WHEN YOU ARE AFRAID August 10, 2008, The Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time The Reverend Christiane M. Lang The Brick Presbyterian Church in the City of New York Matthew 14: 22-33 Theme: The story of Peter stepping out of the boat reminds us that we are called to step out in faith. Let us pray: Come, Holy Spirit, to illumine our minds and open our hearts. And may the words of my mouth and meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen. I ve never baptized six children in a row before! What a privilege that was. When we celebrate baptisms, people often comment that the service was beautiful. I've heard people say how adorable the children were. But I've never heard anyone say that the baptisms were really scary. I don't think it would occur to most of us that baptism could be scary, unless, of course, you are one year old and you re not at all sure what s going on. However, there is a fearful aspect to baptism. Yesterday morning, I met with the parents of all these children who were just baptized, and we talked about the meaning of baptism. In fact, we read through what the Presbyterian Book of Order has to say about it. As we discovered, baptism is a many-layered metaphor, an act that means everything from rebirth to cleansing to adoption to receiving a promise. We also found that baptism has deep roots in another metaphor, a much more startling one. Listen to this sentence from the Book of Order: "In Baptism, we participate in Jesus' death and resurrection. In Baptism, we die to what separates us from God and are raised to newness of life in Christ." Early Christians conceived of baptism as a kind of symbolic death, in which the old life is left behind so that a new life can begin. But obviously, we don't actually drown in baptism. Baptism is a sign of something else that happens in us and in our community. So, what is this something else? What is it that dies? What are we actually giving up? - 1 -
The brilliant Greek Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemmann offered an answer to that question. He wrote this: It is only when we give up freely, totally, unconditionally, the selfsufficiency of our life, when we put all its meaning in Christ, that the 'newness of life' is given to us.baptism [he says] is thus the death of our selfishness and self-sufficiency " (page 74, For the Life of the World). Baptism means giving up the control, the self-sufficiency, that we think is keeping us safe. That is what dies. Baptism is the sign that in the life of faith, we give up our own comfortable self-sufficiency to trust God and take a risk. It is like stepping out of a familiar boat, onto the sea. In the Scripture we just heard, Peter is with the other disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee, and a large storm sweeps in. Then, through the waves and wind, they see Jesus, strolling across the sea, and shouting, "Take heart! It is I!" Peter wants to confirm that it's really Jesus by asking Jesus to call him out. So the Lord calls him out. For a moment, Peter gives up his self-sufficiency, he gives up the comfort of the familiar boat, and he steps onto the water, walking in a way he never has before. And it's scary. This summer I visited my older brother and his wife, who have one-year old twins. When I was there, the twins were both learning to walk. Hailey had already taken steps several weeks before, and she was now cruising up and down the hallway on two feet, arms outstretched in what we called her zombie walk. Andrew, her brother, is such a fast crawler that he's not all that interested in walking. He scoots around the house, and then when he wants to stand, he finds a wall, slowly pulls himself up, and stands swaying in that surfer stance that babies use, still holding on. He crawls, or he leans. He likes to be in control. But while I was there, I saw something extraordinary happen. One morning, Andrew had himself propped against the wall, and he saw a ball on the floor. Still hanging on to the wall, he reached down with one hand and picked up the toy. He stared at it, and then he became so fascinated by it that he suddenly lifted the other hand away from the wall and grasped the ball with both hands. For a few seconds, he stood there, unaware of the feat he'd just accomplished. And then, all of a sudden, Andrew looked around, realized his situation, and panicked. He dropped - 2 -
the ball, flailed his arms, reached for the wall, and came crashing down. Then he burst into terrified tears. Letting go of the familiar, letting go of the wall, is scary. This is how I picture Peter. He gets out of the familiar safety of the boat, focused on Jesus standing there. Then, when the wind sweeps in and the waves roll over his feet, he looks around, realizes he's doing something he didn't think he could do, panics, and immediately begins to sink. He gets dunked and pulled out again. This is Peter's baptism, his moment of giving up safety and control in order to respond to the command of Jesus. This is baptism at its scariest; this is faith at its most frightening. After this episode, Jesus chides the dripping wet Peter and says, "You of little faith!" So, was it bad that Peter felt afraid? I am not so sure. Fear is such a basic part of human experience. Obviously, fear isn't always bad. It can function very helpfully as a signal to avoid speeding cars and dark alleys. But fear can also be debilitating. It can act as an obstacle to growth and change. It can keep you in the boat forever. Fear can keep you emotionally crawling on all fours rather than walking upright. It can keep you from taking the next step through the storm. That is in fact what Jesus chides Peter for-- for letting his panic prevent him from walking forward, after he d already gotten out of the boat. Notice, Jesus doesn t ask Peter, Why did you fear? Rather, Jesus asks, Why did you doubt? Doubt and fear are not the same thing. Doubt, the kind meant here in this story, is when you let fear paralyze you, when you fear the storm more than you trust God. I don t think it was a bad thing that Peter felt afraid, because for people of faith, fear can act in another, mysterious way. When you feel afraid, your fear may itself be a sign that you are in exactly the right place. And that is because letting go of control and trying something new is scary. When you get out of the familiar boat; when you let go of the wall and stand up on legs you didn't know you had, you may well feel fear. In fact, if you don't feel any fear, you're probably not risking much; you re probably still in the boat. That is why it makes deep sense that this central act of our faith, baptism, has a fearful aspect to it-- because the change baptism represents can be downright scary. I am going into my fourth year as one of your ministers. I can still recall with great clarity the conversations I had with a professor during my senior year of seminary - 3 -
while I was interviewing with churches. He kept telling me that I had to be open to going somewhere other than the west coast, that I had to take seriously the idea of moving to New York City, and that I should consider The Brick Church. I remember telling him I didn't think I could live in the city, that I felt more sure of God's presence with me when I was somewhere near wilderness. I remember saying that I was afraid to settle far from my family. Through all my protests, this professor kept reminding me that God often calls people to places they don t expect to go. He kept counseling me not to let fear turn me away from this new possibility, and he even warned me that if I simply went where I felt immediately comfortable, then I was probably responding to my need for control, and not taking up a challenging call from God. In the end, I took the call here at Brick Church, and I packed up my stuff, and I moved here. And guess what? I was still afraid. I felt like little Andrew letting go of the wall. I felt like Peter getting out of the boat. But in that case, my fear was proof that I was actually trying to do what baptism signifies trusting God enough to take a risk. Sometimes, fear can be a sign that you're in exactly the place you're supposed to be. I know of many other people who have practiced much bigger steps of faith than that. In fact, my mother is one of them. After being a university administrator for years, she felt a call to attend seminary and become an ordained minister. She could have stayed in her university position for another ten years, but instead, she heard the call out there on the water, and jumped out to follow. It's been exciting for her, but there are also moments of anxiety and fear. When many people her age would be looking at retirement, she moved to Canada for school and had to figure out where and how to live in a new country. Most of her classmates are 22 years old, and she's older than many of her professors. She had to trust that finances would work. She had to establish a whole new community of friends. All of this can be scary for her, because it's a risk. But in her case, that sense of fear may be the sign that she's in exactly the place she's supposed to be. This doesn't just work in the direction of people being called to ministry in the church, either. I know someone who has been a minister for years and who loved it. But in the past year he felt a call to leave his home, come to New York City, and start a new life in musical theater. He told me recently how exciting it was to find himself in this new life, and at the same time, how scary it could be. In his case, - 4 -
fear is the mysterious signal that he is risking something; that he is doing what his baptism signifies. Taking a faithful risk is not just about changing careers, either. Sometimes following Christ out onto the water is more dramatic than that. You probably know the name of the German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer. In 1936, he was teaching theology in Berlin, and he publicly criticized German National Socialism. So the government forbade him to teach. Instead, he started an underground seminary and continued writing. Bonhoeffer was dismayed at how easily the Christians around him compromised with the Nazi party. It seemed to him that many Christians saw baptism as a warm bath and faith as a stroll through a park, rather than a stepping out onto the wild sea, rather than an adventure that entails risk. So in 1937, he wrote a book called The Cost of Discipleship. In it, he argued that faith is not faith unless it leads you to risk something. In his book, Bonhoeffer cited this very story of Peter on the water. He wrote, "Peter had to leave the ship and risk his life on the sea, in order to learn both his own weakness and the almighty power of his Lord. If Peter had not taken the risk, he would never have learned the meaning of faith." Bonhoeffer knew that faith comes to life when you risk something, and that risk is frightening. In 1943, Bonhoeffer was arrested. He spent the next three years in German prisons. In that time, he wrote letters and poems on scraps of paper. The surviving documents are compiled in a stirring book called Letters and Papers from Prison. In his letters, it becomes clear that Bonhoeffer often felt like Peter, tottering in faith out on the water, risking everything. In one note, he wrote, "Surely there has never been a generation in the course of human history with so little ground under its feet as our own." He had deep trust in God. He knew he was where he should be. And he felt afraid. Less than a month before he was finally executed, Bonhoeffer wrote his most famous poem. In it, he reflected on just this tension, that where he was most faithful, there he also faced fear. Listen to these famous lines: Who am I? They often tell me I stepped from my cell's confinement Calmly, cheerfully, firmly, Like a squire from his country-house. - 5 -
Who am I? They often tell me I used to speak to my warders Freely and friendly and clearly, As though it were mine to command. Who am I? They also tell me I bore the days of misfortune Equably, smilingly, proudly, Like one accustomed to win. Am I then really all that which other men tell of? Or am I only what I myself know of myself? Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage, Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness, Tossing in expectation of great events, Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all? Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today and tomorrow another? Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others, And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved? Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine! Terrible fear and triumphant faith. Sometimes they go together. When fear does not keep you in the boat, then it is the proof that you are risking something. When you are afraid, perhaps it is because you're doing just what your baptism means. So here's the question then. Where are you being called? What step are you being called to make in faith? If you have no idea, ask yourself if there is anything that - 6 -
really scares you. It may be that is where you re called. And if nothing comes to mind, here are some ideas, drawn from the lives of people I know: - Perhaps you are being called to reach out in reconciliation to someone, but you don't know how the other will respond. - Maybe you're looking at leaving a successful career for something new, and you're not sure if it makes sense. - It could be that you are called to become an advocate for an important cause, but you know it means sticking your neck out. - Perhaps you're pondering giving financial support to a worthy organization, but you're watching an uncertain market. - Maybe you're being called to say yes to a commitment, and it frightens you. - Perhaps you want to fight an addiction, but it seems overwhelming. - It could be that you want to help someone in deep need, but you're afraid of getting sucked in too deep. - Perhaps you want to go back to school, but you're not sure you can do it. - Or maybe you've just been thinking about teaching Sunday School, or working with a Deacon ministry, or reading Scripture in church, and it just makes you nervous. Each of these decisions means stepping out of the boat and risking something. They mean giving something up. They may mean facing fear, and trusting God more than you fear the storm. But when you have stepped out on the water and you are afraid, take heart. You, even you of little faith, you are answering a call. And the one who called you out there in the first place that one won't let you go. Thanks be to God. - 7 -