Do not be afraid: God is with you, so take heart. God is also in you, for the world, so the world can take heart.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 19 A
Texts: Matthew 14:22-33; Romans 10:5-15

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

They weren’t frightened by the storm this time.

Another time in a Galilean storm, the disciples feared the boat would sink, and woke the sleeping Jesus.

This time they were trying to sail against the strong wind, probably rowing, and that’s hard work. When I used to sail, having the wind with you is like flying. Against the wind, it’s real labor to go where you want.

On a church canoe trip in eighth grade, we overshot the landing about a mile downstream. All we could do was turn into the current and paddle hard. It took forever.

That’s the disciples. Tired, far from shore. And they had to find the strength, after an exhausting few days, to cross the sea against the wind.

That feels like us now.

As Christ we are called to face so many challenges in our world today. Systemic racism, and the world-wide explosion of outrage at this persistent and brutal problem, centered just blocks from us. A chronic lack of affordable housing that’s created, among other things, an encampment in Powderhorn Park next door. A failed economic system that exposes millions to eviction on top of losing their jobs, with much of our federal government indifferent to this crisis. To be Christ today is a tremendous challenge to our creativity, our will, our listening skills, our discipleship. It feels like rowing against the wind.

On top of all that, we’re in a global pandemic that’s shut down nearly everything. We can’t gather together to talk to each other and listen on any of these challenges. We can’t gather to worship and be fed and strengthened by God together, as we’re used to.

It feels like we’re trying to deal with some of the greatest challenges of discipleship most of us have ever faced, with our hands tied behind our backs. We’re in a boat on the sea, the wind raging against us, and many days the boat feels as if it’s going backwards.

But in the midst of their fruitless rowing, Jesus comes and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Jesus is exhausted himself. After the emotional trauma of John’s execution, and days of endless healing and preaching, ending with a wondrous meal for thousands, he finally gets time apart on the mountain by sending the disciples across the sea ahead of him and dismissing the crowds.

But in the dark, early hours before dawn, he leaves his retreat and comes to the disciples. He could have skirted the sea and met them at their destination. But he sees them struggling against the wind and decides to help.

They didn’t have to look for Jesus; he came to them. It’s as Paul says to the Romans today: no one needs to go up to heaven or down to the abyss to find God in Christ. Christ is near to you, on your lips and in your hearts, in the midst of your life, your struggles, Paul says.

But the disciples don’t recognize Jesus.

They think he’s a ghost. They’re terrified. And this is where you and I come in.

God comes to us in our struggle against the wind and says, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid!” And yet we also fail to recognize God’s presence sometimes.

After George Floyd’s death, a couple nights we went to bed not knowing if Mount Olive’s building would be standing in the morning. Seeing it intact was, of course, a blessing. But it also gave me a sense of guilt: why should we be standing when our neighbors are burned down?

Someone said, “God was with us.” Yes, God is and was. But what about our neighbors who lost everything? Is it right to say “God is near you, in your heart and on your lips,” to someone who lives in a tent in Powderhorn? Should we say “Take heart, God is with you, do not be afraid” to someone who lives in abject poverty?

We might feel we’re rowing against the wind trying to be of Christly service to others. Imagine the strength of the wind against you if you’ve lost your job and are losing your home. If you are daily aware that the color of your skin makes you a target, even of government officials.

Peter said, “If it is you, Lord, give us a sign.” That’s what we need, too. To see if God is here. With us. With our neighbors.

And here’s the sign: there are two hands in this story.

The first is Peter’s hand, reaching up as he sinks, saying, “Lord, save me!”

As we row against the wind, as we feel the struggle of daily discipleship, trust this: Peter reaches out his hand and Jesus grabs it. So, ask yourself: when in these months of quarantine, these past years of a seeming collapse of government and society, these days of fear and challenge, when have you reached out and felt God take your hand?

In my spiritual direction group last week our director opened the time of silence with a reflection on Jesus’ words: ask, and you will receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened. (Matt. 7) In the time of silence, rather than focusing on the exhausting struggle against the wind I feel most days, I felt drawn to reflect on where God had come to me in these days. What I had received, and found, and had opened. And I saw many ways God came to me in these hard months saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

This is the grace center of the Gospel today, and Paul’s proclamation, and it is yours: God is near to you, in your heart, on your lips; God is with you, so be of good courage. Even as you row against the wind.

Take time to reflect on these months and see if you can note places God came to you. It will be a blessing. Because when you see that when your hand reached up, you found yourself in the presence of God, you will be able to let go of some of your fear.

The other hand is Jesus’ hand.

He reaches out and grabs Peter. This is how you lovingly witness to God’s presence amidst the chaos of this world, to your neighbors who are rowing against the wind. Be Jesus’ hand.

You were anointed for this in baptism. This is God’s gift for the world, the many ways and times you can be the hand that reaches out and says, “Don’t be afraid; God is here.”

So also reflect on this: When your neighbor asks, seeks, knocks, when are you the gift given? The needed thing that is found? The opened door? When you can be the hand that reaches out to the one sinking, with God’s strength in your hand, you are the presence of God to your neighbor.

In this story, as soon as Jesus gets in the boat, the wind stops.

We’ve lived in this world long enough to know that’s not how God usually works.

Recognizing God’s presence in your life doesn’t mean you aren’t still rowing against the wind. Being God’s presence to others doesn’t mean they have no more wind, either.

But now you know Jesus is in the boat with you, pulling an oar. Now you know you are rowing with your neighbor, too, easing their load.

We all will get to shore one day. But in the meantime, we also don’t need to be afraid.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

God meets us in the wilderness places, providing what we need and equipping us for the journey.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 18 A
Texts: Genesis 32:22-31; Matthew 14:13-21

Grace and peace to you all, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus just wants a little time away.

He’s just received some devastating news about the death of his relative John the Baptist, a man whom Jesus admired greatly. It isn’t necessarily unexpected news: John’s popularity and outspokenness had long irritated the local ruler, Herod, who’d had John imprisoned.

Still, even if John’s death had been a long time coming, this had to have been tough news for Jesus and his disciples – not only because they’d lost an influential teacher of the Gospel, but also because John’s execution served as a reminder. It’s dangerous to be on the wrong side of those in power. It can cost you your life. That’s a lesson Jesus certainly won’t be able to forget.

Although he just wants a little time away to process this news, crowds of people end up following him way out into the wilderness, to “a deserted place,” as the text says. The crowds are hungry to hear Jesus’ healing words, to feel his healing touch. And then, as the day wears on, they’re just plain hungry.

All these people have walked a long way, and now everyone realizes there is no good plan for supper.

No one packed picnics. There are no food trucks. They can’t drop by the nearest falafel joint. Thousands of tired and hungry people gathered way out in the middle of nowhere. How will the mood shift when they realize they’re in for a long night without a meal?

The disciples get nervous and tell Jesus it’s time to send the people away. Let them travel back to their villages and buy their own dinner there. But Jesus feels differently. Sometimes the wilderness is exactly where you’re meant to be. “They don’t need to leave,” he says, “We’ll just feed them here.” “Here? We have nothing here,” the disciples respond, holding up a few loaves of bread and prepared fish. Too meager a meal for even a few, let alone a crowd. That may be so… but not in the hands of Jesus.

Have the disciples already forgotten all those parables that Jesus told about the abundance of life in God?

The kingdom of God is like a tiny seed, Jesus had said, that grows into an untamable shrub. It is like a pinch of yeast that transforms flour into rising dough. It is like a fishing net that is unable to contain the weight of its copious catch. Life in God expands and overflows. In God’s realm, there is enough for everyone!

When Jesus had told the disciples those stories and asked them, “Do you understand what I’m telling you?” they’d said, “Yes, sure, we understand.” So why don’t they know that in the kingdom of God, a few loaves and fishes can become a meal for thousands, with leftovers besides? Why do they see scarcity where God can create plenty?

Perhaps it’s the gnawing hunger in their own bellies. Perhaps it’s the growing anxiety in their own hearts. It can be easy to trust in God’s provision when it’s a story about someone else, when it’s just a metaphor about a farmer or a fisherman. It’s harder to trust in God’s abundance when you’re tired and hungry. It’s harder to trust when you’re far from home and night is falling. It’s harder to trust when you’re coping with news of death and violence and your own future feels uncertain.

Despite the disciples’ fear and doubt, God-in-Christ is right there with them, present with them and providing for them.

Providing for everyone, actually. Jesus makes a way where there seemed to be no way. Somehow, out in that deserted place, with so few provisions, there is healing and food to go around. The text says “all were filled.” Everyone gets what they need.

It’s an encouraging reminder that God can provide even when there seems to be so little, even when the wilderness surrounding you seems so barren.

Actually, today we heard two stories of God’s unexpected provision in the wilderness, because this is also Jacob’s situation in the Genesis reading.

Jacob, too, has traveled a long way and finds himself out in the wilderness as night draws near. He has sent his household caravan ahead of him, so he is empty-handed, without supplies. Jacob is journeying to meet his brother, Esau, the same brother he deceived and stole from, the same brother he’s been avoiding for years. Jacob must have been nervous, wondering how that reunion would go. Facing an uncertain future, Jacob is left alone in the dark, alone with his fear and doubt.

Except, of course, he isn’t really alone; God is there with him in the wilderness.

And, again, God provides. Certainly not in the way Jacob expects, though. God shows up like a force to be reckoned with. Sometimes when God meets you in the wilderness, you will be healed and fed, and sometimes, you will be wrestled to the ground and irreversibly changed – but both can be gifts.

Jacob leaves that mysterious encounter with a limp. But he also leaves with a blessing and a new name. Like the crowds who followed Jesus into the wilderness, Jacob gets what he needs. His future is still uncertain, to be sure; he still has to face the consequences of his past and the realities of his future. But he can be confident that God goes with him into the unknown. He can know that, even in the darkest wilderness, God is present and God provides.

I know for many of you, these last few months have felt like a journey into a barren wilderness.

Perhaps you have faced nights when all you are left with is your exhaustion and longing. The news is so scary, the future is so uncertain, and you’re so unprepared. So much has been taken away that it’s hard not to focus on what’s missing, not to be aware of what you don’t have.

Out in that deserted place, the disciples looked at their situation and told Jesus: “We have nothing here.” But of course, they didn’t have nothing. They had five loaves of bread, two fish, and one savior whose love for them could conquer anything– scarcity, fear, even death.

You have that, too.

No matter what has been taken away from you, no matter what you’ve lost, no matter what you’re hungering for, no matter how uncertain a future you face, your savior is present with you, right now, right where you are. There is no wilderness place, literal or spiritual, that is so remote that God won’t meet you there.

And however little it feels like you have to contribute, it is enough for God to work with.

Like Jesus did with the disciples, putting that food in their hands that they might share it with others, God can work miraculous generosity through your hands, your actions. Like God did with Jacob, transforming him and guiding him that he might become an ancestor of the faithful, God can use your life, your story to tell of God’s goodness and mercy.

So, when you’re out there in the wilderness feeling like you have nothing left, feeling like you have no idea what comes next, trust in God’s abundance. Know that even in the wilderness, it is enough for you, enough for everyone, enough forever.

Amen.