The
one hand you know belong in yours
Today's Gospel
says that when it was dawn Jesus stood upon the shore of the Sea
of Galilee observing his disciples fishing a hundred yards away
and that when one of the disciples identified him, saying, "It
is the Lord," Peter "jumped into the sea".
Could it be that
Peter remembered that night long ago when Jesus appeared to him
and the other disciples walking upon a stormy sea and beckoned him
to leave his boat and come to him - and how he did in fact dare
walk upon water but only to let the wind and waves unsettle him
so that he began to sink and would have drowned, had not Jesus lifted
him back into the safety of the boat?
And could the
remembrance of that experience have further reminded him of that
later occasion when the inquisitive stares of the High Priest's
servants caused him to sink from sight again, denying his Lord three
times: "I do not know him", "I know nothing",
"I don't know what you're talking about" - leaving him
drowning in a sea of tears?
And now here was
this man standing upon the shore of that same Sea of Galilee and
no sooner does another disciple identify him as "the Lord"
than Peter "jumps into the sea" - he hesitates no longer.
He doesn't care how he'll get to Jesus, walking on water or swimming.
One thing propels him, namely his determination not to let turbulence
or intimidation or getting wet ever again bridle his allegiance
to Jesus. He messed up twice; there will be no third time. So in
he goes and though no one timed his performance over those one hundred
yards, may we not assume he set a record no modern Olympics swimmer
has ever matched?
And what awaits
him when he reaches Jesus? An opportunity to reverse his threefold
denial of Good Friday morning by a threefold declaration of a love
not even the likelihood of his own future crucifixion will shake!
How often have
you and I admired Jesus from afar but not enough to trust his invitation
to walk with him on water? And how often have you and I been too
timid to identify with him in public, to declare by word or deed
or sign our allegiance to him and his tradition, lest we seem naïve
to sophisticated others? And where does that leave us? Always caught
somewhere in between or as the Book of Revelation puts it: neither
hot nor cold but lukewarm and therefore unpalatable. But there's
always hope because, as in the case of Peter, Jesus appears to us
again and again walking upon the water or standing on some opposite
shore, beckoning us to come to him - this time with abandon, wholeheartedly
at last - as the most personal and faithful and powerful Friend
we shall ever have.
David Whyte (to
whom parishioner John Arntz recently introduced me) speaks of such
opportunities in his poem "The Truelove" - of how we are
all / preparing for that / abrupt waking, / and that calling, /
and that moment / we have to say 'yes'. He warns us of course that
it may not come grandly, but more subtly / and intimately in the
face / of the one you know / you have to love, // so that when /
we finally step out of the boat / . . . we find / everything holds
/ us, and everything confirms / our courage, and if you wanted /
to drown you could, / but you don't / because finally / after all
this struggle / and all these years, / you don't want to anymore,
/ you've simply had enough / of drowning, / and you want to live
and you / want to love and you will / walk across any territory
/ and any darkness, / however fluid and however / dangerous, to
take the / one hand you know / belongs in yours.
Workshop / Classes