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SCRIPTURE REFLECTION
Link to the Sunday Readings
Meanwhile, the boat, already a few miles offshore,
was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. Shortly before dawn, Jesus came towards them, walking on the sea. When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified.
"It is a ghost," they said, crying out in fear.
Immediately, Jesus spoke to them, "Take courage-- it is I. Do not be afraid."
Peter said,
"Lord, if it is you, tell me to come to you on the water.
Jesus said, "Come."
Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened; beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!"
Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter, and said to him, "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?"
Mt 14:22-33
This is always a difficult text for me to reflect on because it so strongly reminds me of one of my own "defining narratives," a story that I have told and re-told countless times in poetry and prose and that I will no doubt continue to tell. The bare details -- my apologies if you have read about this before-- are that I attempted to walk on water (Lac Leman, Geneva, to be precise) when I was six years old, in response to a dare; fortunately, my near death experience was interrupted by a stranger's cane and, though I couldn't understand French, the man's words of urgency shattered my growing sense of euphoria, summoning me back to the land of the living as my small hands reached out from the water to grasp his wooden walking stick. This is not exactly a story of faith as I suspect my motivation was simply to respond to the dare, especially as my older sister had already demonstrated that she could walk on water; if she could, then I could, but I was unaware that she was balancing on a narrow concrete ledge, under the pier. Accordingly, I dared and sank.
But why my obsession with a story that took place nearly seven decades ago? Why do I always respond to Matthew 14:22-33 from my own childhood experience? Perhaps it's because I identify with St. Peter's impulsiveness and can see him placing one foot in front of the other on the water's surface, as I did. Perhaps it's because I empathize with his terror upon sinking -- in my case, not a terror of drowning, but of being bitten by imaginary crabs or sharks or being sucked into the distant Jet d'Eau. Perhaps it's because I'm intrigued by St. Peter's ability to say, "Lord, save me!" when I remember swallowing so much water that I couldn't even scream, "Help!"
Then, again, is the fact that we were both "saved" -- St. Peter by Jesus himself and I by a mysterious stranger who disappeared before the ambulance arrived and before anyone could thank him. Was he a WWII vet, wounded in combat, or some angelic figure? Or is it remotely possible that the very hands that reached out to save St. Peter were the same hands that reached out to me? Even though my six year old self never thought to pray, my adult self constantly relives the experience as a moment of divine intervention: What happened that summer afternoon next to a Swiss boat jetty has become for me a touchstone moment in which I see and feel the saving power of God. Over the years, my "walking on water" narrative has given me the courage to step out into the unknown, to take leaps of faith, and to expect miraculous outcomes-- and, so far, I have been unsinkable!
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