Brave and afraid
Matthew 14: 22-33
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
My stepfather was a sailor. Every year his sailboat would go in the water on Memorial Day weekend and it would be there through good weather even into October. When John married my mother, he had a small sailboat, about 12 ft. long. It was orange and thus earned the moniker “Naval Orange”. Six of us went sailing on it at a time: my mom, my brother and me, John and his two teenage children who were the same ages as me and my brother. It was a challenge to keep our heads down whenever we came about or to sit on the same side to provide ballast in a strong wind. We mostly stayed in Duxbury Bay in Massachusetts but sometimes we’d head over to Plymouth. Some years later John bought a used 27 ft. Tartan and fixed it up. The bigger boat meant that we could now sail to Provincetown, stay overnight on the boat, and sail back the next day or just head out into the open ocean. It was sturdier and we could spread out on the deck. The little orange boat took a backseat.
John was a landscaper which meant his days could be flexible, especially in the summer when the days would get hot. If it was too hot to work outside, John would head over to the yacht club and take out the little orange boat for a short sail—sometimes by himself or with his son and daughter, my brother, and others who worked with him.
The little orange boat entered the realm of family lore when John took the boat out by himself on a choppy day in October. Those of you who know hurricane season know that storms and squalls are infamous on the coast of New England in the month of October. Many an October gale has taken down fishing vessels and sailboats. Even though John was an experienced sailor, the little orange boat capsized and sank, the mast driven right through the hull of the boat. Luckily John was wearing a lifevest which kept him from sinking beneath the waves. He was rescued by the harbormaster and sent to the hospital to be treated for hypothermia. The only piece of clothing that survived was his cap: a navy blue corduroy baseball cap embroidered with a sailboat and the word “DESTINY” stitched in white thread. And just about every time John wore that hat, invariably the story would be told.
Behavior scientist Jeremy Goldberg says that “courage is knowing that something might hurt and doing it anyway. Stupidity is the same. And that’s why life is hard.” And I say that in all seriousness. By no means am I calling my stepfather stupid. He was anything but that. And yet there are times we can be filled with a kind of stupid courage: the kind that doesn’t listen to reason or limits or weather reports; the kind that is driven by passion and beauty and adventure, by obsession and stubbornness and a not-completely-truthful belief in oneself; the kind of courage that says we only pass this way once and life is what you make of it. Even though it might hurt and get you into trouble, stupid courage also makes for deep and rich blessings we couldn’t get to without it.
Like Kuan Yin, Bodhisattva of compassion, gliding across stormy waters, her feet astride a sea monster, pouring tears out of her vessel of mercy, Jesus comes to the disciples in strength and in peace. Immediately he quiets their fears. “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” The gospel in four words: “You are not alone.”
For Peter this was not enough. It wasn’t enough to be in the presence of Jesus; Peter wanted to be empowered, to be able to move into and through the chaos around him as Jesus did. Both brave and afraid, Peter indulged his stupid courage: he defied the laws of physics and ignored every instinct that told him to stay in the boat, trusting that if Jesus called him out there, nothing could go wrong. Because love is also knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway.
Perfect love, or complete love, casts out fear, but who among us loves completely? Peter’s fear reminded him that he still had much to learn when it comes to following Jesus and that faith isn’t to be confused with foolhardiness. Once again, Jesus immediately responded, stretching out his hand toward Peter, a harbormaster of another kind.
When Jesus said, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” it can sound like he was chiding Peter but Eugene Peterson puts it this way: “Faint-heart, what got into you?” As though Jesus knew him, stupid courage and all and loved him anyway, wanted Peter with him anyway. And then they both got in the boat, the wind ceased, and everyone in the boat worshiped him, not only as one would be in awe of a rescuer but as one who is an answer to their prayers, their hopes that this kin-dom can be made real on earth.
We are living through a world of hurt right now. It is all too tempting to play it safe, stay home, and put our heads down until it’s over. It feels foolhardy to do anything else some days, especially with a virus that can do so much damage to the human body. We want to be brave but we are also wisely afraid. And yet we are Church, we are the body of Christ, called out to be truth-tellers and love-bearers in this chaotic world. Like anyone who loves extravagantly we are the embodiment of that sacred Mystery that brought us into being. None of us is merely human and yet we still have a lot to learn when it comes to following Jesus. We yearn for rescue, a savior who will deliver us from this present evil, and yet each of us and all of us together are more powerful than we allow ourselves to be.
Because we’re brave and afraid. Because it hurts sometimes and it’s almost impossible to predict when it might hurt. Because sometimes our courage is stupid and yet our stupidity is also courageous and so is our love. Because it’s messy and vulnerable and exhausting sometimes.
Even so, Peter got out of the boat. We’re out of our boat and we will be for some time. We are being called to courage, to take risks, first steps, even though we might sink. We’re learning what it means to be faithful even when we’re brave and afraid. And that is the very definition of daring. What shall we dare to do and be in this time in our life together? If our dream is to only hang on and return to what we once were, then we never really left the safety of the harbor. The threats to everything we hold dear are very real and yet the kin-dom of heaven on earth is made real through us and radical acts of solidarity, even though it might scare the Be-Jesus out of us.
We will make mistakes. But being Church means we have each other’s backs. Because love is knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. Because brave and afraid is the power that can take us to the place of deep and rich blessing, not just for us but for everyone. May it be so.
Benediction – enfleshed.com (adapted)
Beloveds, take heart.
Though evil works to limit our sense of possibility,
And injustice threatens our dreams of collective flourishing,
[we have power as long as we have] breath,
[Sacred Mystery] making the impossible possible among us.
In community, we have what we need to love each other and our neighbors well.
Let us go and live what we believe.
August 9, 2020
My stepfather was a sailor. Every year his sailboat would go in the water on Memorial Day weekend and it would be there through good weather even into October. When John married my mother, he had a small sailboat, about 12 ft. long. It was orange and thus earned the moniker “Naval Orange”. Six of us went sailing on it at a time: my mom, my brother and me, John and his two teenage children who were the same ages as me and my brother. It was a challenge to keep our heads down whenever we came about or to sit on the same side to provide ballast in a strong wind. We mostly stayed in Duxbury Bay in Massachusetts but sometimes we’d head over to Plymouth. Some years later John bought a used 27 ft. Tartan and fixed it up. The bigger boat meant that we could now sail to Provincetown, stay overnight on the boat, and sail back the next day or just head out into the open ocean. It was sturdier and we could spread out on the deck. The little orange boat took a backseat.
John was a landscaper which meant his days could be flexible, especially in the summer when the days would get hot. If it was too hot to work outside, John would head over to the yacht club and take out the little orange boat for a short sail—sometimes by himself or with his son and daughter, my brother, and others who worked with him.
The little orange boat entered the realm of family lore when John took the boat out by himself on a choppy day in October. Those of you who know hurricane season know that storms and squalls are infamous on the coast of New England in the month of October. Many an October gale has taken down fishing vessels and sailboats. Even though John was an experienced sailor, the little orange boat capsized and sank, the mast driven right through the hull of the boat. Luckily John was wearing a lifevest which kept him from sinking beneath the waves. He was rescued by the harbormaster and sent to the hospital to be treated for hypothermia. The only piece of clothing that survived was his cap: a navy blue corduroy baseball cap embroidered with a sailboat and the word “DESTINY” stitched in white thread. And just about every time John wore that hat, invariably the story would be told.
Jesus and his disciples knew firsthand about that stupid courage—what it’s like to be brave and afraid at the same time and to live the truth anyway, even though it might hurt. They were still reeling from hearing of the brutal death of John the Baptist. John was as committed to the kin-dom as Jesus and it cost him his life. It would’ve been all too tempting to play it safe, go home, and just keep their heads down. And yet the call to liberation and wholeness can be relentless. When Jesus got the news, he took off, found a boat and went off by himself to a deserted place. But the crowds followed him, and maybe because he was hurting, Jesus healed those who were sick and comforted them. Folks got hungry, the disciples didn’t know what to do—they were feeling overwhelmed themselves. Jesus took what they had, five loaves and two fish. He blessed them, he broke them into pieces, and everyone ate, everyone was filled.
Everyone but Jesus. So he put the disciples in a boat and sent them ahead while he dismissed the crowds. Then he went up a mountain to pray by himself, to be restored, because love is also knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. Meanwhile the disciples spent the night on the boat, battered by the waves, with the wind against them. So shattered were they by this experience, not knowing whether they would make it back to shore, that when Jesus came toward them, walking calmly across the water, they thought they were seeing a ghost and they were terrified.
Everyone but Jesus. So he put the disciples in a boat and sent them ahead while he dismissed the crowds. Then he went up a mountain to pray by himself, to be restored, because love is also knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. Meanwhile the disciples spent the night on the boat, battered by the waves, with the wind against them. So shattered were they by this experience, not knowing whether they would make it back to shore, that when Jesus came toward them, walking calmly across the water, they thought they were seeing a ghost and they were terrified.
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| Kuan Yin, Bodhisattva of compassion |
Like Kuan Yin, Bodhisattva of compassion, gliding across stormy waters, her feet astride a sea monster, pouring tears out of her vessel of mercy, Jesus comes to the disciples in strength and in peace. Immediately he quiets their fears. “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” The gospel in four words: “You are not alone.”
For Peter this was not enough. It wasn’t enough to be in the presence of Jesus; Peter wanted to be empowered, to be able to move into and through the chaos around him as Jesus did. Both brave and afraid, Peter indulged his stupid courage: he defied the laws of physics and ignored every instinct that told him to stay in the boat, trusting that if Jesus called him out there, nothing could go wrong. Because love is also knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway.
Perfect love, or complete love, casts out fear, but who among us loves completely? Peter’s fear reminded him that he still had much to learn when it comes to following Jesus and that faith isn’t to be confused with foolhardiness. Once again, Jesus immediately responded, stretching out his hand toward Peter, a harbormaster of another kind.
When Jesus said, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” it can sound like he was chiding Peter but Eugene Peterson puts it this way: “Faint-heart, what got into you?” As though Jesus knew him, stupid courage and all and loved him anyway, wanted Peter with him anyway. And then they both got in the boat, the wind ceased, and everyone in the boat worshiped him, not only as one would be in awe of a rescuer but as one who is an answer to their prayers, their hopes that this kin-dom can be made real on earth.
Because we’re brave and afraid. Because it hurts sometimes and it’s almost impossible to predict when it might hurt. Because sometimes our courage is stupid and yet our stupidity is also courageous and so is our love. Because it’s messy and vulnerable and exhausting sometimes.
We will make mistakes. But being Church means we have each other’s backs. Because love is knowing it might hurt and doing it anyway. Because brave and afraid is the power that can take us to the place of deep and rich blessing, not just for us but for everyone. May it be so.
Benediction – enfleshed.com (adapted)
Beloveds, take heart.
Though evil works to limit our sense of possibility,
And injustice threatens our dreams of collective flourishing,
[we have power as long as we have] breath,
[Sacred Mystery] making the impossible possible among us.
In community, we have what we need to love each other and our neighbors well.
Let us go and live what we believe.
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