English Standard Version (ESV)
I'll be honest... some days lately, I feel like it's the middle of the night and I'm making painful headway with the wind in my face. Is it just me? I don't know what to make of the coronavirus... I hear stats from every corner of the world, most of them overwhelming, with indicators that I don't understand pointing in different directions. To make it even more challenging, different people point at the same indicators and tell me that they mean different things. Some say it means I shouldn't be worried, while others tell me that it means the end is near. I wear a mask and generally avoid going out in public, as I have for four months, but it's hard to even know who to look to as an authority. I don't know how to make decisions about travel and school and work. I default to the option that involves the least public exposure, but feel like I'm just guessing. I wonder when the wind will shift, will the sailing will become easier, when the dawn will break and I'll be able to better understand the landscape around me. The older I get, the better I understand the disciples -- they were seeing the miracles that Jesus did, but often failing to grasp exactly what it meant and how it impacted their present and their future. When they saw Jesus gliding by on the surface of the sea, they assumed it was a ghost, because who else can walk on water, conquering the elements with ease and grace?
This story is a reminder that when you are out in the middle of the water in the middle of the night with the wind in your face, Jesus comes to you, even though it may seem unlikely, and gets in the boat, and offers a simple message: It is I. Do not be afraid.
Now, the story goes on to tell us that the disciples didn't understand about the miraculous feeding that Jesus had just accomplished. Like them, I don't understand many things, but I know in my heart of hearts that Jesus comes to us in confusing and anxious times and reminds us that we are never alone. I forget this at times, thinking I have to do everything on my own, but Jesus is here, and the boat will reach the distant shore, no matter how intimidating the waves and how much my hand trembles on the tiller. The wind may threaten to obscure any voice, but I don't need to figure out how to call Jesus into the boat -- he comes to us. This is the Gospel -- when we are afraid, God comes to us in Jesus Christ and conquers our deepest fear. Though we feel unworthy, in Christ we are made worthy and receive honor.
I wish this meant that the coronavirus would be gone tomorrow and I could go back to worrying about things that really matter, like who's going to play right field regularly for the Cincinnati Reds. Alas, there seems to still be wind in that storm. But may we all remember that we do not sail these turbulent waters alone, and in the darkest hours of the night, we have no need to fear, for Emmanuel, God with us, comes near and abides with us.
