A Homily for the 9th Sunday after Pentecost, the passage from Matthew 14:22-34 in which Christ and Peter walk on the water.
Glory to Jesus Christ!
In today’s Gospel reading, we contemplate a story that is more about the soul than it is about the waves of the sea. We look upon the disciples – those trembling men in the boat – and we see our own lives reflected in their fear. But first, let’s turn to our Lord’s actions.
Solitude in the Midnight Hours
Behold Christ, who sends the multitudes away and ascends the mountain alone. Why does He do this? Because he seeks stillness with His heavenly Father – a silence which only comes about with intentionality. What I mean is that deep silence in prayer does not come about accidentally, but we must pursue it eagerly.
Our Lord goes to be with the Father. Of course, Jesus is God and God is self-sufficient. He doesn’t need prayer like we do. But here He acts as our archetype. He shows us that pure prayer requires a withdrawal from the clamor of human conversation and marketplaces. In our time, that might also include a withdrawal from the enchantment of algorithms and glowing screens.
Our Lord prays into the “fourth watch of the night,” which refers to that dark hour between 3-6 AM. Let’s ponder that for a moment. He dismissed the crowds near sunset, and then ascended the mountain and prayed until it was almost sunrise.
Through His example, our Lord tells us that prayer is not to be brief or superficial. It is to be persistent. If you ever speak to someone who has prayed through the night like this (often monastics), you’ll find that their midnight hours were not filled with ecstasy and glowing lights.
Instead, they wrestled with thoughts, with demons, with weariness, and with more thoughts. One might say they fail far more than they pray. But God does not look at things that way. Instead, as St. Paul reminds us, “but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope” (Rom. 5:3-4).
Imitating our Lord, many monastics and pious laity have wrestled with the midnight stillness to hear the occasional, faint whisper of the Holy Spirit fill their souls with hope. In doing so, they gained great faith, perseverance, and character. St. James also writes, “that the trying of your faith worketh patience” (Jam. 1:3). When this spiritual fortitude is built inside the soul, it is not prone to wavering with every wind of the world. St. James, again, tells us “for he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind.” (Jam. 1:6).
Fear in the Storm
This image of a wave driven and tossed by the wind brings us to the next part of this morning’s passage from Matthew: the disciples whose hearts quivered with fear in the dark storm.
They are tossed by a contrary wind. This wind symbolically represents the same contrary forces that oppose the Kingdom of Heaven in our daily lives. They are so blinded by the storm that when they see their beloved Lord walking upon the water, they cry out in terror, “It’s a ghost!”
Why do they fail to recognize their Savior? The Holy Scriptures give us the key: it is because of the night and their fear. Night is the symbol of spiritual ignorance; fear is the symptom of a lack of faith. When ignorance and weak faith combine with the storms of this life, we live in fear. Difficulties arise, and we begin to question God: what’s going to happen to me? Why does God allow bad things to happen in my life? Where is God in my suffering?
We are shrouded in the darkness of our own limited understanding, and our hearts are paralyzed, unable to recognize the face of Christ. When He appears, we mistake his quiet presence for a phantom because we have allowed the blindness of our own making to dim our vision.
But it’s not all bleak and hopeless. Look at the beauty of Peter’s response! He does not ask to be filled with God’s power; he does not say, “Lord, command me to walk on water!” He isn’t seeking something heroic or impressive. Instead, he cries out: “Lord, if it is Thee, bid me to come to Thee on the water.”
This is what it looks like to have the faith of a child. Peter’s desire is not for power over the sea, but for proximity to the Beloved. He is saying, “The harder this storm rocks me, the closer I want to be to You, my Lord.” It is an expression of love – a holy yearning to be in the presence of God, even if that presence requires us to leave all the fragile ways we used to find security and safety.
And so, Christ gives the command: “Come.”
Leaving Worldly Security Behind
In that moment, Peter does something courageous. He leaves his last scrap of worldly security – that little boat he was in. While it was powerless to save any of them, it was familiar and comfortable. And that is what we often crave more than eternal safety. To step out onto the water is to abandon every earthly guarantee. It is a leap into the unknown – armed with nothing except trust.
Such a feat would not be impressive for a child when running to his mother while he is scared. But for us who have learned to cling to the shadows of worldly security, it is a huge step of faith.
What happens next? Peter walks on the water toward our Lord, but then begins to sink. Why? Because he saw that the wind was boisterous. He allowed his gaze to drift from the Face of Christ to the terror of the storm. The moment he allowed himself be caught up in the scariness of the storm, his faith withered. His fear overcame his faith. We once again recall the words of St. James about faith, “for he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind.” Perhaps the Apostle James had this story in mind when he wrote those words.
Yet, even in Peter’s sinking, there is victory! He does not give up. He cries out, “Lord, save me!” This is the cry of the soul that knows it is loved. He doesn’t give up in despair or self-pity. Instead, while his faith wavered, it was not obliterated. He knew deep down that God loved him and would not abandon him to die in the storm.
And what is our Lord’s response? He stretches out His hand immediately and saves Peter from drowning. But notice the words He speaks: “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” These are not the words of an angry God, but of a loving parent who is asking, “O my little child whom I love, did you really think I would let you die in this storm?”
In a prior story in Matthew’s Gospel, Christ rebukes the storm. Here, He does not scold the boisterous wind or the towering waves. The storm plays a neutral role. It is our lack of faith that makes the storm scary.
In that way, the storms of life act as a mirror, showing us what is really inside of us. It is easy to feel spiritual and holy when everything is going our way. But when storms arise, they reveal our interior state. Our lack of trust in God’s love and providence.
The storm is not our enemy. Instead, the enemy is within; it is our lack of faith and our fear. It is our attachment to the comforts of this world and our sins that blind us to the loving face of Christ in the storm. When we believe that God will take care of us no matter how things turn out, the wind loses its power to push us over, and the waves cannot crush us.
Today, as we leave this holy place and return to our storms, let’s not pray for the wind to cease. Instead, we should pray for God to fill us with the child-like faith and love that keeps our eyes fixed upon Christ. When we realize the insufficiency of the boat that represents all our best laid plans and strength, we must have the courage to step out into the water with faith.
And when you feel yourself sinking under the weight of the hardships, suffering, and sins of life, you must not let your heart be troubled. Look up! Reach out to Him who is reaching out to you. Enter into the quiet place of prayerful contemplation and find that God loves you and is with you, even in the terror of your storms.
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Featured image comes from an Armenian illuminated manuscript from the 1300s.