A Sermon for Sunday February 25, 2024. Emory Presbyterian Church. Second Sunday in Lent. Mark 14:22-33
Our world is heavy with much sorrow and pain these days. I feel it deeply in my bones as I’m sure many of you do:
the war in Ukraine where the Ukrainian people are valiantly defending their country from their Russian invaders;
the death of Alexei Navalny who courageously opposed the horrific regime of Russia’s dictator, Vladimir Putin;
the war between Israel and the terrorist group Hamas which is decimating the entirety of Gaza;
the fatal bullying of a non-binary teen in Oklahoma;
the Alabama Supreme Court denying women and families access to reproductive treatments;
a presidential candidate who praises Putin, threatens NATO, lies incessantly and constantly makes racist and sexist remarks;
and a political party that is trying to push the nation toward a theocracy.
All of these crises hit hard on a personal level because each of us know someone from Ukraine or someone who is Jewish or Muslim or someone who is gay, non-binary or trans, or couples who struggle to have children or the marginalized and oppressed who are always hurt the most by unjust policies.
Toss in the challenges we face as individuals—whether it be related to health, home, work, school or relationships—and it feels like we are drowning in the raging storms of hate, violence and tyranny. Even as people of faith who believe God’s justice, peace, mercy and love is at work among us, there can still be doubt in our minds as to whether we or humanity will see a future with hope.
The folks at A Sanctified Art, who created this year’s Lenten series, Wandering Heart: Figuring out faith with Peter, affirm this reality of life and faith:
We will inevitably face many emotional, relational, professional, physical, and global dangers. The lyric for this week names the desperation we feel when these dangers are imminent. It also acknowledges all who may be offering this prayer as a desperate plea—all who are in need of rescue. … We recognize the bold courage required to take a leap of faith—or to willingly step into a storm. We see doubt as a normal and important element in fostering a healthy spiritual life. We also see Jesus extending his hand, reminding us that God is with us in every storm.
Let’s take a look at the story from Matthew’s gospel:
After feeding a crowd of more than five thousand with a few fish and loaves of bread, Jesus tells the disciples to take a boat to the other side of the Sea of Galilee while he takes time to pray in solitude. Later that evening, a storm descends upon the disciples and the boat is battered by the wind and the waves. Early the next morning, Jesus walks toward them on the sea, but his friends are terrified, thinking he’s a ghost because they’ve never seen anyone walk on water. Jesus immediately calms their fears, saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” Peter, recognizing its Jesus, then asks his teacher to invite him to walk out on the water.
Jesus says, “Come,” and Peter, without hesitation, gets out of the boat and walks on the water toward Jesus. But a strong wind blows by, nearly knocking Peter over, and the disciple gets scared and starts to sink. As he disappears into the water, Peter yells, “Lord, save me!” Jesus urgently reaches out his hand and catches Peter by the arm, saying, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
As I’ve said before in a sermon on this text, it is quite common to have doubts when we have to confront precarious situations, or drastic, and often unforeseen, changes in life. Doubting is normal and healthy, allowing us to discern the best choice to make when faced with a challenge and to avoid situations that are fraught with extreme danger. Like the Presbyterian theologian, Frederick Buechner, once said: “Doubt is the ants-in-the-pants of faith. They keep it alive and moving.”
So, when Jesus says to Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” he’s not scolding his disciple for having a weak faith. Like a parent comforting a frightened child, Jesus eases Peter’s fear by reminding him that even with a small amount of faith, he doesn’t ever have to worry about God abandoning him. Jesus reminds the disciples and us that we don’t have to be imprisoned by paralyzing fear and doubt that causes us to sink into oblivion. (In fact, three chapters later in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus says that even a mustard seed of faith can accomplish enormous tasks.)
In his biblical commentaries for the Wandering Heart series, Dr. Terrence Lester writes:
Jesus is the Rescuer. … God is near, not simply because we have doubted, but because we have had the faith to get out of the boat and start walking at the command of Jesus. I believe that God honors us and meets us in our lowest places. We can find hope and salvation, cry out to the Lord, as Peter did, and discover that Jesus has more faith in us than we have in ourselves. Peter’s cry, “Lord, save me!” is an acknowledgment of need. What happens next is a beautiful revelation of our Savior’s heart—rescue, not shame and guilt.
Peter’s encounter with Jesus on the water demonstrates not only the disciple’s courage to step out of the boat but also his vulnerability in doing so. Each of us has that human tendency to scoff at someone’s offer of rescue. We say things like: “No, I’m good. I’ll figure out,” or “I don’t want to burden you with my problems. I’ll come up with a solid plan and have it fixed tomorrow,” or “I’m a grown, capable adult. I don’t need rescuing.”
Sure, no one likes to have their hand held or be micro-managed or feel someone hovering over them with worry. But more often than not, we do need help. When we are at our lowest, when we are feeling stressed out, exhausted and overwhelmed, we need a hand. And it’s ok to ask for one. It’s ok to be vulnerable enough to realize that there are times when you can’t make it alone and you need someone to rescue you from drowning in despair. The Rev. Sarah Speed of A Sanctified Art brings that truth into focus with her poem entitled, Rescue Me:
I’d rather not need rescue.
I’d prefer a five-step plan and a quick-fix solution.
I’d prefer stubborn insistence over honest vulnerability,
because rescue requires asking for help.
Rescue names the rising water.
Rescue sees the tired, treading feet.
Rescue feels the swell of the wind and the rain at a slant.
But when the floor falls out and the world is on fire
and my small hands cannot fix the hurt welling in me,
the prayer that slips out is rescue, rescue , rescue me.
That rescuing hand of Christ manifest itself in a variety of ways in our lives:
the unexpected text from a friend asking how you are doing while you’re crying over a lousy situation that has caused a lot of pain;
the family member who gives you a hug and tells you all will be well and offers wisdom and assistance when you are at your wit’s end;
the neighbor who takes you to the hospital when you’re having a health emergency;
the child who pulls you, the parent, outside to play when you are having a bad day and are questioning your worth;
the stranger who picks up you and the groceries you spilled all over the ground when you accidentally tripped and fell;
the church that courageously steps out of its comfort zone to tend to the needs of those who are hurting and stands alongside the disenfranchised who are seeking equality, fairness and dignity for themselves and their communities.
God places people in our lives because we can’t do this life alone. We need one another to navigate the storms and get to the other side. Helping, rescuing hands are always there waiting for us when we are sinking. We are never alone. “May we, says Dr. Lester, “have the courage to step out in faith, trusting in God’s power and ability to rescue—not focusing on our doubts and fears, but on our courage to walk toward God.”
Amen.
georgia preach 
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