Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Matthew 14:22-33

I have a friend who loves hearts. She has an entire wall of construction paper hearts in the house she shares with her daughter. Most of her social media posts are pictures of her making heart hands in front of whatever landmark she is visiting. She wears friendship bracelets filled with heart beads. She loves hearts.

Her daughter’s transition to kindergarten was rough, as it can be for kids going to a new school with a new teacher and new classmates. And grown-ups too, I will add. So each morning before school, this friend who loves hearts decided to draw a tiny heart on her daughter’s hand and a tiny heart on her own hand. Whenever her daughter was feeling sad, she was supposed to look at the heart on her own hand and think of her mom, who also had a heart on her hand and know that she wasn’t alone and didn’t need to be afraid because there was someone who loved her. It worked remarkably well and my friend and her daughter continue to do this to this day. And my friend will be the first to admit that nowadays, after two rounds of cancer and a painful divorce, these hearts are a little more for her own sake than for her daughter’s.

Beyond being a symbol of love between a mother and daughter, or that we put on Valentine’s Day cards and tap on social media posts, hearts represent something deep. Heartwood is the older, harder wood at the center of a tree that gives the tree its structure and support. We get to the heart of things when we want to get down to essentials. We are moved in our hearts by beings and things we love, or when that love feels violated. The heart and what it symbolizes is so important that the Tin Man travels to see the Wizard of Oz to receive one so that he can become human.

Jesus’s words to his disciples on that windy, choppy Sea of Galilee – take heart, it is I; don’t be afraid – bring us even deeper into the meaning of the heart.

In Matthew’s telling, the disciples had been battling the waves for hours without Jesus. At least some of their number were experienced fishermen, so they were no strangers to the need to row hard. But they were exhausted, spent, pushed out to sea and still far from the shore. Worn down to the nerve.

So when they saw a figure walking toward them on the waves, of course they were terrified. The sea, this chaotic, uncontrollable, malevolent place in their imagining brought forth something otherworldly from its depths to further torment the disciples.

When confronted with something beyond our control, we also may feel overwhelmed. Afraid. Even if we’re used to confronting it, there does come a time when it all may feel like too much. Serving as a caregiver for someone who isn’t going to get well. Learning to live with a progressive disease. A job search that is taking forever and feeling like it’s never going to bear fruit. Learning how to begin life anew after the death of a loved one. Beyond personal challenges, many of us are keenly aware of malevolent forces that seek to tear families and communities apart, systems and structures that are life-denying in their intentions and actions. Our hearts are troubled as we witness this happening from wherever we find ourselves in these swirling waters.

Into this wind and the waves, into the fearful and troubled hearts of his disciples, Jesus speaks words of comfort and peace. Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.

Take heart can also be translated as “have courage.” Have courage. And “it is I” hearkens back to God’s name for Godself – I AM. Words spoken from a burning bush to Moses. This is God who spoke creation into being, taming the chaotic primordial waters and bringing forth the land, sea, sky and all therein. This is who walks on water, who calms the wind and the waves of the Galilean Sea. Jesus tells his disciples to have courage because God is with them.

These are words for us as well. Whether we are like Peter and feel the need to investigate this bold claim for ourselves, or like the other disciples who stay in the boat and keep on keeping on, these words of assurance and challenge are for us as well. Because these are words spoken directly to our hearts. And, as Karoline Lewis writes, faith means living out of your heart. It means listening deep down inside to that still, small voice – like what Elijah encountered – that deep inner voice that tells us that we know who Jesus is. We recognize him. We know that he is there, in the waves, pulling us up when the waters overwhelm us,  and in the boat, stilling the howling wind, and that he will be there, no matter what we encounter in our lives. That the little faith that we may feel is all we have can grow into something that moves mountains, as we hear later in the Gospel of Matthew. 

In the early days of the pandemic, I was feeling overwhelmed. I shared this with my mentor who said something to me that I have never forgotten. As it felt like uncertainty swirled all around for my family, for my infant, for my congregation, she reminded me of the creation story. That God creates out of chaos, taming the waters, separating them from land, bringing forth a new creation. Her words felt like a way of saying take heart; have good courage. God is at work in the midst of this, inviting us to join her in tending whatever seeds of healing and connection have been planted in the swirling seas, as improbable as it seems.

A new creation happened in the boat on the Sea of Galilee as well. After Jesus pulled Peter up from the waters, they both got into the boat with the other disciples. The wind and the waves ceased. And it was then that the disciples recognized Jesus for who he really was – the Son of God. Emmanuel. God in their midst. This small group of Jesus’s followers became the first community to name this. They became the new community that charted the patterns for all other communities that recognize Christ in their midst. Yes, they often faltered and failed in this, but the sheer graciousness of God’s presence with them and with us has never ceased.

One of the early symbols of the church was a boat or a ship. It represented a safe vessel that carried followers of Jesus through the storms of life to the safe harbor of full presence with God. Think of biblical stories like Noah’s Ark, or the many crossings of the Sea of Galilee in the Gospels. This imagery is still present in logos for some Divinity Schools, ecumenical organizations, the St. Olaf College Chapel Advent wreath, for example. And it’s also present in the architecture of many churches, with the central area where the congregation sits being the “nave” and vaulted ceilings looking like the bottom of a ship. If you will indulge me with a little bit more word nerdery, the Latin root of the word nave means ship.

Friends, look around. We’re all in the boat together. Like the disciples (or fans of the Norwegian World Cup Team), we row across stormy seas together. We experience Christ in our midst through worship, through the bread and wine of communion, through the life-giving waters of baptism, through fellowship and care for one another. This is more than a cruise, of course, so, like the disciples, we’re rowing together toward whatever place of ministry Christ is calling us to. To share Christ’s presence with others who are also experiencing turbulent seas.

Those waves are crashing, that wind is raging for many of us and for many of our neighbors these days. So we journey together. We do this through accompanying our Room 99 guests on their journeys. By providing rent relief to families at Highland Park Middle School and meals at Loaves & Fishes. By building houses with Habitat for Humanity and advocating for affordable supportive housing with Beacon Interfaith Housing Collaborative. By filling backpacks with food for children at Highland Park Elementary. And by being open to the support, care, and relationships with others when we find that our own arms and bodies ache from pushing against relentless waves.

So friends, take heart. Christ is with us. Amen.