(On November 10th, 2013, the Pastors and Elders of Dover Baptist made a public announcement regarding my upcoming (January 2014) departure from my role as assistant pastor there, in order that my family and I might be able to fully commit ourselves to a journey of listening and discernment concerning a new season of ministry that it seems God is calling us into. At this time, our sense is that we are being led into a church planting role somewhere in this general region. But, while we are actively engaged in that conversation presently, and will continue to be over the next several months, as of this moment there remain more question marks than hard details; hence, the need for a committed season of discerning and prayer. What follows is a manuscripted version of the teaching I gave immediately following that announcement.)
---
"Immediately he made the disciples get into
the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the
crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went
up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there
alone, but the boat by this time was a long way from
the land, beaten by the waves, for the wind was against them. And in
the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. But
when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and
said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear. But
immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not
be afraid.” And
Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the
water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the
boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when
he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried
out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out
his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did
you doubt?” And when they got into the boat, the
wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him,
saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” " - (Matthew 14:22-33, ESV)
Confession
time:
I am really, really, not any good at golf.
For one reason or another it
seems like I generally end up playing golf – more or less by accident – once a
year or so. Back when I was younger, for Father’s Day we used to get my dad a
gift certificate to a round of golf over at Sunningdale’s in Somersworth. And
that, consequently, precipitated the once-a-year Bannon family golf outing where my father, my
siblings and I would proceed to take our collection of antique and/or yard sale
golf clubs and head out to make a mockery of the game for a few hours.
Sunningdale was a low-class-enough establishment that we could get away with
this without too much public shame for my dad. But, in any case, by about the
third hole my brother and I had generally degenerated into playing golf cart
polo as we bombed down the fairways, hanging out the side of the cart while
wildly swinging a 5 iron. Great fun for a teenage guy, but I’m not sure you
could actually call it “golf”
A couple
of years back, my Father-in-law even gifted me his full matched set of clubs,
shoes, and one perfectly white leather glove. A black polo shirt and a pair of
khakis later, standing in the parking lot, I might be able to give someone the
impression that I actually know what I’m doing. That, however, is an impression
that will quickly be set straight as soon as I step up to the first tee.
You
see, I am really, really, not any good at golf.
The
problem is my swing. To be honest, I have pretty modest goals when I step up to the tee. I’m
not really thinking about the finer points of the game: I’m not concerned about
slicing or hooking or accounting for wind speed and direction. All I want to do
is hit the ball. I want the golf club to make contact with the golf ball in
such a way that that ball leaves the tee in the air and ends up far enough away
that I don’t need to be ashamed of myself. And that’s all I really want, in actual
fact: I don’t REALLY care about winning, I just want to accrue as little shame as
possible over the course of the day. But it never fails; I step up to the tee, I put myself in position, I
take some practice swings. And then, with enough force and style to send any
self-respecting golf ball into near orbit, I swing at that little white sphere.
But with an embarrassing frequency, when the swing has completed that powerful,
graceful arc, there the ball sits, undisturbed atop it’s small wooden perch.
And sometimes that’s the best possible outcome. Because then, at least, you can
try and play it off like you were just taking another practice swing. And
because, otherwise, I’ll usually just end up clipping the top of the ball
enough to send it dribbling off sideways and into an irrigation ditch.
And do
you know what the worst part of all of this is? I know how to fix this problem.
I do know, in actual fact, how to hit a golf ball successfully. There is one
simple rule that I know, and even repeat to myself as I step up to swing. At
the driving range, during practice, when it doesn’t matter, I have no problem.
But when it actually matters, I just consistently fail to do it. That rule? Keep your eyes on the ball.
Keep your EYES on the BALL.
Focus, keep your head
down. Don’t turn to look at where you imagine the ball may be going someday. Don’t scan the horizon for where you WISH the ball was. Concentrate on where
the ball IS, all the way through that act of contact, and a few seconds more,
just for good measure. But I don’t. I understand it in theory, but in practice
and in action, I simply forget. I look away, I lose sight, my target gets lost
in the force of my ambition… and that makes me a really bad golfer.
The
Apostle Peter never had the experience of playing a bad round of golf, as far
as I know. But he did very nearly go for an unwanted swim in some pretty stormy
waters, and for a very similar reason: he lost track of where his eyes needed
to be.
This
life, following Jesus, is sure to be full of the unexpected: unexpected
challenges, unexpected blessings, and unexpected invitations to follow Jesus into
unexpected places. As Peter discovers, increasingly over the course of his
life, this journey of faith is not about the comfortable security of the status
quo or the safety of predictability; it is about TRUST. It is about following
Jesus into the life he lays before us, one step at a time, even if that means
taking a step or two out of the boat and onto the waves, trusting that where He
is leading us is GOOD – is LIFE – even in the face of sometimes painful or
challenging circumstances. And as we put one foot in front of the other, our
faith – that is, our trust – is defined by where, and on what, our eyes are
fixed. Whether we find ourselves on land, in the boat, or on the waves, our
feet will follow our eyes, and as a people of faith Jesus calls us to fix our
eyes on HIM.
Long-Distance Faith:
Sometimes
we find it hard to keep our eyes on Jesus, because we find ourselves in the
midst of some challenging, painful or fearful circumstances, and just we’re not
sure – to be honest – exactly where He’s at. It may be that we’re desperate - that
we’d LOVE to lay eyes on Jesus - but it seems like he’s hiding out at the
moment.
I know
those original disciples of Jesus felt like that from time to time, and
certainly here in the latter part of Matthew 14. I mean, imagine their
situation. They had just witnessed Jesus feed 10-15,000 (or more) people from what had
started out as a bag lunch; and these disciples are caught up in that work,
spending hours handing out this food that Jesus keeps producing. He brings the
miracle, and they’re caught up in the work of ministry. And as soon as that
work is done – no debrief, no explanation, no after-work pint to unwind –
Matthew says that Jesus immediately shuffled the disciples into this
boat and pushes them out to sea while he stays behind to dismiss the gathered
crowd. And there they are: the disciples in the boat, with Jesus off on shore
somewhere – Matthew says that once the crowd was dismissed, Jesus hiked up to
the top of that mountain to pray – and a storm rolls down on them across the
water. And, there, out to sea and on their own, the disciples start to struggle
against the wind and waves.
I can imagine Jesus’ perspective.
My brother and I have been working on a construction project for the past few weeks; building a new home on the side of a small mountain in Gilford, NH. From where we are working, you can see about a hundred miles: looking down over Lake Winnipesaukee, and off to mountain ranges throughout Maine and New Hampshire. And from this vantage point, we are able to watch weather develop and move, miles away from us; storm clouds gathering and moving across the lake, seemingly below our feet.
In much the same way, Jesus is praying and watching; ever-mindful and full of concern for his disciples, who are never out of his
sight. But the perspective of those disciples is so different: all they can see
is the storm. All they can feel is their own exhaustion and ever-approaching
despair. The timeline Matthew gives us suggests that they fought against that
storm all night – something in the area of 9 hours – before Jesus strolls up.
By the time he gets there, it’s nearly dawn, and they’re so exhausted and
afraid by then that they’re convinced that this person they’re seeing must be a
ghost.
You see,
Jesus felt so far away. He had worked some amazing miracles less than 24 hours
earlier, but the memory of his presence and power was growing thin by the
fourth watch of the night. As far as they were concerned, he was on shore, they
were in the boat, and that was that. No one was coming to their rescue. After
all, who could save them from a force of nature itself, anyway? But as it turns
out, Jesus was not actually as far away as they perceived. And the fact that he
didn’t have a boat wasn’t actually an issue. And it turns out that Jesus is, in
fact, not just the Lord of the never-ending bag lunch, but Lord and King over
the wind and the waves and all creation, too.
No matter what you’re going
through – no matter what you will go through – Jesus invites us to trust that
he is near to us. That his eye is on us and he keeps us ever before the throne
of heaven in prayer, and he is Lord over our every circumstance, even when it
all seems like chaos and fear from where we sit at the moment. No boat?
No problem; Jesus comes walking out to them on the water. Our circumstances
cannot keep Jesus from us.
The Apostle Paul reflects on this very truth in Romans 8:
“For
I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things
present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor
anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39, ESV)
Faith Beyond the Gunwales:
Then again, sometimes it isn’t that the distance is so great, but it’s that a step into
very practical uncertainty - a step of
very demanding trust – stands between us and Jesus. Sometimes we can see Jesus
just fine, even if he happens to be standing in an unexpected place, but we
struggle to believe that we can do what he’s asking us to do. If a life of
faith is defined by eyes fixed on Jesus, the challenge is that sometimes we’re
just more comfortable staring at our own feet, and the good, strong, wooden
boat beneath them, instead.
“If it’s you, Lord, tell me to come out to
you on the water.”
Peter understands a couple of things here. As a Jewish
disciple of a Jewish Rabbi, he understands that his calling and vocation is to
DO what his rabbi DOES. So, very simply, if his rabbi is walking on water in
the middle of a storm, HE should be doing the same thing, crazy as that may
seem. Secondly, he takes this command as a clear identifier that this is really
Jesus, after all. Because everywhere Jesus goes, and to everyone he meets, the
invitation is pretty much the same: “Follow me.” Even if that invitation flies
in the face of physics for a moment, Peter knows that if this is really Jesus,
the invitation would stand, just the same. And it does. To his immense credit,
Peter throws his legs over the gunwale, and walks out to Jesus.
And it’s
to his credit, because faith beyond the gunwale is hard. I mean, just a moment
ago, those disciples would have been wishing to be anywhere in the world but in
that boat. But now, watching Jesus standing out amidst the chaos of the storm
with no boat to speak of, I’m betting that little vessel suddenly seemed like a
pretty good deal. I mean it’s strong and solid and well built, with that solid
wooden gunwale faithfully standing between the disciples and that raging,
uncertain sea. I’m betting, considering the alternatives, those disciples
suddenly had a deep and newfound appreciation for that little boat. But real
faith, genuine trust, goes beyond the gunwales; Jesus isn’t just Lord in our
little boat. He’s Lord over the sea, and the wind, and everything else, too.
And this
is significant for us to come to grips with, because we, too, love the relative
solidity our little boats: the structures and predictable patterns of our
lives. Our jobs and our homes and a steady family life without too many
surprises; we may not always have all these things, but we strive for them –
for a feeling of security and safety and predictability - and when we feel them in our hands, we cling
to them.
And don’t
get me wrong: it’s good to be thankful for a job and warm house and a healthy
family. When God blesses us with those things, it is right to deeply appreciate
them and give God praise for his abundant generosity. But it is an easy mistake
to slide into believing that this comfort, this safety, this predictability is,
in fact, the entirety of life as God intends it for us. It’s easy to fall into
the practical belief that God is God here, within these confines and structures
and blessings, while forgetting that he’s God out there, too. And, in actual
fact, if we are going to be genuine followers of Jesus, at some point it’s
going to involve surrendering to Him the safety of the gunwale that separates
us from the unpredictable and the unknown so that we can not just appreciate
Jesus from a safe distance, but actually follow him into His Kingdom purposes,
which are simply bigger and deeper and richer than the confines of our little,
comfortable lives.
And this
is where Becca and I find ourselves… For us at this time, following Jesus means
getting out of the boat. And it’s not because there’s something wrong with the
boat we’re in, here. And it’s not because there’s a bigger, sleeker, more
attractive boat across the way. In actual fact, where we end up, and how this
journey of trust fleshes itself out over the course of the next 6-12 months is
really an open question. And that’s probably the hardest thing to try and
explain: If you don’t know exactly WHERE you’re going, then WHY are you going? But
I guess the simplest answer is just that Jesus is Jesus, and He’s made it clear
that he is calling us to step into something new, and He’s made it equally
clear that there’s no way we’re going to know what that looks like until we are
willing to express our trust in Him by stepping over the edge of this boat. It’s
as if he’s standing out there, in the midst of what looks to us like a lot of
risk and uncertainty, but He’s not willing to shout the details to us over the
noise of the wind in the waves while we stand with our feet behind the gunwale,
straining to hear him. Instead, He just says, “Come over here. That way, we can
talk without having to yell…” And that’s what January is really about; stepping
aside so that we can commit ourselves to hearing what it is that Jesus is
trying to say, and what it is exactly that He is leading us into. This is a
journey of faith, and we’re fixing our eyes on Him.
It's in the Eyes:
Of
course, that’s not to say things get easy once you’ve left the boat behind;
Peter struggles with the details of this journey of faith, and so do we. We may
have the best intentions, but our circumstances and fears, sometimes they’re
just really loud and distracting. It’s an easy thing to forget to discipline
our eyes. And when our circumstances and struggles loom larger in view than
Jesus does, we struggle. We sink. We lose our way. But the good news is that
Jesus is ever there, near to us as we call out to him and full of grace even as
we struggle.
I don’t
think Jesus chastises Peter here, any more than you or I would chastise our
children the first time they tried to ride a bike. I think these are spoken as
words of loving comfort; “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
In the
end, Jesus picks up Peter and walks him back to the boat, the storm settles,
and His disciples worship Him as the sovereign, creator God that he is. Which
is the whole point, really; of this passage and of our lives. Do we understand
who it is that we’re dealing with, and do we understand that in such a way that
we are willing to hold everything we are and everything we have with open hands
before him as an expression of trust and worship? Do we hold our security and
safety and comfort as secondary concerns when compared to just following Jesus
where he invites us to go?
The author of Hebrews reflects on this:
Therefore,
since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside
every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us
run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking
to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that
was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is
seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2, ESV)
