A Fourth Church Sermon by John A. Cairns

August 7, 2005 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Concentrate

John A. Cairns
Dean, Academy for Faith and Life,
Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 91:1-6, 9-12
Matthew 14:22-33

Confessions of faith gain their authority as expressions of Christians’ beliefs
in a certain time and place. These beliefs are appropriate expressions
of the biblical message, the claims of Jesus Christ,
and what the Spirit is leading the church to confess.
[But] new occasions teach new duties,
and even venerable and important confessions of the past
must be supplemented by expressions of faith in new, contemporary contexts. . . .
Confessions are open-ended. They look forward to the future
and to what new ways the Spirit of God may lead the church. . . .
The question is always, “What is God calling us to do in Jesus Christ
through the power of the Holy Spirit right here and now?”

Donald K. McKim
Introducing the Reformed Faith

I want to shift gears slightly this morning and move away from that string of stories we need to know and remember from the book of Genesis (stories of the patriarchs and matriarchs of our faith) and spend some time with a story we need to know and remember from the life of Christ. The episode comes from Matthew’s Gospel. And it too rates high on the list of almost familiar biblical pieces. It has even contributed a figure of speech to our American vocabulary. This is the story of Jesus walking on the water—walking on the Sea of Galilee to be specific—and then of Peter’s attempt to replicate that feat.

Now for starters, we need to acknowledge that we are pretty skeptical about such tales. Ancient folk may have been ready to believe that the laws of nature could be suspended, but you and I are more inclined to search for a logical explanation. Perhaps the exhausted disciples only thought they saw Jesus. Perhaps they were in shallow water at the time. Perhaps it was some kind of optical illusion. We are anxious to explain away what might otherwise give us a reason to doubt Matthew’s reporting.

Let me suggest that these efforts on our part to recast this story to a twenty-first-century mindset may not be the way to go, that what will be most helpful—and most important—to us is to look more closely at the “why” rather than the “how.” Why does Matthew record this episode? Did Jesus do this to show off? Is it to be seen as a publicity stunt or as a way of proving that Jesus had supernatural powers?

That’s not where Matthew is going. Matthew focuses his attention on the disciples’ precarious state and on the fact that Jesus’ appearance calmed the storm and rescued them from its danger. In many ways, this story’s emphasis is similar to the story depicting Jesus as a good shepherd. His function is to care for and save his people.

The Peter episode brings this to a personal level. It focuses on believing in this one who cares for us—and saves us. Peter’s experience mirrors that of most of us. We find ourselves so often situated between faith and doubt. We want to believe that Jesus has come to help us deal with our personal turmoil, but at the same time we are aware that when we are in the middle of a very trying situation it is difficult to believe that he will show up. So what do we do? Perhaps do what Peter does: we test our hopes and our hunches. We try to act on our faith. Or perhaps we don’t! Perhaps we see all that is going on—the storm, the water—and we are too distracted or too rational to step out in faith. Friends, this is hard work, this walking on water! As one of the trainers who worked with cyclist Lance Armstrong said, “I can tell you over and over to visualize, to lock on to that goal, that performance. But if you can’t lock in, I can’t help you succeed.”

I remember when I was learning to play bridge. My friend kept saying that to play well you just have to keep track of the cards, know what has been played and what is still to be played. At first that seemed like a formidable challenge. How could I possibly remember the comings and goings of fifty-two cards? But as I soon discovered, it all came down to concentration. I got to the point where I could do it, where I could keep track of each trick, count the trump, and plan my finesses. But then I entered a new chapter in my bridge-playing life: bridge as a social convention. Nonstop conversation during the playing of the hand. Political opinions, gossip, movie reviews—did someone slough a heart on that last trick?—pass the crackers and cheese, house repair projects—did you just trump clubs?—the real estate market, the weather report, did you read where—John, you should have led a low diamond; weren’t you paying attention?

It’s all a matter of concentration. In the controlled circumstance, in the quiet, uncluttered setting where all the attention can be focused on the cards—or your golf swing or the language of the legal document or the mathematical calculation or the measuring of recipe ingredients or your personal faith—you can come off looking pretty good. But when the TV is on or the kids are chasing each other or someone is telling a funny story or the wind is blowing in your face or you’re trying to remember the name of the person walking toward you and your nose is running, then it’s a whole different story.

Peter has a lot of faith, sometimes! There is not much subtlety with Peter. Everything is out front, basic, plain and simple. He loves Jesus, believes in Jesus; when Jesus says “come,” he is ready and willing. So just that quickly he is out of the boat and on his way across a short stretch of water to meet Jesus. But thirty seconds later, he checks his whereabouts, he remembers all of the properties of water, he feels the dampness on his toes and the breeze in his face—and that’s it. No more concentration, no more walking on water. O Peter of little faith—you remind me of me.

So what do we say about all of this? Do we dismiss it because the whole walking on water thing seems improbable, if not impossible? Well, if we move beyond our skepticism about supernatural powers and gravity-defying experiences, I think we can find ourselves in the midst of Peter’s extraordinary early morning on the Sea of Galilee. In the world of both faith and doubt, we can perhaps identify with Peter in his moment of certainty when he climbed out of the boat. We have known some of those moments—moments when we felt full of faith, close to God, empowered by the Spirit. Usually they have come as the result of a moving worship experience or a glimpse into someone else’s faith or an opportunity for quiet meditation and reflection. The light bulb goes on, the song swells in our hearts, and we are ready to step out in faith.

But just as often, we are intimidated by the circumstances, afraid of the risk, and overwhelmed by the seeming futility of the moment. Our heads are filled with a distracting cacophony of claims and voices, thoughts, opinions, ideas. We need to learn to concentrate. As embryonic as we may think our faith is, it has power to support us in difficult and trying times. But the daily round offers plenty of factors to break our concentration, to distract us or convince us that there was no basis for faith in the first place. So like many other elements of our identity, with faith you either use it or lose it.

There was a time within the lifetime of many of us when you could claim to be a disciple of Jesus Christ by showing up. Significant percentages of the U.S. population were Christian. You looked and acted just like they did. So therefore you too must be a disciple of Jesus Christ. If that sort of logic was ever true, it is certainly true no longer. In fact it is far harder for this generation to concentrate on our Christian faith because the distracting elements are so numerous and so loud.

How can we hone our ability to concentrate so that we can walk out of here as people of faith? The best answer to that question lies within the way Matthew tells this story. His focus is on the disciples’ situation, on Peter’s cry, “Lord, save me”! He recounts the story as a reminder of God’s constant presence. If Jesus can show up in the middle of a stormy lake, he can—and will—show up anywhere. God’s purpose is to stand with us in the storms of life, in the midst of the forces that threaten to overwhelm us. And the way we discover that salvation, the way we claim that deliverance, is by concentrating on the ever-present nature of Jesus Christ.

So what Peter concentrated on for as long as he could, and what we are called to concentrate on, is Christ’s companionship. We are talking about a relationship—a relationship, it is worth noting, that is as much about risk as it is about safety. I worry a lot about those messages that talk only about settling down in the boat with Jesus, as if the life of faith is lived out on calm seas and in safe harbors. Beware of the “Come to Jesus and life will be good” messages. Expect to be told to get out of the boat.

And that, of course, is why we must learn to concentrate on Jesus and to work on building our relationship with him, on getting to know who this Jesus is and how he operates. That means more than sporting slogans and displaying bumper stickers; it means study and worship and practice. You don’t build a relationship by sleeping with a Bible under your pillow; you do it by investing time and energy, your mind and your heart. As one wise monk once said to me, “You do it by wasting time with Jesus.”

Getting caught up with the popular assumption that all Christ requires is that we be polite, stay out of jail, and be kind to children and animals only serves to break our concentration on the real Jesus, who not only comes into the messy places where we are, but calls us to come out to where he is, in the midst of choppy water. This is about more than showing up on Sundays. We claim his care and respond to his call on the basis of the relationship we establish, a relationship represented by this Table, by the sacramental meal we are about to share. Concentrate. Remember that whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you share in the life and death and resurrection of our Lord. This is the place of meeting. This is the starting point for our relationship. This is where we begin to acknowledge his presence, step out in faith, and begin the journey we call discipleship. This is when and where we are called to get out of the boat—to concentrate—and to start walking in faith. Amen.