Emergency numbers
Commentary
Object:
A whole generation is growing up now with no knowledge of those little stickers we used to keep on our phones that listed the phone numbers of local police and fire departments. We have our phones with us everywhere now, they have their own built-in directories, and we are spoiled by the simplicity of 9-1-1.
Our family has had to call 9-1-1 on a few occasions. When you're in the midst of some emergency situation, it's a great peace of mind to know that someone is there who can dispatch virtually whatever you so urgently need. Of course, every so often we hear unhappy stories about a 9-1-1 operator who failed to do their job properly, but those incidents are so very rare. There are just enough to remind us of how fortunate we are.
For what if we called out and no one was there? Or what if the operator was there, but refused to answer? Or what if the operator answered but was indifferent to our need? In those circumstances, we would be lost and hopeless. We would live in the insecurity of not knowing that we can simply call out and be saved.
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
The old westerns used to distinguish the good guys from the bad guys by the color of cowboy hats they wore. Traditionally the bad guys wore the black hats, while the good guy came riding in with a white hat. Those old movies were, both literally and metaphorically, filmed in black and white.
One wonders how a director of one of those films would depict this story. How would he cast these characters? How would he have the wardrobe department outfit them with hats? There is, it seems, no white hat here; only a spectrum of ever-darker grays.
Reuben's hat may be the lightest shade of gray. In the larger context of hatred and anger, Reuben's is the proverbial cooler head that prevails. He is hardly echoing the Sermon on the Mount in his recommended treatment of Joseph, and as the firstborn he perhaps could have exercised a stronger authority over the rabble; but at least his short-term impact and long-term goal were good ones. Of course, as we read further in the story, beyond the boundaries of this week's lection, we see that he at least tacitly participated in the brothers' deception of their father (Genesis 37:29-33). And elsewhere he evidently behaved with great irresponsibility and immorality (Genesis 35:22; 49:3-4).
Joseph's hat, too, would not be as dark as some others, for we do not see him committing any crime against either person or property. There is no violence or deceit in Joseph. Neither, however, is there any discretion. At the age of seventeen, he is still functioning like a seven-year-old little brother, tattling at every opportunity on his older brothers. And it may be, too, that in many ways he wore conspicuously his father's favor. Each step he took simultaneously endeared him more to his dad and drove a greater wedge between himself and his brothers.
Those brothers, meanwhile, are truly villainous. For them to be irritated with their brother is natural. For them to be annoyed is understandable. But they conduct themselves here with unchecked jealousy and unbridled anger. There is, it seems, no restraint and no virtue in these young men.
We saw earlier the brothers' -- with particular focus on Simeon and Levi -- capacity for deceit and violence (Genesis 34:13-31). Yet, if we have been reading the entire story all along, we are not much surprised by their behavior. Shocked, of course, because it is appalling. But we are not really surprised. After all, look at the stock from which they come. Observe the selfish competitiveness of some of their mothers, the calculating deceit of their grandfather Laban, and the duplicitous behavior of their own father, Jacob, through the years. We cannot say that these apples have fallen far from the tree.
Which brings us to Jacob's conduct in this whole mess. His preferential treatment of Joseph was palpable. The brothers literally could not look at Joseph without being reminded that Jacob loved him more than them. And though Jacob himself had been on the short end of his own father's uneven love, still he foolishly sowed within his own family the same fraternal discord and jealousy with which he himself had grown up.
We noted at the beginning that a director of an old-fashioned western would have a hard time assigning black and white hats to these characters. As such, of course, this story is marvelously and painfully true to life. A family systems expert or counselor would identify this family as a dysfunctional one. And, as in most dysfunctional families, there is plenty of blame to go around.
Romans 10:5-15
On the one hand, our people are 2,000 years and an even greater number of miles removed from the apostle Paul's letter to the Romans. On the other hand, we should discover that the gospel truth he expressed to them is exceedingly close to home for us.
At first blush, the background of the subject matter seems dated and irrelevant. Paul is exploring the issue of the relationship of the Old Testament law to our salvation as Christians. This is, of course, an issue with which very few of our people have spent any time grappling.
In Paul's context, this was a major theological question, as well as a very personal one. After all, the Jews understood the law as having come from God -- a tangible gift, a guide for life, a key to righteousness, and the expression of God's covenant with his chosen people. It was of colossal importance. But for the new followers of Jesus Christ -- particularly those who were Jewish -- the practical question was what the law's role was in our relationship with God through Christ.
Paul addresses this topic at several times in several places. In his letter to the Galatians, his understanding is rather forcefully set forth to correct what he recognizes as heretical misunderstanding among the Christians of Galatia. Here in his letter to the Romans, however, the presentation does not have the same tone of personal frustration and disappointment.
The heart of Paul's argument here is that there are two kinds of righteousness. The one is, at least by implication, unattainable: that is the hypothetical righteousness that comes from obeying the law. The other kind, however, is "the righteousness that comes from faith."
Paul contends that this is no mere latter-day invention of the Christians. On the contrary, he argues that this form of righteousness -- and salvation and justification -- actually predates the law, for he makes the point in several places that Abraham "believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness" (Genesis 15:6).
While the apostle does not reiterate that particular argument here, it is an already established point for him by now. He does cite other Old Testament passages here, however, to further illustrate the fundamental essentialness of faith. The possible reference to Isaiah 28:16 or 49:23 and the clearer reference to Joel 2:32 help Paul make his point: believing is the key.
Meanwhile, his connection between the belief in one's heart and the confession from one's mouth brings to mind Jesus' teaching about the relationship between the heart and the mouth (Matthew 15:10-20).
And then there is this other role for the confession from one's mouth. Not only does that play a role in one's own salvation; it is essential to the salvation of others. For "how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?" The cherished wisdom about actions speaking louder than words must not be overstated. Our actions may either buttress or undermine our words, but they mustn't take the place of our words -- for what we say is both the expression and the transmission of faith.
Matthew 14:22-33
I sometimes chide my wife for the amount of time that passes between the moment she says, "I'm tired; I'm going to bed," and the moment she actually falls asleep. Now for me, you can measure that duration with an egg timer. In my wife's case, however, the time between the statement that she's going to bed and her arrival there might be two or three hours! It's not that she's slow, mind you; it's just that she keeps meeting needs along the way. She helps one daughter with homework, she replies to some emails, she makes sure the kitchen is spotless, she reads another child to sleep, she puts through another load of laundry -- all on her way to bed.
We see something of the same pattern with Jesus in this section of Matthew's gospel.
In Mathew 14:12 -- several verses before our episode -- the news of John the Baptist's execution is reported to Jesus. As soon as Jesus heard the news, "he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself" (v. 13). Yet the crowds were aware of his every move, and so they pursued him. The picture Matthew paints even suggests that a crowd may have been visibly tracking his boat from along the shoreline so that they would be on site wherever he landed. And, sure enough, "when he went ashore, he saw a great crowd" (v. 14). But did he shoo them away so that he could be alone? Did he run and hide? Did he get back in the boat and sail away? No, "he had compassion for them and cured their sick" (v. 14).
It was toward the end of that day that the disciples urged Jesus to send the crowd away so that they could get food for themselves. It was a proposal that would have met Jesus' need for solitude, as well as the multitude's need for nourishment. Yet he did not send them away with their needs unmet. Instead, we read next the multiplication of loaves and fishes, as Jesus provided for their hungry crowd.
Then, so many, many hours after that first moment that Jesus sought "a deserted place by himself," he finally sent the disciples off in the boat and dismissed the crowds. At last, "he went up the mountain by himself to pray." It is a beautiful portrait of Jesus' utter selflessness on the one hand, as well as his very human need -- and specifically his need for time alone with his Father -- on the other.
He was not free to indulge his solitude for long, it seems, for so soon he saw again the needs of others. The disciples' boat was "battered by the waves" and "far from land, for the wind was against them." That is a thumbnail sketch of both danger and despair. And so "early in the morning he came walking to them on the sea."
What happens next is a real testament to the nature of fear and the effect of discouragement. When we are afraid, you see, everything is apt to make us frightened. When we are discouraged, even help goes unrecognized and so even the sight of Jesus coming to them -- a sight that should have been welcome, awesome, and reassuring -- terrified them.
Once Jesus assures them that they need not be afraid, Peter proposes his unusual request. "If it is you, command me to come to you on the water." It's a fascinating moment and one so full of meaning that we want to give it separate attention below.
Peter's experience on and in the water is famous and has been the subject of many meditations, poems, devotionals, and sermons. He had enough faith to take the initial steps, though he was still susceptible to the things that frighten us. His sinking is, tellingly, tied to his fear. Then he offers up the shortest -- and one of the best -- prayers in the Bible: "Lord, save me!" And, immediately, Jesus does save him, which is a beautiful moment to behold.
That Jesus chides Peter for "little faith" seems out of place to us. After all, he had enough faith to get out there in the first place. What about all the other guys who stayed in the boat? Yet perhaps there is something more disappointing about the person who falls to doubt after believing than there is about the person who doesn't believe in the first place.
When it is all said and done, Jesus is in the boat with the disciples. All is calm. Another set of needs has been met. And they have come to a monumental realization: "Truly you are the Son of God."
Application
Perhaps the first step in this week's treatment of our several lections is just beyond the boundaries of our lections. When Joseph's brothers find themselves as persecuted petitioners in Egypt, they begin to feel the guilt of how they had mishandled their younger sibling. They said to one another, "Alas, we are paying the penalty for what we did to our brother; we saw his anguish when he pleaded with us, but we would not listen" (Genesis 42:21).
The brothers seem to be recalling, you see, the episode that we read about in our Old Testament passage this week. Fed up with the favoritism and tired of the tattling, they cannot bear the sight or sound of Joseph any longer. So they manhandle him and toss him into a pit. And while he cries out in anguish, what do the heartless brothers do? They sit down and eat! There was no human response when Joseph cried out for help. The people we should be able to depend upon in our hour of need -- family -- were indifferent to Joseph's call.
Against that backdrop, then, see the loveliness of the crisis moment in our gospel passage. Peter is in desperation. Sinking in the water, he cries out for help. He is afraid, anguished, and in trouble -- just like Joseph. He cries out, "Lord, save me!" But unlike Joseph, Peter's cry is heard and heeded. "Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him." Beautiful!
This is the security we long for -- knowing that our cry will be heard and that our call will get a response. No one answered when Joseph dialed 9-1-1. But when Peter cried out, his help was immediate and complete.
James Rowe takes Peter's experience and claims it as his own testimony: "I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore, very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more. But the Master of the sea heard my despairing cry; from the waters lifted me; now safe am I."1
The apostle Paul, meanwhile, assures us that Peter's experience can be everyone's experience. Paul was persuaded of every person's need for salvation, whether Jew or Greek. And he had come to recognize God's indiscriminate eagerness to save every person, whether Jew or Greek. And so he declared, "The same Lord is... generous to all who call on him. For, 'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.' "
The name of the Lord: this is the great emergency number. From the mortal danger of Peter to the eternal danger Paul has in view, we are encouraged to call on him. He is there; he will hear; and he will rescue.
So Rowe concludes, "Souls in danger, look above! Jesus completely saves! He will lift you by his love out of the angry waves. He's the Master of the sea; billows his will obey. He your Savior wants to be; be saved today!"2
Alternative Application
Matthew 14:22-33. "I'd rather have Jesus." Leonardo da Vinci made famous the moment at the Last Supper when the confused disciples consulted one another about Jesus' unsettling words. Even though it is a portrait, we sense movement and activity, as they lean toward one another, gesturing, questioning, and wondering aloud.
Perhaps another such moment could be captured from the boat in the storm on the Sea of Galilee. In this instance, though, it would not be the words of Jesus that raise the eyebrows and launch the questions. Rather, it would be the words of Peter: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water."
What did he say? He's crazy! What is he thinking?
Amidst all of the rest of the chaos -- the buffeting wind, the battering waves, and the strange apparition on the water -- I think Peter managed to get everyone's focused attention for that moment. Can you imagine how they all looked at him and at one another when he asked the frightening figure to invite him out onto the water with him?
As we read the gospels, we get the feeling about Peter that his high school class would have voted him the "most likely to speak" award. At Caesarea Philippi, the Transfiguration, the Last Supper, in Gethsemane, and on Pentecost, he is the one who pipes up above the rest. And so in the storm on Galilee we are not surprised that Peter is the one who calls out. We're just surprised by what he said.
The boat, you see, represented security to the disciples. The boat is what they clung to. It was the welfare of the boat that had them most concerned out on the water in the storm. Why, then, would Peter volunteer to get out of the boat?
Two possibilities occur to me, and they are both lovely.
First, there was evidently some uncertainty about who was coming to them on the water. They initially thought it was a ghost, but the figure claimed to be Jesus. For Peter, the proof of Jesus' identity was to be found in this dare to call him out onto the water. Did he think that a random ghost would be too constrained by personal ethics to do that to Peter? Or could it be that Peter knew he would recognize Jesus in this: the command to come? Just as Mary recognized him when he called her by name (John 20:16), and the two Emmaus disciples recognized him in the breaking of the bread (Luke 24:31, 35), perhaps Peter knew he would find precious familiarity in hearing his Master say, "Come."
Second, there is the reality of a better offer. If you have a good situation, the only thing that would make you leave it would be if you got a better offer. And that may have been Peter's reasoning in the boat. Yes, the boat represented his lone security in the storm -- unless, of course, that really was Jesus over there! If it was, then going to him and being with him was a better offer than staying in the boat -- for the security of a fishing boat is nothing compared to the security of being with Jesus.
Preaching the Psalms
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
"His judgments are in all the earth...."
Contemporary culture hates dealing with judgment. Indeed, one of the criticisms hurled most contemptuously at the church these days is that churches (and presumably the folks inside) are "judgmental." The charge, whether it is true or not, has stuck. Church folk have been painted with the brush and branded as judgmental. There is a lesson here for us, it's true. Yet we dare not let go of the reality of God's judgment. It is real. It is present. And it is inescapable.
Perhaps this is why non-believers get so exercised about the judgment thing. It's bad enough when we get judged by a peer. However, contemplating the judgment of One who really knows your sins and your brokenness is distressing indeed. The idea of a God who sees us as we are, and has an opinion about the state of our hearts and our behavior, is disconcerting to most. And why? Because this is a God who strips us of our precious secrecy. And oh, the secrets we keep.
It's okay. It's confession time, and if you're reading this alone you don't have to tell anyone. But this once, let's drop the carefully constructed veneer of niceness and the pretense of goodness and admit how truly rotten we are sometimes. There. That feels a little better, doesn't it? It takes an incredible amount of energy to maintain the delusion that we are just fine, when in truth we are little more than an infected wound.
That's right. Above the din of the cultural lie that we're all just fine, we know deep down that we are not fine. We know that we are broken and hurting. We know that we have done some terrible things. And we know, if we let ourselves embrace it, that God's judgment is indeed in all the earth.
We can hide behind our social process and our matrix of illusions, but at some point the hiding and the smoke and mirrors cease to work for us. At some point we need to simply stop and drink in God's judgment. Or if the word "judgment" feels harsh, try "assessment." However you fashion the language, it's about embracing the hard-core truth about yourself.
And once the truth is told, it's time to embrace another part of this judgmental God. It's time to accept God's grace and forgiveness. It's time to change our ways.
So the critics of our faith have it right. If we ourselves are judgmental, we need to stop and allow the real judge to do (his) job. But judgment is indeed a part of our faith. It is a part of our healing. It is the road to hope and new life. In this much we hope and trust: that God's judgment is true; his forgiveness is real.
1. James Rowe, "Love Lifted Me" (http://nethymnal.org/htm/l/l/lliftdme.htm)
2. Ibid.
Our family has had to call 9-1-1 on a few occasions. When you're in the midst of some emergency situation, it's a great peace of mind to know that someone is there who can dispatch virtually whatever you so urgently need. Of course, every so often we hear unhappy stories about a 9-1-1 operator who failed to do their job properly, but those incidents are so very rare. There are just enough to remind us of how fortunate we are.
For what if we called out and no one was there? Or what if the operator was there, but refused to answer? Or what if the operator answered but was indifferent to our need? In those circumstances, we would be lost and hopeless. We would live in the insecurity of not knowing that we can simply call out and be saved.
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
The old westerns used to distinguish the good guys from the bad guys by the color of cowboy hats they wore. Traditionally the bad guys wore the black hats, while the good guy came riding in with a white hat. Those old movies were, both literally and metaphorically, filmed in black and white.
One wonders how a director of one of those films would depict this story. How would he cast these characters? How would he have the wardrobe department outfit them with hats? There is, it seems, no white hat here; only a spectrum of ever-darker grays.
Reuben's hat may be the lightest shade of gray. In the larger context of hatred and anger, Reuben's is the proverbial cooler head that prevails. He is hardly echoing the Sermon on the Mount in his recommended treatment of Joseph, and as the firstborn he perhaps could have exercised a stronger authority over the rabble; but at least his short-term impact and long-term goal were good ones. Of course, as we read further in the story, beyond the boundaries of this week's lection, we see that he at least tacitly participated in the brothers' deception of their father (Genesis 37:29-33). And elsewhere he evidently behaved with great irresponsibility and immorality (Genesis 35:22; 49:3-4).
Joseph's hat, too, would not be as dark as some others, for we do not see him committing any crime against either person or property. There is no violence or deceit in Joseph. Neither, however, is there any discretion. At the age of seventeen, he is still functioning like a seven-year-old little brother, tattling at every opportunity on his older brothers. And it may be, too, that in many ways he wore conspicuously his father's favor. Each step he took simultaneously endeared him more to his dad and drove a greater wedge between himself and his brothers.
Those brothers, meanwhile, are truly villainous. For them to be irritated with their brother is natural. For them to be annoyed is understandable. But they conduct themselves here with unchecked jealousy and unbridled anger. There is, it seems, no restraint and no virtue in these young men.
We saw earlier the brothers' -- with particular focus on Simeon and Levi -- capacity for deceit and violence (Genesis 34:13-31). Yet, if we have been reading the entire story all along, we are not much surprised by their behavior. Shocked, of course, because it is appalling. But we are not really surprised. After all, look at the stock from which they come. Observe the selfish competitiveness of some of their mothers, the calculating deceit of their grandfather Laban, and the duplicitous behavior of their own father, Jacob, through the years. We cannot say that these apples have fallen far from the tree.
Which brings us to Jacob's conduct in this whole mess. His preferential treatment of Joseph was palpable. The brothers literally could not look at Joseph without being reminded that Jacob loved him more than them. And though Jacob himself had been on the short end of his own father's uneven love, still he foolishly sowed within his own family the same fraternal discord and jealousy with which he himself had grown up.
We noted at the beginning that a director of an old-fashioned western would have a hard time assigning black and white hats to these characters. As such, of course, this story is marvelously and painfully true to life. A family systems expert or counselor would identify this family as a dysfunctional one. And, as in most dysfunctional families, there is plenty of blame to go around.
Romans 10:5-15
On the one hand, our people are 2,000 years and an even greater number of miles removed from the apostle Paul's letter to the Romans. On the other hand, we should discover that the gospel truth he expressed to them is exceedingly close to home for us.
At first blush, the background of the subject matter seems dated and irrelevant. Paul is exploring the issue of the relationship of the Old Testament law to our salvation as Christians. This is, of course, an issue with which very few of our people have spent any time grappling.
In Paul's context, this was a major theological question, as well as a very personal one. After all, the Jews understood the law as having come from God -- a tangible gift, a guide for life, a key to righteousness, and the expression of God's covenant with his chosen people. It was of colossal importance. But for the new followers of Jesus Christ -- particularly those who were Jewish -- the practical question was what the law's role was in our relationship with God through Christ.
Paul addresses this topic at several times in several places. In his letter to the Galatians, his understanding is rather forcefully set forth to correct what he recognizes as heretical misunderstanding among the Christians of Galatia. Here in his letter to the Romans, however, the presentation does not have the same tone of personal frustration and disappointment.
The heart of Paul's argument here is that there are two kinds of righteousness. The one is, at least by implication, unattainable: that is the hypothetical righteousness that comes from obeying the law. The other kind, however, is "the righteousness that comes from faith."
Paul contends that this is no mere latter-day invention of the Christians. On the contrary, he argues that this form of righteousness -- and salvation and justification -- actually predates the law, for he makes the point in several places that Abraham "believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness" (Genesis 15:6).
While the apostle does not reiterate that particular argument here, it is an already established point for him by now. He does cite other Old Testament passages here, however, to further illustrate the fundamental essentialness of faith. The possible reference to Isaiah 28:16 or 49:23 and the clearer reference to Joel 2:32 help Paul make his point: believing is the key.
Meanwhile, his connection between the belief in one's heart and the confession from one's mouth brings to mind Jesus' teaching about the relationship between the heart and the mouth (Matthew 15:10-20).
And then there is this other role for the confession from one's mouth. Not only does that play a role in one's own salvation; it is essential to the salvation of others. For "how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?" The cherished wisdom about actions speaking louder than words must not be overstated. Our actions may either buttress or undermine our words, but they mustn't take the place of our words -- for what we say is both the expression and the transmission of faith.
Matthew 14:22-33
I sometimes chide my wife for the amount of time that passes between the moment she says, "I'm tired; I'm going to bed," and the moment she actually falls asleep. Now for me, you can measure that duration with an egg timer. In my wife's case, however, the time between the statement that she's going to bed and her arrival there might be two or three hours! It's not that she's slow, mind you; it's just that she keeps meeting needs along the way. She helps one daughter with homework, she replies to some emails, she makes sure the kitchen is spotless, she reads another child to sleep, she puts through another load of laundry -- all on her way to bed.
We see something of the same pattern with Jesus in this section of Matthew's gospel.
In Mathew 14:12 -- several verses before our episode -- the news of John the Baptist's execution is reported to Jesus. As soon as Jesus heard the news, "he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself" (v. 13). Yet the crowds were aware of his every move, and so they pursued him. The picture Matthew paints even suggests that a crowd may have been visibly tracking his boat from along the shoreline so that they would be on site wherever he landed. And, sure enough, "when he went ashore, he saw a great crowd" (v. 14). But did he shoo them away so that he could be alone? Did he run and hide? Did he get back in the boat and sail away? No, "he had compassion for them and cured their sick" (v. 14).
It was toward the end of that day that the disciples urged Jesus to send the crowd away so that they could get food for themselves. It was a proposal that would have met Jesus' need for solitude, as well as the multitude's need for nourishment. Yet he did not send them away with their needs unmet. Instead, we read next the multiplication of loaves and fishes, as Jesus provided for their hungry crowd.
Then, so many, many hours after that first moment that Jesus sought "a deserted place by himself," he finally sent the disciples off in the boat and dismissed the crowds. At last, "he went up the mountain by himself to pray." It is a beautiful portrait of Jesus' utter selflessness on the one hand, as well as his very human need -- and specifically his need for time alone with his Father -- on the other.
He was not free to indulge his solitude for long, it seems, for so soon he saw again the needs of others. The disciples' boat was "battered by the waves" and "far from land, for the wind was against them." That is a thumbnail sketch of both danger and despair. And so "early in the morning he came walking to them on the sea."
What happens next is a real testament to the nature of fear and the effect of discouragement. When we are afraid, you see, everything is apt to make us frightened. When we are discouraged, even help goes unrecognized and so even the sight of Jesus coming to them -- a sight that should have been welcome, awesome, and reassuring -- terrified them.
Once Jesus assures them that they need not be afraid, Peter proposes his unusual request. "If it is you, command me to come to you on the water." It's a fascinating moment and one so full of meaning that we want to give it separate attention below.
Peter's experience on and in the water is famous and has been the subject of many meditations, poems, devotionals, and sermons. He had enough faith to take the initial steps, though he was still susceptible to the things that frighten us. His sinking is, tellingly, tied to his fear. Then he offers up the shortest -- and one of the best -- prayers in the Bible: "Lord, save me!" And, immediately, Jesus does save him, which is a beautiful moment to behold.
That Jesus chides Peter for "little faith" seems out of place to us. After all, he had enough faith to get out there in the first place. What about all the other guys who stayed in the boat? Yet perhaps there is something more disappointing about the person who falls to doubt after believing than there is about the person who doesn't believe in the first place.
When it is all said and done, Jesus is in the boat with the disciples. All is calm. Another set of needs has been met. And they have come to a monumental realization: "Truly you are the Son of God."
Application
Perhaps the first step in this week's treatment of our several lections is just beyond the boundaries of our lections. When Joseph's brothers find themselves as persecuted petitioners in Egypt, they begin to feel the guilt of how they had mishandled their younger sibling. They said to one another, "Alas, we are paying the penalty for what we did to our brother; we saw his anguish when he pleaded with us, but we would not listen" (Genesis 42:21).
The brothers seem to be recalling, you see, the episode that we read about in our Old Testament passage this week. Fed up with the favoritism and tired of the tattling, they cannot bear the sight or sound of Joseph any longer. So they manhandle him and toss him into a pit. And while he cries out in anguish, what do the heartless brothers do? They sit down and eat! There was no human response when Joseph cried out for help. The people we should be able to depend upon in our hour of need -- family -- were indifferent to Joseph's call.
Against that backdrop, then, see the loveliness of the crisis moment in our gospel passage. Peter is in desperation. Sinking in the water, he cries out for help. He is afraid, anguished, and in trouble -- just like Joseph. He cries out, "Lord, save me!" But unlike Joseph, Peter's cry is heard and heeded. "Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him." Beautiful!
This is the security we long for -- knowing that our cry will be heard and that our call will get a response. No one answered when Joseph dialed 9-1-1. But when Peter cried out, his help was immediate and complete.
James Rowe takes Peter's experience and claims it as his own testimony: "I was sinking deep in sin, far from the peaceful shore, very deeply stained within, sinking to rise no more. But the Master of the sea heard my despairing cry; from the waters lifted me; now safe am I."1
The apostle Paul, meanwhile, assures us that Peter's experience can be everyone's experience. Paul was persuaded of every person's need for salvation, whether Jew or Greek. And he had come to recognize God's indiscriminate eagerness to save every person, whether Jew or Greek. And so he declared, "The same Lord is... generous to all who call on him. For, 'Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.' "
The name of the Lord: this is the great emergency number. From the mortal danger of Peter to the eternal danger Paul has in view, we are encouraged to call on him. He is there; he will hear; and he will rescue.
So Rowe concludes, "Souls in danger, look above! Jesus completely saves! He will lift you by his love out of the angry waves. He's the Master of the sea; billows his will obey. He your Savior wants to be; be saved today!"2
Alternative Application
Matthew 14:22-33. "I'd rather have Jesus." Leonardo da Vinci made famous the moment at the Last Supper when the confused disciples consulted one another about Jesus' unsettling words. Even though it is a portrait, we sense movement and activity, as they lean toward one another, gesturing, questioning, and wondering aloud.
Perhaps another such moment could be captured from the boat in the storm on the Sea of Galilee. In this instance, though, it would not be the words of Jesus that raise the eyebrows and launch the questions. Rather, it would be the words of Peter: "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water."
What did he say? He's crazy! What is he thinking?
Amidst all of the rest of the chaos -- the buffeting wind, the battering waves, and the strange apparition on the water -- I think Peter managed to get everyone's focused attention for that moment. Can you imagine how they all looked at him and at one another when he asked the frightening figure to invite him out onto the water with him?
As we read the gospels, we get the feeling about Peter that his high school class would have voted him the "most likely to speak" award. At Caesarea Philippi, the Transfiguration, the Last Supper, in Gethsemane, and on Pentecost, he is the one who pipes up above the rest. And so in the storm on Galilee we are not surprised that Peter is the one who calls out. We're just surprised by what he said.
The boat, you see, represented security to the disciples. The boat is what they clung to. It was the welfare of the boat that had them most concerned out on the water in the storm. Why, then, would Peter volunteer to get out of the boat?
Two possibilities occur to me, and they are both lovely.
First, there was evidently some uncertainty about who was coming to them on the water. They initially thought it was a ghost, but the figure claimed to be Jesus. For Peter, the proof of Jesus' identity was to be found in this dare to call him out onto the water. Did he think that a random ghost would be too constrained by personal ethics to do that to Peter? Or could it be that Peter knew he would recognize Jesus in this: the command to come? Just as Mary recognized him when he called her by name (John 20:16), and the two Emmaus disciples recognized him in the breaking of the bread (Luke 24:31, 35), perhaps Peter knew he would find precious familiarity in hearing his Master say, "Come."
Second, there is the reality of a better offer. If you have a good situation, the only thing that would make you leave it would be if you got a better offer. And that may have been Peter's reasoning in the boat. Yes, the boat represented his lone security in the storm -- unless, of course, that really was Jesus over there! If it was, then going to him and being with him was a better offer than staying in the boat -- for the security of a fishing boat is nothing compared to the security of being with Jesus.
Preaching the Psalms
Schuyler Rhodes
Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
"His judgments are in all the earth...."
Contemporary culture hates dealing with judgment. Indeed, one of the criticisms hurled most contemptuously at the church these days is that churches (and presumably the folks inside) are "judgmental." The charge, whether it is true or not, has stuck. Church folk have been painted with the brush and branded as judgmental. There is a lesson here for us, it's true. Yet we dare not let go of the reality of God's judgment. It is real. It is present. And it is inescapable.
Perhaps this is why non-believers get so exercised about the judgment thing. It's bad enough when we get judged by a peer. However, contemplating the judgment of One who really knows your sins and your brokenness is distressing indeed. The idea of a God who sees us as we are, and has an opinion about the state of our hearts and our behavior, is disconcerting to most. And why? Because this is a God who strips us of our precious secrecy. And oh, the secrets we keep.
It's okay. It's confession time, and if you're reading this alone you don't have to tell anyone. But this once, let's drop the carefully constructed veneer of niceness and the pretense of goodness and admit how truly rotten we are sometimes. There. That feels a little better, doesn't it? It takes an incredible amount of energy to maintain the delusion that we are just fine, when in truth we are little more than an infected wound.
That's right. Above the din of the cultural lie that we're all just fine, we know deep down that we are not fine. We know that we are broken and hurting. We know that we have done some terrible things. And we know, if we let ourselves embrace it, that God's judgment is indeed in all the earth.
We can hide behind our social process and our matrix of illusions, but at some point the hiding and the smoke and mirrors cease to work for us. At some point we need to simply stop and drink in God's judgment. Or if the word "judgment" feels harsh, try "assessment." However you fashion the language, it's about embracing the hard-core truth about yourself.
And once the truth is told, it's time to embrace another part of this judgmental God. It's time to accept God's grace and forgiveness. It's time to change our ways.
So the critics of our faith have it right. If we ourselves are judgmental, we need to stop and allow the real judge to do (his) job. But judgment is indeed a part of our faith. It is a part of our healing. It is the road to hope and new life. In this much we hope and trust: that God's judgment is true; his forgiveness is real.
1. James Rowe, "Love Lifted Me" (http://nethymnal.org/htm/l/l/lliftdme.htm)
2. Ibid.
