phyllis and Aicha gave together at a conference last year, where they talk about what brought them together.  Please take a moment to listen:


(Click HERE if you don't see media player)

 

In the words of Aicha:

We have to know “the other” -
We have to be generous in our hearts -
We have to fight against violence -
And someday we will all live together in peace.

Go, then, and fill the world with a 10,000-talent grace.  Because love is always – always – greater than hate and fear.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.

A WATER-WALKING FAITH

Labor Day weekend marks a transition of sorts; from the lazy days of summer back into fall schedules and routines.  One last hurrah, as it were.  This is typically the weekend when, among other things, area outdoor swimming pools shut down for the year.  Yesterday, my family and I hit the pool for probably the last time, if the rains come tomorrow like they say they will. 

I’ve always had this little scenario in my head about something that takes place at a swimming pool.  I don’t think it actually happened, but it’s hard to tell because it feels so real to me.  There’s this young boy, about eight or nine; and he’s standing at the side of a swimming pool one lazy summer afternoon, dressed in colorful swim trunks, ready to jump into the cool, refreshing water.  But he doesn't.  Curiously, he stares at the water below him, sometimes sticking his foot in for a moment, then pulling it back up, then sticking it down there again.  It kind of looks like he’s testing the water to see how cold it is, but this is different – he’s placing his foot so the bottom barely sits on and skims the water's surface.

The boy continues doing this and draws the attention of another pool-goer, an older gentleman.  He asks the lad, "Son, what are you doing?"

The boy replies, with every bit of seriousness in his voice, "I'm trying to walk on water."

"Walk on water?  You mean like in the Bible, like with Jesus and Peter?"

"Uh‑huh,” the boy replies.  ‘I've been working on it all day."

The man nods his head.  "Well, have you done it yet?"

The boy looks down at his feet, still bound to the concrete deck, and with noticeable disappointment says, "No, not yet."

"Well, you got it all wrong, son.  You got things mixed up."

"Really?" says the boy.  "What do you mean?"

The gentleman pauses for a moment, and with a sincere smile says, "You know, walking on water is a strange thing - most of us aren't used to it.   If you could ask Peter, he'd tell ya.  It isn't just something that you do ‑ it's more about how you live your life."

Now, I've never tried to walk on water myself, but I've heard an awful lot about it.  We all have.  Everyone loves a good Jesus miracle story, don’t they?  Just before our scripture reading for today, we find that wonderful story about Jesus feeding the 5000 with five loaves of bread and two fish.  And after sending his disciples out on the boat, Jesus goes away for a time of prayer.  Meanwhile, the disciples on the boat come across a strong storm in the dark of night, and they are all alone.            

Suddenly, one of the disciples looks out on the water, through pelting rain and crashing waves, and sees Jesus there ‑ walking on water!  Peter is so excited to see him that he boldly steps out on the water and, for a brief time, walks on water just as Jesus did.  But soon, Peter begins to sink as the wind and rain and waves engulf him, and Jesus reaches down to him and pulls him to safety.

It’s a great story, isn’t it?  But, you know, I’ve always been troubled by this story.  Not the story itself, but more our interpretation of it.  Because the message we commonly glean from this story is one that says this: "If I have enough faith ‑ if I can muster up enough strength and really believe, then I can do it."  In other words, if I have enough faith that I can walk on water, I'll be able to walk on water. 

The flip side of this logic, though, is where things get tricky – because what it says is this: if I DON'T have enough faith, then I will fail – or, to put another way, If I fail, then it must be because I didn't have enough faith.  You see the danger in this kind of thinking, don’t you?  This kind of makes Peter out to be a pretty big loser, doesn’t it?  Yeah, he was a disciple and all, but when it mattered most, when Peter had a chance to prove how much he loved Jesus and how much he believed in him, he fell short.  He didn’t measure up.  Poor guy just didn’t have enough faith to walk on that water.

Is that really what’s going on here?  Is this story solely about a disciple who didn’t “measure up?”  If it is, then is it any wonder that you and I often live our lives defined by what we’re afraid we can’t do, rather than what we believe we can?  That kid at the edge of the swimming pool, toying with the idea of taking that first step, but fearful that, if he fell into the water, he’d embarrasses himself and demonstrate that, despite his hopes, he just didn’t believe enough.  

I mean, how many times in any given day do you and I sell ourselves short, all because we’re afraid of what we won’t be able to do?  A relationship with a friend is on the ropes, and you want to try and work it out.  But what happens if it blows up in your face and makes things worse?  The letter from the college of your dreams has finally arrived in the mail.  It’s just a thin piece of folded paper that separates you from the acceptance letter inside.  But what if it’s another kind of letter in there?

Is that really what’s going on in this little story of walking on water?  You know, I guess what’s most troubling about this understanding – for me, at least – is that it puts an awful lot of focus on US instead of God – you know what I mean?  It seems to say more about what WE may or may not be able to do, rather than what GOD does through us.  We walk on shaky ground when our understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ starts to mirror and parallel the gospel of our culture – a culture that says that we can make it on our own; that it’s up to us to blaze our own trail and make something out of life.  Because what happens when we can’t make it on our own all the time?  We tread on thin ice when we start believing that a person’s lot in life is directly proportional to how “strong” their faith is.  Because what does it mean when we wind up doing more sinking than walking?

So, what exactly does it mean to have a "water‑walking" faith? 

You know, I can’t help but think back to something that man said to the boy by the pool – that faith isn't something you do ‑ it's more about how you live your life.  I think he may be on to something there.  Because what it seems to suggest is that a "water‑walking" faith is less about actually walking on water, or doing anything over-the-top miraculous, and more about just getting out of the boat in the first place.  Sometimes, that’s a pretty big deal in itself, isn’t it?  Leaving the comfortable places in our lives, daring to seek out Jesus wherever he might be – even if he’s in the storm. 

I mean, let’s not forget about the storm.  It’s hard for us to forget that; a week removed from one of the largest and most devastating hurricanes the east coast has ever seen.  We’ve all seen on TV by now the damage from Hurricane Irene; the barrier islands of our state torn to pieces, the catastrophic flooding, especially in Vermont.  That same sense of “watery chaos” is found in Matthew’s story of this storm that caught the disciples off-guard.  You know, oftentimes the sea is a common Biblical image for the forces of chaos in God's creation.  It's the same kind of language in the Creation story at the beginning of Genesis, when God created everything out of the "formless void" and the "chaotic waters of the deep."  It's the same kind of language we find in the story of the Flood, which destroyed everything on earth except Noah and those with him on the Ark.

Not only that, but Matthew tells us this storm happened "early in the morning" – it’s the Bible’s way of saying between 3:00 and 6:00am, the darkest time of the night.  Ask any seasoned sailor to describe a worse‑case scenario, and chances are it'd be pretty close to what we have here ‑ a boat in a chaotic storm, far away from land, at the darkest time of night. 

For those disciples, it seemed as if all hope was lost.  There was nothing that could save them.  Until they noticed Jesus coming to them from inside the storm. JESUS: in the midst of the storm.  Not above the storm, or behind the storm, or away from the storm ‑ but IN THE STORM. You know, we usually skip over this little detail and go right to Peter walking on water and then sinking.  But when we skip this, we miss something really important.  Because this is what the story’s about – not about Peter sinking, but about Peter getting out of the boat to begin with, because Jesus himself was right there in the midst of that chaotic, tumultuous, darker than dark storm.

Now I am sure many of us here this morning could attest to the fact that you don't have to be in a boat on the sea to be lost in the midst of a chaotic storm.  We all have weathered storms in our time.   The storms we face take us to places we don't want to go, and force us to face things we don't want to deal with.

Back in the summer of 1996 I was part of a Pastoral Care program at Rex Hospital in Raleigh, where as a chaplain I saw family after family face some pretty serious storms – families who mourned the death of a loved one, or patients stuck in the pain of a terminal illness.  You could almost see the dark clouds gathering, the drenching rain, the gusting winds, and waves that seemed like they were going to capsize their boat at any moment.  Those people knew what it was like being a disciple with the storm swirling around them.

And it was kind of sad how some of the most faithful people I met during that time were also people who felt they just couldn’t leave the boat.  Instead, they had to “be strong” – that’s what the kept telling me and each other.  The thing was, “being strong” for them meant staying in the boat and avoiding the chaotic waters and the storm.  Because Jesus wasn’t in the storm.  He couldn’t be in the storm.  Jesus was somewhere else; somewhere far away from the pain and grief and hurt they were feeling.  That’s what they kept telling themselves, at least.  I’ve often wondered if they ever gave themselves a chance to deal with their sadness and anger and fear; things that don’t go away just because you try to sidestep the storm in an attempt to "be strong." 

There was one woman I remember, though.  I sat with her for most of the day in the consultation room, as the doctors tried to revive her husband down the hall.  That night the doctor came in to tell us that they had done everything they could, and that they were so very sorry.

Overcome with grief, this woman got out of her boat and plunged straight into her storm.  I held her hand, not having a clue what I could or should say to her.  And then, after a little while, this woman began saying softly to herself, softly but confidently, "Jesus is here.” How about that?!  “Jesus is here,” she kept repeating.  “He’s here with me.”  And you know what? I started feeling him there too.

You and I, we are more like Peter than we care to admit.  And he’s trying his hardest to tell us about this water-walking faith; trying to yell over the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves.  He’s trying to tell us that it’s okay to get out of the boat, and it’s even okay if we can’t walk on water all the time.  Because Jesus is there with us, always with us; and he’s reaching out his hand to take our own.  God himself knows what it's like to be lost in the chaos of the storm because Jesus has been there – countless times.  And Jesus continues to be there, waiting for us to come in and find him.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.