Focused
Immediately after this, Jesus
insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side
of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home, he went up into the hills by
himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone. Meanwhile, the disciples
were in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were
fighting heavy waves. About three o’clock in the
morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. When
the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear,
they cried out, “It’s a ghost!” But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here!” (Matt.
14:22-27)
As lakes go, the
Sea of Galilee is a pretty small and moody one. Only thirteen miles at its
longest, seven and a half at its widest, its diminutive size makes it
vulnerable to the winds that howl out of the Golan Heights. They turn the lake
into a blender, shifting suddenly, blowing first from one direction, then
another. Winter months bring these kind of storms every two weeks or so,
churning the waters for two to three days at a time. And Peter and his fellow
storm riders knew they were in serious trouble. What should have been a
sixty-minute cruise became a nightlong battle. The boat lurched and lunged like
a kite in a March wind. Sunlight was a distant memory. Rain fell from the night
sky in buckets. Lightning sliced the blackness with a silver sword. Winds
whipped the sails, leaving the disciples "in trouble far
away from land . . . fighting heavy waves."
Does that
describe your stage in life? Sometimes, all we need to do is substitute a
couple of nouns – in the middle of a divorce, tossed about by guilt; in the
middle of debt, tossed about by creditors. The disciples fought the storm for
nine cold, skin-drenching hours. And then, about 3:00 a.m., the unspeakable
happened. They spotted someone coming on the water. "'A ghost!' they said,
crying out in terror." (v. 26) They didn't expect Jesus to come to them that
way. And neither do we.
We expect him to
come in the form of peaceful hymns, or Easter Sundays, or quiet retreats. We
expect to find Jesus in morning devotionals, church suppers or in meditation.
We never expect to see him in a bear market, or on a pink slip, or in a lawsuit,
or when a foreclosure is knocking on the door. We never expect to see him in a
storm. But it’s in the storms that he does his finest work, because that’s when
he has our keenest attention. Jesus replied to the disciples' fear with an
invitation worthy of inscription on every church cornerstone and residential doorway:
"'Don't be afraid,' he said. 'Take courage. I am here!'" (v. 27)
There’s power in
those words. To wake up in an ICU and hear your wife say, "I’m here."
To lose your retirement yet feel the support of your family in the words,
"We’re here." Or, when a Little Leaguer spots Mom and Dad in the
bleachers watching the game, the words "I am here" changes
everything. Maybe that's why God repeats the "I am here" pledge so
often. The Lord is near. (Phil. 4:5) I am with you always, to the very end of the
age. (Matt. 28:20) I give them
eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my
hand. (John 10:28) Nothing can ever
separate us from God's love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow – not even the
powers of hell can separate us from God's love. (Rom. 8:38)
We cannot go
where God is not. Look over your shoulder – that’s God following you. Look into
the storm – that’s Christ coming toward you. Much to Peter's credit, he took
Jesus at his word. "'Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the
water.' So He said, 'Come.' And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he
walked on the water to go to Jesus." (Matt. 14:28-29) Peter probably would
have never made that request on a calm sea. Had Christ strolled across a lake
that was as smooth as glass, Peter would have applauded, perhaps, but I doubt
he would have stepped out of the boat. Storms prompt us to take unprecedented
journeys. And for a few historic steps and heart-stilling moments, Peter did
the impossible. He defied every law of gravity and nature. "He walked on
the water to go to Jesus." Pretty scant on detail, however, don’t you
think? We’re talking about walking on water here.
Don’t we want to
know how quickly Peter exited the boat, or what the other disciples were doing?
Maybe the expression on their faces, or if Peter stepped on any fish. But Matthew
didn’t have time for those kinds of questions. He moves us quickly to the major
message of the event: where to stare in a storm. "But when [Peter] saw
that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out,
saying, 'Lord, save me!'" (v. 30) A wall of water eclipsed his view. A
wind gust snapped the mast with a crack and a slap. A flash of lightning
illuminated the lake and the watery mountain it had become. Peter shifted his
attention away from Jesus and toward the squall, and when he did, he sank like
a rock. Give the storm waters more attention than the Storm Walker, and get
ready to do the same.
We can’t choose
whether storms will come. But we can choose where we stare when they do. I discovered
that truth while sitting in my cardiologist's office. My heart rate was
misbehaving, so I was referred to a specialist. After reviewing my tests and
asking me some questions, the doctor nodded knowingly and told me to wait in
his office. I didn't like being sent to the principal's office as a kid, and I really
don't like being sent to the doctor's office as a patient. But I went in, took
a seat, and quickly noticed the doctor's harvest of diplomas. They were
everywhere. Degrees from universities. Others from residencies. The more I
looked at his accomplishments, the better I felt. “I'm in pretty good hands,” I
thought.
Then, just about
the time I leaned back in the chair to relax, his nurse entered and handed me a
sheet of paper. "The doctor will be in shortly," she explained.
"In the meantime, he wants you to acquaint yourself with this information.
It summarizes your condition." I lowered my gaze from the diplomas to the
summary of my disorder. And as I read, stormy winds began to blow. Unwelcome
words like “arrhythmia” and “enlarged” caused me to sink into my own Sea of
Galilee. What happened to my peace? I was feeling much better a moment ago. So
I changed strategies. I counteracted diagnosis with diplomas. In between
paragraphs of bad news, I looked at the wall for reminders of good news.
That's what God
wants us to do. His call to courage is not a call to naiveté or ignorance. We
aren't to be oblivious to the overwhelming challenges that life brings. We're
to counterbalance them with long looks at God's accomplishments. "We must pay much closer attention to what we
have heard, so that we do not drift away from it." (Heb. 2:1) Do whatever
it takes to keep your gaze on Jesus. Memorize scripture. Read biographies of
great lives. Ponder the testimonies of faithful Christians. Make the deliberate
decision to set your hope on him. Courage is always a possibility.
C. S. Lewis
wrote a great paragraph on this thought: Faith
. . . is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite
of your changing moods. For moods will change, whatever view your reason takes.
I know that by experience. Now that I am a Christian I do have moods in which
the whole thing looks very improbable: but when I was an atheist I had moods in
which Christianity looked terribly probable. . . . That is why Faith is such a
necessary virtue: unless you teach your moods "where they get off,"
you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a
creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs really dependent on the weather
and the state of its digestion.
Feed your fears,
and your faith will starve. Feed your faith, and your fears will. Jeremiah did
this, and talk about a person caught in a storm. "I am the man who has
seen affliction under the rod of [God's] wrath; he has driven and brought me
into darkness without any light; surely against me he turns his hand again and
again the whole day long." (Lam. 3:1-3) Jeremiah was depressed because
Jerusalem was under siege, and his nation was under duress. His world had collapsed
and he faulted God for his emotional distress. He also blamed God for his
physical ailments. "He [God] has made my flesh and my skin waste away, and
broken my bones." (v. 4) His body ached. His heart was sick. His faith was
puny.
Jeremiah could
tell you the height of the waves and the speed of the wind. But then he
realized how fast he was sinking. So he shifted his gaze. "But this I call
to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never
ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is
thy faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will
hope in him.'" (vv. 21-24) "But this I call to mind . . . ." Depressed, Jeremiah altered his thoughts
and shifted his attention. He turned his eyes away from the waves and looked
into the wonder of God and recited a quintet of promises. The storm didn't
cease, but his discouragement did. So did Peter's.
After a few
moments of flailing in the water, he turned back to Christ and cried,
"'Lord, save me!' Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him.
'You of little faith,' he said, 'why did you doubt?' And when they climbed into
the boat, the wind died down." (Matt. 14:30-32) Jesus could have stilled
this storm hours earlier. But he didn't. He wanted to teach the followers a
lesson. And Jesus could have calmed your storm long ago, too. But he hasn't. Maybe
he wants to teach you a lesson, too. And if so, could that lesson read
something like this: "Storms are not an option, but fear is"?
God has hung his
diplomas in the office of his universe. Rainbows, sunsets, horizons and
star-sequined skies. He’s recorded his accomplishments in Scripture. His resume
includes Red Sea openings. Lions' mouths closings. Goliath topplings. Lazarus
raisings. Storm stillings and strollings. His lesson is clear. He's the
commander of every storm.
We can’t choose
whether storms will come. But we can choose where to focus when they do.
Grace,
Randy
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