SCRIPTURE Common English Bible (CEB)
Right
then, Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go ahead to the other side
of the lake while he dismissed the crowds. When he sent them away, he went
up onto a mountain by himself to pray. Evening came and he was alone. Meanwhile,
the boat, fighting a strong headwind, was being battered by the waves and was
already far away from land.
Very
early in the morning he came to his disciples, walking on the lake. When the
disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified and said, “It’s a
ghost!” They were so frightened they screamed. Just then Jesus spoke to
them, “Be encouraged! It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”
Peter
replied, “Lord, if it’s you, order me to come to you on the water.” And
Jesus said, “Come.”
Then
Peter got out of the boat and was walking on the water toward Jesus. But when
Peter saw the strong wind, he became frightened. As he began to sink, he
shouted, “Lord, rescue me!”
Jesus
immediately reached out and grabbed him, saying, “You man of weak faith! Why
did you begin to have doubts?” When they got into the boat, the wind settled
down. Then those in the boat worshiped Jesus and said, “You must be God’s Son!”
SERMON
Like
sunsets after a fire, a dirty haze hung in the air over the Sea of Galilee. A
periodic sound, like distant thunder, registered faintly, but without the
narrative arc of an increasing and decreasing passing storm. Instead, there
was an unpredictable regularity of the sound and its subsequent shake. So
subtle it was, that upon hearing it again, Luke’s question came like an
after-thought, to our English speaking, Hasidic taxi-driver. “Those are the
bombs from the Syrian Civil War,” he responded seemingly equally as
undisturbed, as if he had been sitting sheltered through the storm, so long,
that it no longer jostled his countenance. Meanwhile, Luke and I attempted to
contain our shock. Here we were, Christian Pilgrims in the Holy Land, at the
Sea of Galilee, and the waftings of war were carried on the wind.
Once
out of the car, we both started talking at once. I had never been so close to
war, as to see its residue or hear its sounds, and of course, it made me think
of my own privilege of being born far away, and being just a traveler with a
U.S. Passport, on the other side of the hill.
Just
over the hill, like a moraine surrounding a lake, the Golan Heights set apart
the Sea and bordered us from the fighting. Just over the hill, was a “multi-sided
armed conflict fought between the Ba'athist Syrian Arab Republic led by President
Assad, along with domestic and foreign allies, and various domestic and foreign
forces opposing both the Syrian government and each other in varying
combinations[1].” Just over the hill, was where, “International
organizations had accused virtually all sides involved, including the Syrian
government, ISIL, opposition rebel groups, and the U.S.-led coalition of severe
human rights violations and of massacres[2],” such as the Syrian government, maming, torturing and
systematically killing 11,000 detainees. Just over the hill, “ISIS forces had
been accused by the UN of using public executions, amputations, and lashings in
a campaign to instill fear.” Just over the hill, 470,000 were killed and were
1.9 million wounded by 2016. Just over the hill, lack of sanitation and
crumbling living conditions had brought forth rare diseases which affected
primarily children. Just over the hill, “many cities were engulfed in a wave of
crime, of theft, rape, and kidnappings, as fighting caused the disintegration
of much of the civilian state, and many police stations stopped functioning[3].” Just over the hill, the conflict caused a major refugee
crisis, where many were fleeing with simply the clothes on their back. 13.5
million Syrians required humanitarian assistance, of which more than 6 million
were internally displaced within Syria, and around 5 million were refugees
outside of Syria, and by that point the U.S., our home country, had stop
accepting them, but here were were, American Christian tourists, just over the
hill.
I
wanted to go. It seemed unfair to be on this side with the lake and not the
other. But I didn’t go. I didn’t know what I could do, and if I would just be
in the way, but maybe those were excuses. So instead, we ate lunch at St. Peter’s
Restaurant, next to bus groups and their head counts of - who wanted chicken,
and who wanted vegetables. And by our doing so, after bellies full of buffet,
we were allowed to use the beach of the Sea of Galilee.
The
driver had told us too, that on occasion bombs would gO off their trajectory
and fall into the far side of the Sea. We were far enough away that we were safe,
but close enough that we couldn’t ignore the increased haze, or the more
constant rumbling sound, or the irony, that this was the place Jesus walked on
water, and calmed the storm.
Maybe
it wasn’t irony. Maybe this fought-over land was exactly where Jesus intended
to bring peace. Maybe he too prayed on the opposite hillside, while hearing the
storm a distance off. Maybe he too felt the want to go to the place of the
storm, to try to help his friends. Maybe this was just the place from which he
needed to pluck Peter up from the his doubts, but swimming in the sea, amidst
the storm of war, it was hard not to have that sinking feeling.
I
note that Peter went out to walk on water, while the storm was still ranging.
It was the strong wind that frightened him. Perhaps, it was a loud bomb from the
Golan Heights - I too, went out in the water looking for Jesus, and once in it I
too prayed for the Lord’s rescue, for peace to come and calm the bombs and turn
the sky clear and quiet. But while I was there, and still today, the storm
continues.
We
packed up and left the beach early; it was too hard to swim and enjoy, knowing
what was just over the hill. Instead, we sat in the dusty parking lot and
waited in the shade, talking. It was a lot to process, and we had not even seen
the war, just the hill. It made us wonder where Jesus was calming the storm; why wasn’t it now.
But
I note, in the scripture, the calm didn’t happen until Jesus was in the boat.
He walked through the waves, and the wind, and the war, with Peter. He didn’t
just show up, and all became placid. Jesus reached out and grabbed Peter, and
asked about his doubts, and reminded him of his faith. Maybe, in small measure,
sitting on that curb, with a friend in ministry, talking about our faith and
our doubts, was Jesus reaching out his hand. Maybe Jesus was there with us, in
that storm of war. Maybe likewise, sharing this story with you today is the
same, for the storms in your own lives, and the war in Syria. Maybe Jesus is
reminding us that our faith is that which can weather the storm, and he is
there to pluck us up, when we are discouraged and drowning, and people are
dying. Maybe Jesus is next to us, in the pew, and in the pulpit, and just over
the hill. Reminding us that he is there, reaching down and grabbing us, and lifting us onto
the water with him, despite the waves, until someday, he will climb into the
boat, and the wind shall become calm.
[2] Hubbard, Anne Barnard, Ben; Fisher, Ian (15 April 2017). "As Atrocities Mount in Syria, Justice Seems Out of
Reach". The New York Times.