Presence in the Dark

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
visiting St. Thomas' Episcopal Church, Springdale, Arkansas
August 10, 2008; 13th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 14, Year A
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 14:22-33) -- Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, "It is a ghost!" And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."
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From the earliest days, the Church has spoken of Jesus as God’s concrete, particular presence in the world – “God-with-us”. The disciples experienced the very real presence of God in the person and personality of Jesus who lived and died, and yet death could not hold him. They knew God-with-us even through the horror of death and beyond. That same presence continued with them.

But it takes confident eyes, eyes of faith, to see that Divine Presence everywhere. Especially in the threatening times; times of chaos and fear. That’s the situation of Peter and the disciples. The storm of life surrounds them and they are overwhelmed by menacing powers greater than they can cope with. You’ve been there, haven’t you? Maybe some of you are in that deep and heaving water right now. You are rowing as hard as you can to stay afloat, but there seems no escape from the threat and the darkness.

I’m glad Matthew includes a little note about the time. This boat battering begins “when evening came,” or more literally at twilight. And it continues all night. Maybe you’ve had nights like that. I sure have. And it gets particularly desperate in the wee hours. The New Revised Standard Version of the Bible translates it “early in the morning,” but literally the Greek reads “in the fourth watch.” The fourth watch begins at 3:00 a.m. That’s the time when sleep escapes and your eyes betray you. When your imagination can create the worst possible fears. Sailors say it is the time of night when the strange things happen. It’s when you see things that aren’t there; or when you see things that are there, but they look like something else; when even the familiar and comfortable can look like something fearful and threatening.

It is in the fourth watch of the night that the disciples become aware of the Presence. “It is a ghost!” they cry. But then they hear another Voice, deep and familiar, calm, within and above the tumult. “Take heart; it’s me; don’t be afraid.”

Here’s the issue. Which is more real, the storm or the Divine Presence? What will we focus on, God-with-us or the threatening waves? Peter is every one of us. A faithful disciple but a vulnerable one, now overwhelmed by circumstances. Doubting – “Lord, if it is you...”; yet risking – “...command me to come to you on the water.” And as long as his focus is on the Divine Presence, he can rise above the chaos and threat. But as soon as his focus returns to the storm, his fear begins to sink him again. And when the disciples allow Jesus to enter their boat, the very real presence of God with and among them, the wind ceases. I wonder if the sea really calmed? Or did it just lose its fearful edge when God’s presence became centered in them.

On a cold day in 1942, inside a Nazi concentration camp, a lone young boy looks beyond the barbed wire and sees a young girl pass by. She too, is moved by his presence. In an effort to give expression to her feelings, she throws a red apple over the fence – a sign of life, hope, and love. The young boy bends over, picks up the apple. A ray of light has pierced his darkness.

The following day, thinking he is crazy for even entertaining the notion of seeing this young girl again, he looks out beyond the fence, hoping. On the other side of the barbed wire, the young girl yearns to see again this tragic figure who moves her so. She comes prepared with apple in hand. Despite another day of wintry blizzards and chilling air, two hearts are warmed once again as the apple passes over the barbed wire. The scene is repeated for several days. The two young spirits on opposite sides of the fence look forward to seeing each other, if only for a moment and if only to exchange a few words. The interaction is always accompanied by an exchange of inexplicably heartening feelings.

At the last of these momentary meetings, the young boy greets his sweet friend with a frown and says, “Tomorrow, don’t bring me an apple, I will not be here. They are sending me to another camp.” The young boy walks away, too heartbroken to look back.

From that day forward, the calming image of the sweet girl would appear to him in moments of anguish. Her eyes, her words, her thoughtfulness, her red apple, all were a recurring vision that would break his nighttime sweats. His family died in the war. The life he had known had all but vanished, but this one memory remained alive and gave him hope.

In 1957 in the United States, two adults, both immigrants, are set up on a blind date. “And where were you during the war?” inquires the woman.

“I was in a concentration camp in Germany,” the man replies.

“I remember I used to throw apples over the fence to a boy who was in a concentration camp,” she recalls.

With a feeling of shock, the man speaks. “And did that boy say to you one day, ‘Don’t bring an apple anymore because I am being sent to another camp’?” “Why, yes,” she responds, “but how could you possibly know that?”

He looks into her eyes and says, “I was that young boy.”

There is a brief silence, and then he continues, “I was separated from you then, and I don’t ever want to be without you again. Will you marry me?” They embrace one another as she says, “Yes.”

On Valentine’s Day 1996, on a national telecast of the ‘Oprah Winfrey’ show, this same man affirmed his enduring love to his wife of forty years.

(Yitta Halberstam & Judith Leventhal, Small Miracles, p. 129f)

In the confining prisons of your life, who is throwing the life-bearing apple for you? In your chaotic and threatening storms, can you see the ghostlike apparition which in reality is the Divine Presence, God-with-us?

Which reality captures your focus? The barbed wire and searchlights, the guards and death? Or the fruit and seed of compassion and love? At the hour of the fourth watch, what fills your imagination? The smallness of your boat, the vastness of the sea; the dark overwhelming waves reaching from below? Or the calm Presence that walks above it all, extending a gentle hand to save? Which reality do we see? It can be the difference between drowning and walking on water.


Let us pray.

In your hands we rest
In the cup of whose hands sailed an ark
Rudderless, without mast.

In your hands we rest
Who was to make of the aimless wandering of the Ark
A new beginning for the world.

In your hands we rest
Ready and content this day.
Amen.
(a prayer by my former teacher, Alan Jones)