“Courage!  I Am!  Don’t Be Afraid!”
a sermon by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett
preached at Pleasantville UCC, August 29, 2010
Matthew 14:22-33
“At midnight he came to his disciples, walking on the water.  And when they saw him walking on the water, they were terrified and said, ‘It’s a ghost!’  And they screamed in fear.  But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said,
‘Courage! I am! Don’t be afraid!’”
(Matthew 14:27, as translated by Frederick Dale Bruner[1])

When our son, Sam, was a little boy his best friend was named, Beth.  Beth and Sam were born two months apart and for the first four years of their lives the two of them were practically inseparable.  Both of our families lived on the campus of Haverford College.  Beth’s Daddy and Sam’s Daddy were both professors at the College; Beth’s mommy and Sam’s mommy were very good friends.  So our two families spent many happy hours raising our babies together. 

Beth’s Daddy was a wonderful storyteller.  And on those occasions when our little ones had sleepovers, he would tell them wonderful bedtime stories that he would make up on the spot.  All of his stories were good ones, but the stories they liked to hear him tell the most were the stories of “The Things That Aren’t There.”  Sam and Beth and Beth’s little brother Robert would all crawl into their sleeping bags, nestled together on the living room floor, and prepare to hear the world’s scariest stories – the stories of “The Things That Aren’t There.”  Sam can’t recall the details of those stories – only that they were, indeed, scary and that Mr. Schaffer had a way of telling them that made them shiver with delight.

When we’re little, it’s ‘The Things that Aren’t There’ that can scare us the most.  The things we can’t see.  It’s the monster under the bed that, even though our parents dutifully check, will still reach out and grab our ankles if we dangle our feet over the side.  It’s the thing in the closet that comes out when they leave the room and turn out the light.  When we’re little, it’s the darkness that can be the hardest to bear, because in the darkness our mind’s wild imagination persuades us that the things that aren’t there are lurking around every corner. 

When we are children, we do not know enough of the world to know that ‘the things that aren’t there’ are far from the things that should worry us.  It’s when we become adults that we know: it’s the things that are there that are truly dangerous. 

When we become adults, it’s the things that are there that frighten us the most.  It’s the tragedies that befall us; the illness that overtakes us; it’s the folly of our fellow man and the capriciousness of the world. 

Sometimes it’s the things in others that are the greatest danger to us.  And sometimes it’s the things in ourselves that we should be most worried about.  Wherever the danger lies, there is plenty of it – and when we are adults we realize that we hardly need frighten ourselves with ‘the things that aren’t there’ because the things that are there are plenty frightening as it is.

It was midnight on a storm-tossed sea when Jesus came across the water to his disciples who were rowing against the wind and caught terrified in a boat.  Actually, depending on which translation you read, the situation was more or less dire.  It was midnight.  It was evening.  It was ‘the fourth watch’ – which is to say – it was the darkest part of the night just before dawn.  Whatever time it was, exactly, the disciples had been in the midst of the forces of chaos for a long time.  They were exhausted and terrified and running out of steam – physically and spiritually.  They were in genuine danger.  They were afraid of everything – the things that weren’t there and the things that were.  They were afraid of the storm itself, and they were afraid when they saw Jesus coming to rescue them – thinking that he was a ghost.  Their fear and their exhaustion had warped their ability to rightly perceive and everything seemed like a danger to them.

And in this darkest hour, Jesus comes to them – walking across the water – bringing a Word to strengthen them.  In the midst of their time of trial Jesus says: “Courage!  I am!  Don’t Be Afraid!”  That’s the literal translation of his words, and the phrase, “I am” caught my attention.

There’s another time, scripturally, when we hear something similar to these words of reassurance, “I am.”  When Moses is shepherding his father-in-law’s flocks on Mt. Horeb he comes upon a bush that is burning but not consumed by the flames.  And God calls out to Moses from the midst of the bush and tells him that he is the one God has chosen to lead God’s people out of slavery.  After Moses receives these marching orders from God, he asks the bush, ‘who should I say sent me?’  And God says, “I-AM-WHO-I-AM.  Tell the People of Israel, 'I-AM sent me to you.’”[2]

It’s the great “I AM” that Jesus refers to when he speaks words of reassurance to his disciples.  It’s the ONE THAT WAS AND IS AND SHALL ALWAYS BE, WORLD WITHOUT END – it’s that One that we need to know is with us when we’ve come to the end of our rope.

Jesus speaks words of reassurance to strengthen his disciples’ faith – and his words address our most basic fears when we are caught in storms of adversity and pain and unresolving chaos: his words address our fear-filled questions: Where is God?  Does God even exist?  Does God even care about me?  What’s the use of praying anyway?  Nothing will ever change?  Why do we do we think it will?  To those fears; to those words of darkness; to those undermining threats to our spiritual wholeness, Jesus comes across storm-tossed waters with a word for his disciples: Courage!  I am!  Don’t Be Afraid!

Jesus speaks to his disciples to cast out fear and doubt and despair.  He speaks a Word to counter the things that threatened to undo us when the darkness and the waves and the terror threaten to drown us. 

When we are buffeted by challenging times; when our trials seem to go on indefinitely; when there seems to be no relief in sight; when we are tempted to believe that God does not hear our prayers or that God does not care or that, perhaps, we are unworthy of God’s assistance, Jesus comes across the waters, arms reaching out for us, with a Word of hope and comfort: do not be afraid; do not be in doubt; do not despair – I am coming to you; I am on my way; Behold, I am already here!

I once learned from a very old and very wise teacher of pastors that if you want to learn how to live as a Christian, go to the hospital and watch a Saint die.  Yesterday, we celebrated the life of one of the Saints: our beloved brother Norman Christy.  It was a service of great meaning and beauty and very moving for all who were there.

We learned from his family that, in his time of trial, Norman said over and over again: “I want to go and be with Jesus.  I want to go and be with Jesus.”

When Jesus comes to his disciples across the water, Peter is so strengthened by the sight of his Lord that the things which seemed impossible to him before no longer threaten to overwhelm him.  ‘Lord, just say the word and I will come to you,’ Peter says.  And Jesus says, “Come.”  It is only when Peter takes his eye off of Jesus and starts focusing on all the chaos swirling around him that he loses his footing.

To lose our faith and our footing when we are tossed and driven by the restless seas of life is a common experience for Christ’s disciples.  It always has been.  We are not alone.  We are not unusual.  We are not abnormal.  And we are not beyond redemption if we are going through a period of doubt; if we are having trouble praying; or if we are experiencing a time of spiritual drought.

But what the scriptures remind us in countless and beautiful ways is that, if we keep our eyes focused upon our Savior; if we trust in his words and his reassuring promises, and if we come to him in our hearts when he calls out to us, then we will be given power to do more than we could ask or imagine.

Courage!  I Am!  Don’t Be Afraid!

Jesus, Savior, pilot me
Over life’s tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from Thee;
Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

Amen.