IN OVER OUR HEADS

A sermon given on Sunday, August 9, 2026

by the Rt. Rev. Alan M. Gates, Bridge Pastor

A couple of weeks ago a young lifeguard’s skilled rescue of a child caught in the California surf made the rounds on the internet.  It brought back a childhood memory of my own.  At the age of six I nearly drowned.  At least, that is how it seemed to me at the time.  I was visiting cousins in Illinois, and we went to the local swimming pool.  I didn’t realize how quickly the depth of the pool fell off, I got in over my head, and I wasn’t much of a swimmer.

I remember realizing the bottom had fallen out from under me; I remember dog-paddling and gasping; I remember the feeling of panic.  And I remember the sense of sheer relief when my older cousin Kim appeared from nowhere to buoy me up and guide me to the ladder at the side of the pool.

It is not a good feeling to be in over our heads.

The ancient Hebrews never did think of water as safe.  They were not a sea-faring people.   Oh sure, the Lord had once led them to the Red Sea and opened a path through which they could escape from slavery in Egypt.  But that was the exception that proved the rule, because a lot of Egyptians drowned in that water!  The sea was formless; it was chaotic; it was unpredictable.  So no, waters were not considered safe – Red Sea deliverance notwithstanding.

Now, the Apostle Peter is a fisherman.  He makes his living hauling nets.  So presumably he has no irrational fear of the water.  Yet in today’s story from Matthew’s Gospel [14:22-23], Peter finds himself in a boat, far from land, battered by the waves.  Seeing Jesus approach across the water, Peter cries out – and Jesus says, “Come.”  So Peter gets out of the boat.  He gets blown around, he gets scared … and he starts to sink.  “Lord, save me!” he cries, and Jesus catches hold.

It is easy to confuse this story with another similar one, in which Jesus is napping in the boat when a storm comes up, and Jesus rebukes the storm and calms the waters.  We think of that story when we hear today’s account, and we imagine the message to be that if we only have sufficient faith, Jesus will guide us through calm and safe waters.  But sorry!  That’s not what happens in this story.  Right?  Here, Jesus calls Peter out of the boat, onto the water, while the storm is still raging.  The wind ceases only later, after Peter and Jesus are back safe in the boat.  In the moment at which he is beckoned out, Peter is over his head, the waves are crashing, the wind is blowing, … and Jesus says, “Come on in, the water’s fine!?”  There is nothing safe about the call Jesus issues to Peter.

Being in over his head is the occasion for Peter to learn that Jesus’ love for him does not depend on Peter’s ability to manage the situation. Peter’s faith is imperfect, but Jesus’ love for him does not depend upon Peter’s imperfect faith.  Peter is rescued from the sea because Jesus is merciful.  This is a lesson in grace and forgiveness – a lesson which will be even more important to Peter when he messes up later on.  The waters of the Sea of Galilee are not safe for Peter, but they do teach him some things about trust.

You and I, as Christians, are People of the Water – people who were once made part of the Body of Christ through the waters of baptism.  Like the Apostle Peter, we wish we could have the assurance that the waters of life are safe for us.  But we don’t have that promise.  Our baptismal waters did not bestow protection, like some kind of vampire-repelling garlic. As people of faith we are not spared from danger, or temptation, or making mistakes.

In fact, sometimes faith calls us into even deeper risk.  Ask Peter.  Ask Christian martyrs across the centuries.  Ask the faithful even now, in places where the practice of one’s faith is dangerous.  Ask those whose faith motivates their service with organizations like Doctors Without Borders, venturing into refugee camps, or emergency rooms, or infectious disease clinics.  Ask those whose faith in a better life for themselves or their children impel them to become migrants, at unimaginable risk and cost.  Or, in a different vein, ask those who sacrifice “illogical” amounts of the security provided by their personal resources to finance the good in which they believe.  No, the waters of the faith voyage are not safe at all.

And they cried out in fear.  But Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’ … [and] he said ‘Come.’

The waters of our Christian journey may not be safe, but they are good.  Passing good.  These waters are good because they make us part of the Church, which is often depicted symbolically as a ship.  Baptism unites us with fellow travelers so that we might weather the storms together.  And that can make all the difference.  You know how it is in a multi-person row boat, right?  It’s a different thing than a one-person kayak.  In that row boat sometimes we row, sometimes we let someone else row because we just don’t have the strength.  We are stronger together than we are apart.  These waters bind us together.

These waters of our Christian journey are good also because in them God bestows the promise of forgiveness and mercy.  When we mess up – which we will because we all do – in our uncertain moments like today’s story of Peter, or even in our worst moments like Peter’s later, flat-out denial of Jesus – moments we wish we could rewind and re-do – even then, we are greeted with an outstretched hand to help us. If you have experienced that, you know what Christ’s grace feels like. Loved, forgiven, accepted back into the “boat” with the rest of the community, and only then sent back to do the work we were given to do in the first place.

Sometimes we are in over our heads for a while. This salvation does not always become evident right away.  If we consider today’s Old Testament reading [Genesis 37:1-4,12-28], Joseph has been thrown into a pit by his murderously jealous brothers.  Part One of his salvation comes when his brother Reuben persuades the others not to kill him.  That was good!  But the full arc of the story of Joseph’s salvation doesn’t come for years.  It is many years before the role which God has in mind – not just for Joseph’s salvation but for the salvation of his whole family, and the reconciliation with his brothers and his fathers – it’s years before this takes place.  Our “rescue” is not always immediately apparent to us.

Right now I imagine that most of us feel “in over our heads.” I know I certainly do.  We are living through times and circumstances that are simply unknown and uncharted.  So many things seem to be at risk: health care access; economic security; climate predictability; how to keep those we love safe; how to keep ourselves safe; how to keep others whom we don’t know but yet do care about safe.  And even in your life together here at St. Philip’s, you are at a moment in your voyage that requires stepping out in faith.  I imagine that things do not seem altogether predictable.

In so many circumstances, we do not know how to respond to the things around us. I find myself sometimes challenged, sometimes determined, and sometimes uncertain.  Maybe you do, too. I wonder: 

Where do things feel risky and uncertain to you? 

What are the worries that keep you awake at night?

Where are you needing to step out, even while it is still stormy? 

What are the things that you are doing to help others, even when it seems an uphill battle? 

And who are the other people in the boat with you, helping out, who can row for a little while when you cannot?

And what do you know about God’s grace for you in the past, that can help you rely upon it now and in the future?

Here we all are, then, in our lives as individuals, in your life as a congregation at St. Philip’s, in our life as a nation – all of us one way or another feeling like Peter in that storm-rocked boat.  It is true: our life is not predictable.  But, by God’s grace, it is good.  We will get through all this – not alone, but together.  Because God’s strength is always greater than mine, always greater than my ability to see the path ahead, and even greater than my heart’s ability to trust.  God is alongside me even when that is not evident. My cousin Kim taught me that in a swimming pool when I was six.  Peter learned that trust in the Sea of Galilee.  So, by God’s grace, may you and I.

As Bishop Barbara Harris often used to say, “The power behind you is greater than the task ahead of you.”  Or to paraphrase for today’s Gospel:  The love beneath you is deeper than the waves around you!

The disciples cried out in fear.  But Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’ … [and] he said ‘Come.’