Sermon preached by the Rev. John Elliott Lein at St. Thomas à Becket Episcopal Church on August 9, 2020, on the following texts: Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28, Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b, Romans 10:5-15, and Matthew 14:22-33.

Good morning!

I hope all have enjoyed the stories of Jacob that we’ve been covering for the last four weeks. We could continue with his son Joseph, and certainly there are profound teachings in the subsequent stories, but I think it’s time to check in on what Jesus has been up to.

What we find at the mid-point of Matthew’s Gospel, in the 14th chapter of 28 in total, is a story of legendary proportions.

Jesus has been through a lot in a few days. As the previous chapter ended, he completed teaching through many parables before arriving in his home region. There he was received with skepticism and ridicule from those who had known him and his family, and Matthew says “on account of their lack of faith, he did not perform many feats of power there.” (Mark’s earlier version of this story says “And he could not perform any feats of power there, except for healing a few sick persons by laying on of hands. And he was amazed at their lack of faith.”) Immediately following this, we hear of the tragic and pointless execution of John the Baptist. Unlike in Luke, Matthew does not depict John as Jesus’ cousin, but it’s clear from multiple episodes that Jesus has a high respect and love for John. Sure enough, Matthew tells us that on hearing the news, “Jesus withdrew from there in a boat to a desert place by himself.” However, the crowds would not allow him to seek the solitude he needed, and they pursued him by foot until they found his landing place. “Moved inwardly with compassion,” Jesus healed the ill among them before feeding thousands with only five loaves and two fish.

It is at this point that our Gospel reading for today picks up the story. Jesus seems even more determined to take the time he needs to himself, so he insists that his disciples take off in the boat while he stays behind to “dismiss the crowds.” He escapes up the mountain to pray, successfully finding himself alone as evening falls. So far this seems successful, but we’re left wondering along with the disciples how they’ll all end up together again. As this story is told by three of our Gospels, we’re matter-of-factly informed that as the often-violent waves of the Sea of Galilee begin battering at the little boat Jesus simply sets out walking across water toward the desperate rowers blown far off their course.

Here might be our first sticking point in telling and hearing this story. The word “miracle” generates different impressions and thoughts in a modern audience than it would have done 2,000 years ago, or even just a few centuries ago for that matter, and in this one parish alone we’re likely have a range of perspectives. Before we can get to the point of this story, we need to talk a little bit about miracles.

Today there is a broad shared cultural assumption that a) nature is generally a closed system of cause and effect and b) that any interventions breaking those rules are “supernatural” events which are either accepted as proof of divine power or rejected as impossible. Here we might find generally conservative perspectives insisting on the point of these stories being proof of Christ’s divine nature which tie faith to unquestioning acceptance, in contrast to generally liberal perspectives dismissing these stories as myths and legends not worth our time whether we’re Christian or secular, seeing faith defined as “believing in the impossible” as pointless if not actively harmful.

But these weren’t the assumptions of the original audience, and I believe that learning more about how they would have been received in a first-century context can help us today.

Let’s talk about Honi and Hanina for a moment.

Hanina was a student of one of the most important rabbis of the first century CE, one of the founders of Rabbinic Judaism after the fall of the temple in Jerusalem. But where the Rabbi was a great scholar, Hanina was a great pray-er. Among many miraculous stories recorded of his work in Jewish scriptures is a nearly exact replica of the healing from a distance that Jesus does with a centurion.

Honi was a holy man from Galilee living a century before Jesus. He was known for many miracles as well, with his most famous one named for drawing a circle in the dust during a great drought wherein he stood and prayed until it began to rain. It rained so hard that he had to ask God to slow it down which then happened.

There are more stories like this from Greek and Jewish sources at the turn of the century. It is obvious from comparison that Jesus was hardly the only teacher known to multiply food, evict demons, raise the dead, or heal diseases or injuries. Maybe because of this, his miracles in themselves rarely seemed to surprise folks or function as proof of anything more than his membership with a certain class of spiritual people such as Hanina, Honi, Apollonius, or others.

The original writers and hearers of these Gospel stories wouldn’t have asked “how?” or “really?”— they would have been interested in what they had to say about the character rather than the nature of a person. If we can follow this pattern, setting aside our modernist questions in favor of spiritual ones, we conservatives and liberals alike might join together in search of truth.

Returning to our story, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Matthew tells us that it was the “fourth watch of the night,” that is, between 3 and 6 am. This is the same “witching hour” in which Jacob wrested to a draw in last Sunday’s story.

As Jesus moves into view across the waves, miles from the shore amid roaring wind and waves, the terror of the disciples turns from the storm to the apparition. They are convinced they are seeing a devilish phantasm until he speaks to reassure them: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” For two of our three Gospel accounts (does not appear in John), the story then moves immediately to Jesus boarding the boat amid a suddenly calmed sea.

Matthew’s account alone includes this story of Peter.

Peter, the impetuous sometime-leader of the followers, challenges Jesus—“IF it is you, command me to come across the water!” Acceding to the request, Peter gets out and begins walking on the water with equal felicity as Jesus—that is, until he is distracted by the strong winds and begins sinking. Jesus saves him, rebukes the smallness of Peter’s faith, and they return to a boat in calm waters. The rest of the disciples bow low to Jesus, saying “you are the son of God.”

It is obvious that Matthew has a special narrative here, in contrast to John’s disciples who have no significant reaction and Mark’s disciples who are described as bewildered and uncomprehending. Here there is a story of faith, failure, and identification. Here again the stories of Honi and Hanina are instructive.

The chief rabbi and scholar at the time of Honi the miracle-worker is described as having mixed feelings about him. He said:

“Were you not Honi, I would excommunicate you. What can I do with you? You ingratiate yourself to God and He does what you ask, as when a son curries favor with this father, who then does what the son wants.”
— Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Bavaria Batra, 16a.

Honi is recognized not for his knowledge about God, but for his intimate and mutually-loving relationship with God.

As for Hanina, one story tells of his own rabbi begging for prayer for his son. Upon rejoicing over the cure, he is asked “‘Is Hanina greater than you?’ To this the great rabbi replied,

‘There is this difference between us: he is like the body-servant of a king, having at all times free access to the august presence, without even having to await permission to reach his ears; while I, like a lord before a king, must await an opportune moment.’”

For those who observed Honi, Hanina, and Jesus, it was clear that for them faith was more about relationship than about belief. It was about intimate abiding-with and action based on deep trust.

Peter experiences a brief moment of that same abiding trust that Jesus lived within as a constant state before succumbing to doubts that broke his intimacy. The difference between the two leads the rest of the disciples to a profound acknowledgement of the depth of Jesus’ own familiar intimacy with God, as between father and son rather than subject and monarch. But seen through this ancient light, the story gives three insights we might not have seen otherwise:

1. First, we might see these kinds of miraculous stories not as a prooftext of Jesus’ untouchable uniqueness, but as models of attainable discipleship. These miracles put Jesus into a category of holy humans throughout the ages while urging us to strive toward joining this fellowship of intimacy with God as “little-Christs” (the original meaning of “Christians”; Jesus regularly assigns his disciples to carry out miracles of their own during his earthly ministry, and afterwards we see them continue similar work in healing, exorcism, and nature miracles) just as Peter does.

2. Second, we see from Peter’s example three crucial aspects of the path. To walk this route means a) trusting and b) taking a step. Just as in a marriage, a friendship, or joining a faith community, conviction must be acted on before a relationship comes into reality. And finally, c), we must be willing to go through failure without giving up if we’re going to grow the relationship.

3. Finally, we see that “faith” is not a matter of blind belief in facts, but rather a commitment to relationship. For Roman soldiers of the time, the word pistis referred to a binding oath of unquestioning obedience to the distant Emperor. But for Christians it came to mean an oath of love to Jesus in whom they saw and through whom they experienced a direct intimate relationship with God.

As we close in reflection on this story of miraculous intimacy between God and human today, may we pray:

For the vision to see Jesus as our model in faith;
for the courage and determination to take steps in spiritual intimacy even as we fail;
for the growth of and surrender to love in the divine.

That we may see miracles bloom around us:
as forgiveness is exchanged;
as relationships are pursued and repaired;
as healing is given and received;
as we learn and grow and fall and recover, joining in community expanding and deepening in love and faith.

AMEN.