Jesus walking on water and calling Peter to meet Him outside the boat—recorded in Matthew 14:22-33—is one of the most recognizable and memorable episodes in all the Gospels. It sticks in our minds, certainly, because it is an amazing miracle. It stands out also, I think, because so many of us identify with Peter’s initial response of faith and his subsequent lack of trust.
Still, there is much value to be gained by pondering this episode beyond those two points. In fact, another fruitful way to ponder is watching the episode unfold from the vantage point of a disciple in the boat. I place myself there, as though I am part of this small band of followers of a rabbi from Nazareth.
Just before evening, the beginning of the new day, Jesus sends me, along with the rest of the disciples, to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. This isn’t altogether difficult, or out of the ordinary. Our group is in and around these waters frequently. I may be a little hesitant to board the boat at night, but I am filled with confidence and trust at this moment. I have already seen our rabbi calm a violent storm on this same sea, providing peace when none seemed available (see Mt. 8:23-27). And, just hours before, I witnessed Him, somehow, feed a crowd of perhaps more than ten thousand persons with five loaves and two fish (see Mt. 14:13-21).
As the night progresses, though, our group has moved “a long way from the land,” the place of our security. The wind is against us, and waves are beating against our boat (verse 24). Then, something happens “in the fourth watch of the night” (verse 25), that is, the darkest part of the night. I think I notice a figure walking toward us. But, without the aid of rays from the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, it is incredibly difficult to see clearly in that moment. So, I am confused, even “terrified” (verse 26). My mind, formed by our culture and religion, cause us immediately to think this is a ghost. My fellow travelers think so, too, because we all cry out “in fear” (verse 26).
Speaking directly into our confusion and fear, a voice speaks: “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid” (verse 27). I know this voice. It calls into my mind previous miracles I have witnessed. It is the most peaceful voice I have ever heard. As soon as I hear it, my fear and anxiety fade. I wonder if the others hear it the same way.
Then, our friend and de facto leader, Peter, makes a bold—even brash—comment, as he is prone to do. “Lord,” he says, “if it is you, command me to come to you on the water” (verse 28). It seems to me this comment is almost a challenge. Why would Peter ask for this miracle, instead of simply asking Jesus to reveal His identity? He just witnessed a multiplication miracle on the shore the day before.
The voice responds, simply, “Come” (verse 29). This voice has always packed so much into few words. And, when I hear it, I want to respond along with Peter. I feel compelled to leave the boat by the power of this voice. But, I remain seated, thinking to myself, “Well, this is a bit scary and, after all, he didn’t call me.”
I watch Peter exit the boat, walking toward our rabbi on the water (verse 29). At that moment, I begin having multiple thoughts and emotions. I am surprised that he trusts enough to exit the boat because, again, my reason tells me this is impossible. I am anxious about the results because, after all, I have felt the waves and the wind. I am amazed when my friend walks on water without sinking. As my friend makes his way to Jesus, whom I notice more clearly, I am in a bit of awe that my friend has left the relative safety of the boat for the sake of something unknown, unfathomable. None of us knew for certain what or who was out there, and Peter still walked out into the dark, deep, mysterious water.
These thoughts are interrupted quickly. I begin to notice the wind and the waves picking up. Apparently, my friend notices, too. I can tell he is afraid now, and then I watch him begin to sink. In that moment, I hear him call out to Jesus, our rabbi, “Lord, save me” (verse 30). What happened to Peter? Why did he start to sink? How far will Jesus let him be submerged in the water? Will Jesus rescue Peter at all? Does He have the power to rescue? All these questions race through my mind in a split second.
My questions and fears last only a moment because I see Jesus reach out and lift up Peter. As soon as Peter is secure again, Jesus asks a question: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt” (verse 31)? Is He talking only to Peter, or is He also directing that question to me and the others in the boat? Could I have walked out there if I had not found myself in timid doubt? Did I doubt that Jesus would not be able to command the wind and the sea (see Mk. 4:35-41), or that He would not rescue one of His most devoted disciples?
Finally, Peter and Jesus return to our boat, and immediately “the wind ceased” (verse 31). I notice the calm that comes into our boat with Jesus’ presence, and I am immediately reminded of the peace that came with His voice just moments ago. Every bit of the peace I feel when I am traveling around Galilee comes into the boat with Him in this moment. I have thought before that I do not want to be apart from this great teacher, because of how I feel when I am near Him. I make that decision again. And, in the same moment, I wonder if He did not plan this whole experience, just so Peter and the others and I would desire even more to be near Him.
It seems that the others in the boat are having similar thoughts and feelings. I gather this because all of us have the same reaction. We all realize this man is unique among all men, that He has power over and above anything we can imagine. He must be more than human, we think. So, we exclaim in worship, “Truly you are the Son of God” (verse 32). Without saying any words, all of us collectively know this is the right reaction, not just to what we have witnessed, but to who this man is.
Surely, any of us who engage in an Ignatian meditation exercise like this one come to know that Scripture is “living and active” (Heb. 4:12). In this or any other passage of the Bible, I can find countless details, themes, and questions that apply to my real-life situations and experience, today. Everyone experiences the winds and waves, the things in life—large or small—that bother and frighten us, the things that cause us to take our eyes off the Lord. We experience doubt and the inability to trust. Ultimately, pondering this or any Gospel episode ought to bring us to ask: What habits and dispositions are developing in my heart? Then: How do these realizations cause me to turn my mind and heart more fully toward the Lord?
Author’s Note: This meditation was aided in large part by Christ Walking on the Sea by Amédée Varin.
Image from Wikimedia Commons
