Look at me. My hands and legs are shaking. After it was all over my legs were so weak that I could barely get out of the boat when we reached shore. I wish they would stop asking me if I’m all right and if I need anything. I know they’re just concerned, but right now the last thing I want to do is talk about it. I know they’re dying to ask me what it felt like to walk on water. How can I tell them that it felt like hell?
I’ve always been a pretty brave man, one who has never been afraid of storms or taking risks so how can I explain a terror that was like icy fire running through my whole body? Before we saw Jesus walking toward us, I definitely was concerned about the storm but was too busy handling the boat to pay attention to my fear. If a fisherman is going to be paralyzed with anxiety every time a storm springs up, he might as well pack it in and take up weaving. This is our life. This is what we do. What we don’t do is face spirits walking on water. I wasn’t the only one who was terrified either. All of them were yelling, “It’s a ghost!” and they were crowding over to one side of the boat so much that we were in danger of capsizing. They all know better than to do that in a boat but that’s how frightened they were.
Then came the voice. “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” The voice was definitely his but, idiot that I am, I yelled back, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ What made me say that? What was I thinking? Nothing. I can recall no cohesive thoughts in my head, no logical or reasonable ideas about the whole situation. I just opened my mouth and out came, “Tell me to walk on the water.” What did I think this was going to prove? If it wasn’t Jesus coming toward us on the water, did I think that this ultimatum of mine would somehow protect us from an evil spirit? Was I thinking that even if it were Jesus, he would never take me up on my stupidity? I have no idea what I was thinking or why I said what I did but when he said, “Come,” I looked into his eyes and I knew it was him and not a ghost. His eyes, so full of life, looked into mine and what I saw in those eyes filled me with a huge desire to go to him and be with him. I wasn’t thinking about storms or waves or danger or risk. I didn’t stop to think about what going to him actually meant. I just wanted to be with him. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his eyes even when I was climbing over the side of the heaving boat. For all the notice I was taking of my surroundings, I could have been walking toward him on a village street on a sunny day instead of moving through deep troughs of violent waves.
And then he looked away – not me! He broke eye contact with me and I was immediately aware of where I was and the danger I was in but I was also aware of so much more than that. That’s when I became filled with gut wrenching fear. It wasn’t so much the thought of dying that filled me with dread and panic; it was the thought of living or dying without him that overwhelmed me with utter terror.
When I shouted, “Lord, save me!” I wasn’t asking so much for protection from drowning as I was screaming for deliverance from an eternity without him. And he knew it. I immediately understood that he had broken eye contact with me on purpose in order to give me a glimpse of who he really is and of how bleak my life would be without him. He showed me a petrifying reality I never could have seen without him showing it to me. See, up until that moment, in spite of his teachings and all the miracles I had witnessed, I still felt like I was weighing and judging his validity and his importance to me. I felt like he had made a mistake in choosing me and would reject me once he saw how much I still struggled with believing in him. I still felt like I could choose to turn away, go home and make it all simple. I thought that if I did leave him there would be no major consequences, except life wouldn’t be so exciting. In a flash, he showed me what life and death without him really meant and the vision of it was desolation and devastation. Then he reached out, caught my hand and lifted me above the waves, above my terror and above the prospect of an eternity without him.
Everyone in the boat heard what he said to me. ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’ They probably thought he was asking why I doubted that I could actually walk on water but I knew that he was asking me how I could doubt that he was the One who was to come, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. He was asking how I could have thought that he would ever reject me. He was telling me that he would be with me through all eternity no matter what. He was saying that storms, persecution, distress, death – and, yes, even my doubts and failures – would never separate me from his love. How do I know this? It was in his eyes and in the grip of his hand. By that grip, he bound me to him for all eternity. By that grip, I knew I was saved from far more than drowning in the storm.
Yeah, they will all want to know what it was like to walk on water. They will want to know what made me get over the side of that boat in the first place. They will want to discuss it, probe me about being part of this outrageous miracle and perhaps a few of them will make some little digs at me about my failure to make it all the way without sinking. Let them make insinuations. How can I tell them that walking on water is nothing compared to knowing that he loves me and that he has promised to be there for me in all the coming storms? How can I explain that his words were not words of castigation but words of deep assurance? He was saying that he would be never ever let go of me even though I am weak and even though my faith may waver. To those watching from the boat, walking on water would be the most important and fascinating part of all that happened. I don’t blame them; I would think the same if it had happened to someone else. I would be equally slow to grasp what else could be more important than human feet treading on top of water.
I have witnessed him feeding thousands of people, seen him walking on water, walked on water myself and saw the storm die down at his command but now I know that a miracle is not what rescues me and sets me on solid rock. What rescues me is the understanding that I can’t do anything to save myself; the Lord is the one who reaches down to me to save me from drowning in my brokenness and fear.
My hands and legs are still shaking.
The Perfect Man created a perfect storm to show me, a perfect example of imperfection, what love really is.
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