Matthew 14:22-23

I wonder how much thought you’ve ever given to what the sea represents?

Perhaps it’s something you’ve spent time reflecting on over the years, sitting as we are on the coast. Perhaps for you, the sea is many things. The calming sounds of the waves when they’re gentle, the primal fear of the rough and choppy seas. Are you drawn to the peaceful image of seabirds gliding over the surf as the sun shines, or do you brood on the greys of a cloudy winters’ day?

For many in Britain the sea is a place of recreation and fun, it’s also a barrier. The seas present an obstacle to our involvement on the continent but have long acted as a shield around us. We have a romantic image of the fishing industry and greatly value the importance of our coastal heritage to our sense of national identity. Although we respect the awesome power of the seas, perhaps particularly in Norfolk with the constant issues of erosion, it is also a tool we feel that we have mastered. Consider the words of James Thompson’s poem ‘Rule, Britannia’ from the 1740s which has the exhortation "Britannia, rule the waves”. Note that it’s ‘rule’ not ‘rules’. It’s a command to go out and be the master of the seas. I won’t bore you with a lengthy textual analysis of the poem, I’ll only point out part of this appeal was to understand the sea as a source of liberty. The seas and our island home enabled a strong navy and a small army, which since the time of Cromwell had been seen as a possible source of tyranny.

This is a very different comprehension of the sea to that of the Judean peoples to whom Jesus ministered. For them, the sea is a place of chaos. It is dangerous and unpredictable, and sailing is fraught with risk. Whilst Jesus goes alone to pray, the boat with disciples is left to float along the sea of Galilee. Without Jesus, the disciples are at the mercy of the ultimate power of chaos through both the sea and the wind.

It’s onto this understanding of the Sea that Jesus walks. It isn’t just a neat party trick; it shows his mastery over even the elements of chaos. He can command the winds; he can treat the sea like it’s a malleable surface capable of supporting our fragile and land-based bodies. In this chaos, Jesus extends his invitation to Peter: ‘Come’.

Just as Jesus extends that invitation to each of us: ‘Come’.
Come out towards me, onto the chaos of the seas and battered by the winds, come.

All of us have a calling to follow Jesus and step out of the boats and take those steps towards him. Whether that calling is ministry, baptism, confirmation, a career, family, friendships, church, charity whatever it may be. It comes first from Christ, calling you.

There’s not a comforting promise that taking those steps will be free and easy. Like Peter, we will be distracted by the wind, and we will start to sink. We still have to have the initial bravery to step out onto the chaos and come towards Jesus.

Yet Jesus will also reach out his hand and catch us.

Perhaps when Jesus says to Peter ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’, it isn’t a rebuke. It isn’t a telling off. Maybe it’s gentle. Maybe it’s said with a smile and with love and affection. Look to the words again and think of them in that way:

“He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came towards Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’

All of us will stumble and sink as we head towards Christ. That’s what being a sinner is. It doesn’t mean we’re bad people or have terrible things to be sorry for to be deserving of God’s love – it means we’re human. It means we’ll get things wrong. Of course we will, we aren’t all-powerful or all-loving or all-knowing. We mess up. We notice the winds when we should be focused on Christ. We sink and panic when we should trust our faith. It’s okay. Despite all of it, Jesus is still there. Still holding his hand out towards us, ready to pull us back up.

That’s what love is. That’s what God’s love for each of us is.

Perhaps this is where Western and Judean thought has misunderstood the seas. In Polynesian thought the ocean, or Moana, is a place that connects all of us together. The sea of Galilee doesn’t separate Jesus from his disciples, it joins them together.

What looks like the chaos of the water is revealed to be a firm footing that connects Jesus to Peter and enables them, through God’s loving power, to walk towards one another. The Moana connects us to our siblings around the world, joining us together. The Moana connects us to those we love who have gone before us. It connects us to Christ, who is always repeating his loving invitation to each us: Come.

Perhaps, lucky as we are to live besides the sea it is worth, in the words of Psalm 107 to ‘go down to the sea’… to ‘thedeeds of the Lord, his wondrous works in the deep’.

Though, if you do, please don’t try to walk on it.

Amen.

The Revd Iain Grant