Hitting out of the rough
Commentary
Note: This installment was originally published in 2005.
I grew up as a football-and-basketball guy, but the girl I married came from more of a tennis-and-golf family. The only golf I had played prior to vacationing with her family was the kind of golf that features windmills, bumpers, and loops.
Never having played on a real golf course before, I found it quite intimidating. As I tried to do what I had never done before, however, I gained a new appreciation for the skill of the people who were good at it.
At first, my natural admiration was for the folks who could hit a good shot off the tee. That's where a golfer is likely to get his greatest distance, and a good tee shot can be a beautiful thing to behold. Likewise, I was very impressed by the folks who could go long and straight off the fairway.
As I played more, I came to appreciate a different element of the game. The tough shot.
In golf, water hazards, sand traps, and roughs all come with the territory. If you land in the water, of course, you have to drop a ball somewhere on land. But if you wind up in the sand or in the tall grass, then you have to try to hit out of it. That's hard to do well, and I have gained great appreciation for the golfer who is able to make a good shot out of a rough spot.
In life, too, we recognize that traps and roughs come with the territory. We come to admire the folks who are able to maneuver their way through and out of those places effectively, gracefully. And a part of what we affirm from scripture is that God has proven, time and again, how good he is at making a great shot from a tough spot.
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
The writer of this passage chooses to single out the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, which recalls the earlier soap opera of Rachel and Leah's great baby race (Genesis 29:31--30:24). After Leah had given birth to four of the seven children that she eventually bore to Jacob, Rachel used her servant-girl Bilhah to bear children to Jacob on Rachel's behalf. Jacob and Bilhah produced two sons: Dan and Naphtali. Leah, meanwhile, took the "two can play at that game" approach, and designated her servant-girl, Zilpah, for the same arrangement. Jacob and Zilpah also produced two boys together: Gad and Asher.
Jacob's youngest sons, Joseph and Benjamin, meanwhile, came later, out of Jacob's union with Rachel, his true love. His subsequent preference for Joseph and Benjamin was apparent to all -- a somewhat surprising dysfunction for Jacob to introduce into his family since he himself had been at the short end of a father's preference for one son over another.
In the end, Leah had given birth to six sons, plus a daughter. Bilhah and Zilpah each bore two sons to Jacob, and Rachel gave birth to Joseph and Benjamin.
Jacob's clear favoritism did Joseph no great favor, at least not with his brothers. They had developed an understandable antagonism toward him. That pre-existent condition was further complicated by Joseph's precocious dreams -- or at least his precociousness in sharing them. Then, in our selected passage, Jacob may further damage Joseph's relation to his brothers to whatever extent he relied on Joseph as a kind of informant. No sibling likes the tattler.
In verse 18, we read that Joseph's brothers saw him from a distance. At first blush, the image is reminiscent of the scene in Jesus' parable of the prodigal son, when the father sees his son "while he was still far off" (Luke 15:20). The responses in the two stories, however, are entirely different.
In the case of the prodigal son, the sight of him coming in the distance is like an answer to prayer, and the father hoists up his robe and hurries to embrace him. In the case of Joseph, however, the sight of him coming in the distance is an unwelcome and irritating prospect for his brothers. For the prodigal's father, the distance is shortened by a loving run. For Joseph's brothers, the distance is an opportunity to plot and plan.
In the end, the sons of Jacob prove to be embarrassing mascots for a certain kind of rationalizing to which we human beings are prone. When we do less evil than we would like to in a given situation, we confuse our restraint with actual goodness. I excuse myself for saying the harsh thing that I did say to this person because it was so much less than I might have said or wanted to say. An employee is self-congratulatory about the very little pilfering he does compared to what he could do. A libidinous husband thinks his pornographic habit rather noble because he isn't actually pursuing an adulterous relationship with some female co-worker.
These half-brothers/full-scoundrels reason that they should not kill Joseph because he is, after all, kin. So the paragons of restraint think themselves quite reasonable and compassionate when they choose merely to sell Joseph as a slave and intimate to their father that he had been killed by an animal. Their mission to get rid of the annoying little brother is accomplished; they have not shed brother's blood; and they make a tidy profit in the process. It's all in a good Machiavellian day's work.
Romans 10:5-15
The issue in question in this passage is part of a larger and common theme for Paul: the question of how we are saved and made right with God.
Earlier in this epistle, Paul deals with the subject as a central part of his explanation of his understanding of the gospel. In other letters -- particularly the one to the Galatians -- Paul covers the same material in the context of correcting misunderstandings and false teachings in the churches.
The controversy in the early church stemmed primarily from different understandings and assumptions concerning the role of the law and the old covenant between God and Israel. What was the continuing relevance and impact of the Old Testament Law for Jews who had come to faith in Christ? And what was the relevance and impact of that law for Gentile Christians, for whom that old covenant was not a preexisting condition?
The subject rises to the surface again here in this passage because Paul has just been considering the response of his own people (Israel) to the gospel of Christ. He laments their resistance to "God's way of putting people right" (Romans 10:3 TEV), and then goes on in our passage to affirm what that way is, as well as the fact that it is for all people.
Paul's statement that "there is no distinction between Jew and Greek" is so axiomatic for us that our people may miss the import of what he is saying in its context here.
On the road I drive each day to take my daughter to school, I pass by a sign that reads, "The same God hears everyone's prayers." The statement is accompanied by both familiar and unfamiliar symbols representing an assortment of major world religions.
While the sign belongs to and promotes a local Baha'i community, it articulates a rather common paradigm in our day. And so, because we are more likely today to err on the far side of "there is no distinction," we do not operate from the same set of assumptions that would have characterized the Pharisaical Judaism from which Paul came.
For Paul and the cloth from which he was cut, there was a distinction -- a dramatic and divine distinction -- between Jews and Greeks. We have a remnant of that distinction in our word "Gentile." It is a word that applies equally to everyone who is not Jewish. By contrast, we do not have a single word that means everyone who is not Irish, or not Italian, or not Indian. But such a historical us-them paradigm has existed, on both sides, involving the Jews that a single word exists to convey "everybody else."
For the religious Jews of first-century Palestine, the distinction between Jew and Greek -- or between Jew and everybody else -- was one ordained by God. The Jews were, after all, God's chosen people. Furthermore, it was a distinction that they were called to observe and maintain -- an obligation of purity, and we see numerous evidences of a struggle with that old, established paradigm in the accounts of the New Testament church (see Acts 10:1--11:18; Galatians 2:1-14).
Paul's constant assertion, however, is that all human beings -- Jew or Greek; with the law or without it; circumcised or uncircumcised -- all are put right with God the same way: by faith.
The way that Paul says people come to that saving faith has particular meaning for us as preachers. People cannot believe in, and call upon, one of whom they have not heard. They cannot hear about him unless someone proclaims him. That is where you and I come in: We are called to proclaim him.
Paul concludes this passage with a quote from the Prophet Isaiah (52:7). Our congregations may be initially amused by the reference to beautiful feet. Still, deep inside, we understand the association. When we have received long-awaited good news from someone -- from a doctor, from an employer, from a spouse, or whomever -- our gladness about the news does make everything beautiful. The person's face, the doctor's office, the handwriting on the envelope -- whatever the source of the good news.
So it was for the people of Isaiah's day. If a messenger came with good news, the very sight of him coming over the horizon, and the very sound of his feet running along the road -- it was all a thing of beauty.
That is our privilege, according to Paul. We are beautified by the news we bring, and by the deep longing of the people to hear that good news.
Matthew 14:22-33
We are not privy to Jesus' thinking in this episode, but it seems clear that he was craving privacy. He dismissed both the disciples and the crowds, and then we he went up a nearby mountain alone to pray. He had sent the disciples across "to the other side" of the Sea of Galilee in a boat, though it is unclear how or when he intended to rejoin them. Surely they didn't expect it to be when and where he did.
Evidently, Jesus prayed through the night by himself. The disciples, meanwhile, were encountering something of a storm out on the lake, and the wind and waves conspired to make their voyage difficult. Then, in the midst of it, Jesus appeared nearby, walking to them on the water.
It is not explicit in Matthew's account what Jesus was intending to do. Was his purpose to join them in the boat? Did he intend from the start to calm the storm? Or was he merely taking the shortest route available to the other side of the lake?
Since walking on water is undoubtedly a miracle, and since there is no other evidence in the gospels of Jesus performing a miracle for his own benefit, we are safe to assume that he was coming to them on the water for the purpose of helping them. When they see him, however, the sight of what seems to be a ghost frightens them.
Jesus calls out his reassurance that they need not be afraid, and that it is he, to which Peter responds with a remarkable request: "If it is you, command me to come to you on the water."
Peter can always be voted the one most likely to open his mouth. Whether it is his head-of-the-class confession about Christ (Matthew 16:15-19) or his big-mouthed misunderstanding of the Messiah's mission (21-23); whether making bold protests (John 13:4-11) or bold promises (Matthew 26:31-35); whether it is vigorously denying Christ (Luke 22:54-62) or boldly proclaiming him (see, for example, Acts 2:14ff, 3:11ff, 4:8ff), Peter is the disciple most likely on any occasion to open his mouth and say something.
So, here on this occasion, Peter is the one who speaks up.
Peter's walk-on-water episode is generally remembered as a failure since, in the end, he began to doubt, began to sink, and needed to be saved. But consider how remarkable Peter's statement and action was.
The disciples were perhaps already unnerved. They were out on the water in the middle of the night, which is a vulnerable experience, and particularly in an age when nighttime was truly dark, without all of the artificial light that mitigates the experience of darkness for us today. In addition to the darkness, there was the wind. It was apparently a severe wind, which suggests rough waters, as well as great difficulty in trying to maneuver their boat to their destination. On top of all that, they must have been exhausted.
If the earlier episode of Jesus with the disciples on a boat in a storm (see Matthew 8:23-27) is any indication, a nighttime boat trip could have been an opportunity for rest. Surely these men needed a night's sleep, but instead they found themselves struggling against the weather out on the water in the middle of the night.
The stage is set: darkness, strong winds, rough water, tired men. Now enter the apparition, the unidentified walking object.
The disciples see a figure coming toward them on the water. Who wouldn't be frightened by that? Perhaps we blame the disciples for other occasions where their faith is little, where their understanding comes up short, where they are unnecessarily worried or afraid -- but who can blame them for this?
It is in the middle of that scene that Peter gets out of the boat. The boat, we must recall, was the one place of relative safety in the midst of a storm. The boat is what you are eager to preserve, and where you are eager to stay, but Peter was volunteering to get out of that boat -- if it meant going to Jesus.
Application
At the far end of Joseph's story, Joseph helps his brothers (and us) to see the provident hand of God in all of the circumstances of his life (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the particular episode that is our Old Testament lection, however, can we imagine how Joseph must have felt? How betrayed and abandoned, by God and family alike? How frightened, as a boy being taken away from home, forever, to an unknown fate in a foreign land? Unthinkable.
When Joseph awakened that morning, he was comfortable and secure at home. He was loved and cherished by his father, and he lived with a sense of divine destiny. When he went to sleep that night, however, he was merchandise in the hands of foreigners. His own brothers had created this catastrophe, and his father would never know about it. There was nothing to be done -- he could not be rescued; he would not return. His life had changed completely, desperately, in one day.
How far away God's providence and help must have seemed -- as far away as Joseph was from home -- as far away as slavery in Egypt was from those dreams he had had.
Later still, Joseph would be imprisoned. How far is a prison from Pharaoh's chariot? How far are the inmates' chains from Pharaoh's own ring?
Such is the nature of God's providence and power that he can work in and through such circumstances. The best and most important shot that a great golfer may make during a tournament, after all, may be a shot out of a rough or a sand trap.
Time and again in scripture, we see God making great shots from rough places. It is true with Joseph. It is true of the Lord who walks on water and calms storms. And it is eminently true of the one who comes out of the tomb!
Alternative Applications
1) Matthew 14:22-33. "Scared of the One Who Loves Us." We have described above the circumstances of the disciples -- exhausted, in the dark, against the wind, in rough waters. And into that already difficult circumstance comes a frightening specter.
We recognized that the disciples' frightened reaction is understandable. The irony, however, is that they are frightened by the one who comes to help them.
I wonder how often that has happened to us. Not that you and I have often seen either Jesus or a ghost walking on the water. But, rather, I wonder how often we have misunderstood his presence; how often we have been afraid of something, not realizing that it was him, or at least from him.
We gather from the angel's word to Joseph (Matthew 1:20) that he was afraid. The reassurance came to him, though, that he did not need to be afraid to go ahead and wed Mary in the present circumstances, for God was in it. Those frightening circumstances were actually from God.
At some level, too, that was one of the post facto functions of the judgment prophets. While sitting in exile in Babylon, defeated and tempted to despair, there was reassurance to be had in the news that God was in it. Better that the judgment was from him than the alternative: that the God of Israel had been impotent to defend and protect his people against the armies and the gods of Babylon.
This is the essence of the reassurance that is captured in the familiar hymn, "How Firm A Foundation."
When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
my grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
the flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
2) Romans 10:5-15. "A God of Up Close and Personal." The Apostle Paul takes the words of Moses (Deuteronomy 30:12-14) and gives them a distinctively Christian interpretation. Whether in its original Old Testament context or in Paul's usage of it, however, the message is a compelling and needed one in every generation.
We are always being tempted to think of God as far off -- distant and unreachable. In our modern recognition of the immensity of space and the seeming insignificance of earth; in our calculation of the relative brevity and puniness of any single human life; in our sense of guilt, unworthiness, and depravity; we are prone to think that God is far off.
It is always good news to hear of God's proximity. The God who has the hairs of our head numbered; the God who invites us to think of him as loving parent, as attentive shepherd, as faithful friend; the God who put on flesh to come and get us -- this God is near and accessible. He is close, and he wants to be closer.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
These selections from the lengthy Psalm 105 are paired, this week, with the Genesis story of the betrayal of Joseph by his brothers. The psalm provides a note of hope following the narration of that grim episode: Verses 16-22 remind us how the Lord "sent a man ahead of them" in a time of famine, "Joseph, who was sold as a slave" (v. 17). "His feet were hurt with fetters, his neck was put in a collar of iron" (v. 18) -- until such time as Pharaoh released him, and set him up as lord over his entire house.
This psalm is not just about the sufferings of Joseph. Its author -- or, at least, the editor of the book of Psalms, in the event that it was written earlier -- undoubtedly has in mind the sufferings of his own people in exile, at the hands of the Babylonians. Memories of fetters on the feet and a collar around the neck would have been recent indeed, for that community of exiles. There is also the lively hope that sustains them, hope of release from captivity. This can only happen through the providence of God, the one who sends the champion, Joseph, out ahead of the people.
The Heidelberg Catechism -- one of the great, Reformation-era confessions of our church -- defines providence in this way. It is "the almighty and ever-present power of God whereby he still upholds, as it were by his own hand, heaven and earth together with all creatures, and rules in such a way that leaves and grass, rain and drought, fruitful and unfruitful years, food and drink, health and sickness, riches and poverty, and everything else, come to us not by chance but by his fatherly hand."
"What advantage," the Catechism then asks, "comes from acknowledging God's creation and providence?"
"We learn that we are to be patient in adversity, grateful in the midst of blessing, and to trust our faithful God and Father for the future, assured that no creature shall separate us from his love, since all creatures are so completely in his hand that without his will they cannot even move." [Questions 27 and 28]
The opposite of providence is chance. That's the prevailing secular view, and there's little comfort in it. The secular view is that our lives are aimlessly adrift in a vast and turbulent sea of chance. The psalmist's view of the world -- like that of the authors of The Heidelberg Catechism -- is very different. God cares about us, the people of the covenant: watching over us, protecting us. God may not always give us everything we want, but God will get us through.
Many of our listeners will be familiar with the saga of Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton, who led the crew of his ice-trapped ship, the Endurance, on a perilous journey to safety, by open boat and on foot across barren ice and snow. The final part of that journey was accomplished by a hiking party composed of Shackleton and the two strongest of his men, who made it back to civilization and summoned help to rescue the others. Reflecting on his survival experience, Shackleton recalled, "When I look back on those days, I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snow-fields, but across the storm-white sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing place in South Georgia. I know that during that long and racking march of 36 hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three. I said nothing to my companions on the point, but afterward Worsely said to me: 'Boss, I had the curious feeling on the march that there was another person with us.' "
Maybe it's only in the crises of life, as unexpected trials come our way, that we sense another presence there beside us -- one who is providentially guiding us. Psalms like this one remind us of the cyclical nature of the human life of faith. No generation has a monopoly on sinfulness, or suffering. Neither does any generation have a monopoly on God's goodness and grace. Time and again, God's people engage in the same dance steps -- first away from the Lord in disobedience, then back again, as divine hesed pulls us closer.
I grew up as a football-and-basketball guy, but the girl I married came from more of a tennis-and-golf family. The only golf I had played prior to vacationing with her family was the kind of golf that features windmills, bumpers, and loops.
Never having played on a real golf course before, I found it quite intimidating. As I tried to do what I had never done before, however, I gained a new appreciation for the skill of the people who were good at it.
At first, my natural admiration was for the folks who could hit a good shot off the tee. That's where a golfer is likely to get his greatest distance, and a good tee shot can be a beautiful thing to behold. Likewise, I was very impressed by the folks who could go long and straight off the fairway.
As I played more, I came to appreciate a different element of the game. The tough shot.
In golf, water hazards, sand traps, and roughs all come with the territory. If you land in the water, of course, you have to drop a ball somewhere on land. But if you wind up in the sand or in the tall grass, then you have to try to hit out of it. That's hard to do well, and I have gained great appreciation for the golfer who is able to make a good shot out of a rough spot.
In life, too, we recognize that traps and roughs come with the territory. We come to admire the folks who are able to maneuver their way through and out of those places effectively, gracefully. And a part of what we affirm from scripture is that God has proven, time and again, how good he is at making a great shot from a tough spot.
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
The writer of this passage chooses to single out the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, which recalls the earlier soap opera of Rachel and Leah's great baby race (Genesis 29:31--30:24). After Leah had given birth to four of the seven children that she eventually bore to Jacob, Rachel used her servant-girl Bilhah to bear children to Jacob on Rachel's behalf. Jacob and Bilhah produced two sons: Dan and Naphtali. Leah, meanwhile, took the "two can play at that game" approach, and designated her servant-girl, Zilpah, for the same arrangement. Jacob and Zilpah also produced two boys together: Gad and Asher.
Jacob's youngest sons, Joseph and Benjamin, meanwhile, came later, out of Jacob's union with Rachel, his true love. His subsequent preference for Joseph and Benjamin was apparent to all -- a somewhat surprising dysfunction for Jacob to introduce into his family since he himself had been at the short end of a father's preference for one son over another.
In the end, Leah had given birth to six sons, plus a daughter. Bilhah and Zilpah each bore two sons to Jacob, and Rachel gave birth to Joseph and Benjamin.
Jacob's clear favoritism did Joseph no great favor, at least not with his brothers. They had developed an understandable antagonism toward him. That pre-existent condition was further complicated by Joseph's precocious dreams -- or at least his precociousness in sharing them. Then, in our selected passage, Jacob may further damage Joseph's relation to his brothers to whatever extent he relied on Joseph as a kind of informant. No sibling likes the tattler.
In verse 18, we read that Joseph's brothers saw him from a distance. At first blush, the image is reminiscent of the scene in Jesus' parable of the prodigal son, when the father sees his son "while he was still far off" (Luke 15:20). The responses in the two stories, however, are entirely different.
In the case of the prodigal son, the sight of him coming in the distance is like an answer to prayer, and the father hoists up his robe and hurries to embrace him. In the case of Joseph, however, the sight of him coming in the distance is an unwelcome and irritating prospect for his brothers. For the prodigal's father, the distance is shortened by a loving run. For Joseph's brothers, the distance is an opportunity to plot and plan.
In the end, the sons of Jacob prove to be embarrassing mascots for a certain kind of rationalizing to which we human beings are prone. When we do less evil than we would like to in a given situation, we confuse our restraint with actual goodness. I excuse myself for saying the harsh thing that I did say to this person because it was so much less than I might have said or wanted to say. An employee is self-congratulatory about the very little pilfering he does compared to what he could do. A libidinous husband thinks his pornographic habit rather noble because he isn't actually pursuing an adulterous relationship with some female co-worker.
These half-brothers/full-scoundrels reason that they should not kill Joseph because he is, after all, kin. So the paragons of restraint think themselves quite reasonable and compassionate when they choose merely to sell Joseph as a slave and intimate to their father that he had been killed by an animal. Their mission to get rid of the annoying little brother is accomplished; they have not shed brother's blood; and they make a tidy profit in the process. It's all in a good Machiavellian day's work.
Romans 10:5-15
The issue in question in this passage is part of a larger and common theme for Paul: the question of how we are saved and made right with God.
Earlier in this epistle, Paul deals with the subject as a central part of his explanation of his understanding of the gospel. In other letters -- particularly the one to the Galatians -- Paul covers the same material in the context of correcting misunderstandings and false teachings in the churches.
The controversy in the early church stemmed primarily from different understandings and assumptions concerning the role of the law and the old covenant between God and Israel. What was the continuing relevance and impact of the Old Testament Law for Jews who had come to faith in Christ? And what was the relevance and impact of that law for Gentile Christians, for whom that old covenant was not a preexisting condition?
The subject rises to the surface again here in this passage because Paul has just been considering the response of his own people (Israel) to the gospel of Christ. He laments their resistance to "God's way of putting people right" (Romans 10:3 TEV), and then goes on in our passage to affirm what that way is, as well as the fact that it is for all people.
Paul's statement that "there is no distinction between Jew and Greek" is so axiomatic for us that our people may miss the import of what he is saying in its context here.
On the road I drive each day to take my daughter to school, I pass by a sign that reads, "The same God hears everyone's prayers." The statement is accompanied by both familiar and unfamiliar symbols representing an assortment of major world religions.
While the sign belongs to and promotes a local Baha'i community, it articulates a rather common paradigm in our day. And so, because we are more likely today to err on the far side of "there is no distinction," we do not operate from the same set of assumptions that would have characterized the Pharisaical Judaism from which Paul came.
For Paul and the cloth from which he was cut, there was a distinction -- a dramatic and divine distinction -- between Jews and Greeks. We have a remnant of that distinction in our word "Gentile." It is a word that applies equally to everyone who is not Jewish. By contrast, we do not have a single word that means everyone who is not Irish, or not Italian, or not Indian. But such a historical us-them paradigm has existed, on both sides, involving the Jews that a single word exists to convey "everybody else."
For the religious Jews of first-century Palestine, the distinction between Jew and Greek -- or between Jew and everybody else -- was one ordained by God. The Jews were, after all, God's chosen people. Furthermore, it was a distinction that they were called to observe and maintain -- an obligation of purity, and we see numerous evidences of a struggle with that old, established paradigm in the accounts of the New Testament church (see Acts 10:1--11:18; Galatians 2:1-14).
Paul's constant assertion, however, is that all human beings -- Jew or Greek; with the law or without it; circumcised or uncircumcised -- all are put right with God the same way: by faith.
The way that Paul says people come to that saving faith has particular meaning for us as preachers. People cannot believe in, and call upon, one of whom they have not heard. They cannot hear about him unless someone proclaims him. That is where you and I come in: We are called to proclaim him.
Paul concludes this passage with a quote from the Prophet Isaiah (52:7). Our congregations may be initially amused by the reference to beautiful feet. Still, deep inside, we understand the association. When we have received long-awaited good news from someone -- from a doctor, from an employer, from a spouse, or whomever -- our gladness about the news does make everything beautiful. The person's face, the doctor's office, the handwriting on the envelope -- whatever the source of the good news.
So it was for the people of Isaiah's day. If a messenger came with good news, the very sight of him coming over the horizon, and the very sound of his feet running along the road -- it was all a thing of beauty.
That is our privilege, according to Paul. We are beautified by the news we bring, and by the deep longing of the people to hear that good news.
Matthew 14:22-33
We are not privy to Jesus' thinking in this episode, but it seems clear that he was craving privacy. He dismissed both the disciples and the crowds, and then we he went up a nearby mountain alone to pray. He had sent the disciples across "to the other side" of the Sea of Galilee in a boat, though it is unclear how or when he intended to rejoin them. Surely they didn't expect it to be when and where he did.
Evidently, Jesus prayed through the night by himself. The disciples, meanwhile, were encountering something of a storm out on the lake, and the wind and waves conspired to make their voyage difficult. Then, in the midst of it, Jesus appeared nearby, walking to them on the water.
It is not explicit in Matthew's account what Jesus was intending to do. Was his purpose to join them in the boat? Did he intend from the start to calm the storm? Or was he merely taking the shortest route available to the other side of the lake?
Since walking on water is undoubtedly a miracle, and since there is no other evidence in the gospels of Jesus performing a miracle for his own benefit, we are safe to assume that he was coming to them on the water for the purpose of helping them. When they see him, however, the sight of what seems to be a ghost frightens them.
Jesus calls out his reassurance that they need not be afraid, and that it is he, to which Peter responds with a remarkable request: "If it is you, command me to come to you on the water."
Peter can always be voted the one most likely to open his mouth. Whether it is his head-of-the-class confession about Christ (Matthew 16:15-19) or his big-mouthed misunderstanding of the Messiah's mission (21-23); whether making bold protests (John 13:4-11) or bold promises (Matthew 26:31-35); whether it is vigorously denying Christ (Luke 22:54-62) or boldly proclaiming him (see, for example, Acts 2:14ff, 3:11ff, 4:8ff), Peter is the disciple most likely on any occasion to open his mouth and say something.
So, here on this occasion, Peter is the one who speaks up.
Peter's walk-on-water episode is generally remembered as a failure since, in the end, he began to doubt, began to sink, and needed to be saved. But consider how remarkable Peter's statement and action was.
The disciples were perhaps already unnerved. They were out on the water in the middle of the night, which is a vulnerable experience, and particularly in an age when nighttime was truly dark, without all of the artificial light that mitigates the experience of darkness for us today. In addition to the darkness, there was the wind. It was apparently a severe wind, which suggests rough waters, as well as great difficulty in trying to maneuver their boat to their destination. On top of all that, they must have been exhausted.
If the earlier episode of Jesus with the disciples on a boat in a storm (see Matthew 8:23-27) is any indication, a nighttime boat trip could have been an opportunity for rest. Surely these men needed a night's sleep, but instead they found themselves struggling against the weather out on the water in the middle of the night.
The stage is set: darkness, strong winds, rough water, tired men. Now enter the apparition, the unidentified walking object.
The disciples see a figure coming toward them on the water. Who wouldn't be frightened by that? Perhaps we blame the disciples for other occasions where their faith is little, where their understanding comes up short, where they are unnecessarily worried or afraid -- but who can blame them for this?
It is in the middle of that scene that Peter gets out of the boat. The boat, we must recall, was the one place of relative safety in the midst of a storm. The boat is what you are eager to preserve, and where you are eager to stay, but Peter was volunteering to get out of that boat -- if it meant going to Jesus.
Application
At the far end of Joseph's story, Joseph helps his brothers (and us) to see the provident hand of God in all of the circumstances of his life (Genesis 50:20). At the end of the particular episode that is our Old Testament lection, however, can we imagine how Joseph must have felt? How betrayed and abandoned, by God and family alike? How frightened, as a boy being taken away from home, forever, to an unknown fate in a foreign land? Unthinkable.
When Joseph awakened that morning, he was comfortable and secure at home. He was loved and cherished by his father, and he lived with a sense of divine destiny. When he went to sleep that night, however, he was merchandise in the hands of foreigners. His own brothers had created this catastrophe, and his father would never know about it. There was nothing to be done -- he could not be rescued; he would not return. His life had changed completely, desperately, in one day.
How far away God's providence and help must have seemed -- as far away as Joseph was from home -- as far away as slavery in Egypt was from those dreams he had had.
Later still, Joseph would be imprisoned. How far is a prison from Pharaoh's chariot? How far are the inmates' chains from Pharaoh's own ring?
Such is the nature of God's providence and power that he can work in and through such circumstances. The best and most important shot that a great golfer may make during a tournament, after all, may be a shot out of a rough or a sand trap.
Time and again in scripture, we see God making great shots from rough places. It is true with Joseph. It is true of the Lord who walks on water and calms storms. And it is eminently true of the one who comes out of the tomb!
Alternative Applications
1) Matthew 14:22-33. "Scared of the One Who Loves Us." We have described above the circumstances of the disciples -- exhausted, in the dark, against the wind, in rough waters. And into that already difficult circumstance comes a frightening specter.
We recognized that the disciples' frightened reaction is understandable. The irony, however, is that they are frightened by the one who comes to help them.
I wonder how often that has happened to us. Not that you and I have often seen either Jesus or a ghost walking on the water. But, rather, I wonder how often we have misunderstood his presence; how often we have been afraid of something, not realizing that it was him, or at least from him.
We gather from the angel's word to Joseph (Matthew 1:20) that he was afraid. The reassurance came to him, though, that he did not need to be afraid to go ahead and wed Mary in the present circumstances, for God was in it. Those frightening circumstances were actually from God.
At some level, too, that was one of the post facto functions of the judgment prophets. While sitting in exile in Babylon, defeated and tempted to despair, there was reassurance to be had in the news that God was in it. Better that the judgment was from him than the alternative: that the God of Israel had been impotent to defend and protect his people against the armies and the gods of Babylon.
This is the essence of the reassurance that is captured in the familiar hymn, "How Firm A Foundation."
When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
my grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
the flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
2) Romans 10:5-15. "A God of Up Close and Personal." The Apostle Paul takes the words of Moses (Deuteronomy 30:12-14) and gives them a distinctively Christian interpretation. Whether in its original Old Testament context or in Paul's usage of it, however, the message is a compelling and needed one in every generation.
We are always being tempted to think of God as far off -- distant and unreachable. In our modern recognition of the immensity of space and the seeming insignificance of earth; in our calculation of the relative brevity and puniness of any single human life; in our sense of guilt, unworthiness, and depravity; we are prone to think that God is far off.
It is always good news to hear of God's proximity. The God who has the hairs of our head numbered; the God who invites us to think of him as loving parent, as attentive shepherd, as faithful friend; the God who put on flesh to come and get us -- this God is near and accessible. He is close, and he wants to be closer.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
These selections from the lengthy Psalm 105 are paired, this week, with the Genesis story of the betrayal of Joseph by his brothers. The psalm provides a note of hope following the narration of that grim episode: Verses 16-22 remind us how the Lord "sent a man ahead of them" in a time of famine, "Joseph, who was sold as a slave" (v. 17). "His feet were hurt with fetters, his neck was put in a collar of iron" (v. 18) -- until such time as Pharaoh released him, and set him up as lord over his entire house.
This psalm is not just about the sufferings of Joseph. Its author -- or, at least, the editor of the book of Psalms, in the event that it was written earlier -- undoubtedly has in mind the sufferings of his own people in exile, at the hands of the Babylonians. Memories of fetters on the feet and a collar around the neck would have been recent indeed, for that community of exiles. There is also the lively hope that sustains them, hope of release from captivity. This can only happen through the providence of God, the one who sends the champion, Joseph, out ahead of the people.
The Heidelberg Catechism -- one of the great, Reformation-era confessions of our church -- defines providence in this way. It is "the almighty and ever-present power of God whereby he still upholds, as it were by his own hand, heaven and earth together with all creatures, and rules in such a way that leaves and grass, rain and drought, fruitful and unfruitful years, food and drink, health and sickness, riches and poverty, and everything else, come to us not by chance but by his fatherly hand."
"What advantage," the Catechism then asks, "comes from acknowledging God's creation and providence?"
"We learn that we are to be patient in adversity, grateful in the midst of blessing, and to trust our faithful God and Father for the future, assured that no creature shall separate us from his love, since all creatures are so completely in his hand that without his will they cannot even move." [Questions 27 and 28]
The opposite of providence is chance. That's the prevailing secular view, and there's little comfort in it. The secular view is that our lives are aimlessly adrift in a vast and turbulent sea of chance. The psalmist's view of the world -- like that of the authors of The Heidelberg Catechism -- is very different. God cares about us, the people of the covenant: watching over us, protecting us. God may not always give us everything we want, but God will get us through.
Many of our listeners will be familiar with the saga of Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton, who led the crew of his ice-trapped ship, the Endurance, on a perilous journey to safety, by open boat and on foot across barren ice and snow. The final part of that journey was accomplished by a hiking party composed of Shackleton and the two strongest of his men, who made it back to civilization and summoned help to rescue the others. Reflecting on his survival experience, Shackleton recalled, "When I look back on those days, I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snow-fields, but across the storm-white sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing place in South Georgia. I know that during that long and racking march of 36 hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three. I said nothing to my companions on the point, but afterward Worsely said to me: 'Boss, I had the curious feeling on the march that there was another person with us.' "
Maybe it's only in the crises of life, as unexpected trials come our way, that we sense another presence there beside us -- one who is providentially guiding us. Psalms like this one remind us of the cyclical nature of the human life of faith. No generation has a monopoly on sinfulness, or suffering. Neither does any generation have a monopoly on God's goodness and grace. Time and again, God's people engage in the same dance steps -- first away from the Lord in disobedience, then back again, as divine hesed pulls us closer.
