The Rev. Dr. Brandon Perrine
Proper 14 A
Matthew 14:22-33
August 9, 2026
Immediately [Jesus] made the disciples get into a 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.
~o~
A Christian and an atheist were debating the existence of God. The Christian said, “If God isn’t real, how do you explain walking on water? Can you walk on water like Jesus?” The atheist replied without skipping a beat, “I can.” The Christian responded, “Yeah right, show me a video of you walking on water.” To which the atheist said, “I don’t need to. You just need to have faith that I did.”1
The atheist isn’t actually wrong, are they? A lot of Christians cite the miracle stories in scripture as proof positive that Jesus was who he said he was and did what scripture said he did. But there’s not a single person alive that actually saw it happen. As if imagining this very scenario, the Jesus of John’s gospel says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”2 So a lot of Christians accept the miracle stories of the Bible on face value—as if accepting them as historical truth is some kind of attestation to faith.
But if we believe, as that same scripture suggests, that humans are endowed by God with brains and the ability for critical thinking, the notion we’re supposed to accept these kinds of stories as historically true just doesn’t make sense. We know that humans cannot walk on water. Our body mass is too large and the force of gravity pulling us down vastly overpowers the surface tension of water causing us to sink. Is this story meant to challenge the laws of physics or is it challenging something else? Let’s see.
After the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus sends his disciples across the Sea of Galilee in a boat while he takes some much-needed time away to clear his head. The 8-mile trip should have taken the disciples about 6 hours by sail boat. Surrounded by hills and mountains, the relatively small freshwater lake is prone to unpredictable weather—especially winds. According to the story, a few hours in, the disciples found themselves on dangerously choppy waters. That’s when they saw Jesus walking toward them on the surface of the sea.
Despite his reassurances, Peter needed proof that it was Jesus. He said, “Master, if it really is you, call me out of the boat to join you on the water.” In case it’s never been made clear to you, it’s never a particularly good idea to test God—or Jesus, for that matter. “C’mon,” Jesus replied. So Peter got out of the boat to walk to Jesus, but he started to sink. Who could have predicted that?! The story tells us that Jesus rescued Peter and once they were both safe in the boat, the wind died down and the disciples proclaimed that Jesus surely was the son of God.
Typically, preachers interpret this story as a call to faith. If we follow Jesus and trust enough, then anything is possible. Peter, we’re told, took his eyes off Jesus, doubted, and sank. The implication is hard to miss: don’t be like Peter.
This morning, I would counter this interpretation. Recklessness is not faith. Foolhardiness is not courage. Testing God is not wise. Jumping overboard to meet Jesus on the water is not prudent. And fear isn’t the enemy. Fear has kept our ancestors alive for millennia. It warns us of danger. It tells us to be careful. The question isn’t whether we’ll be afraid. The question is what we’ll do with our fear. Will it imprison us? Will it make us reckless? Or will it lead us to reach for one another—and for the One who keeps reaching toward us?
Our response to fear has something to do with how we define faith. Faith isn’t about ignoring the storm. Faith isn’t about believing impossible things. And it certainly isn’t convincing ourselves that we can walk on water. Faith, I think, is about how we respond when storms inevitably come.
Some people panic. We see that in the disciples. And we see it in the parallel story of Jesus calming the storm. The sea was churning, the waves were crashing, the wind was whipping, and the disciples were understandably afraid. When storms come, some people panic. Some people freeze up, unable to do anything to save themselves or others. Some people just keep doing what they’re doing—rowing or manning the sails—hoping beyond hope that if they just keep going, it’ll get better on its own. Some people demand certainty before they’ll do anything— Peter! They need to know that the storm is really as bad as it seems and that there’s a viable solution to their predicament. Some people cry out for help. We’ve all done at least one of those things. Some of us have done all of them, depending on the storm. None of those responses make the people enduring the storm failures. They make us human.
In this story, everything starts to get better when Peter finally cries out, “Lord, save me.” It’s the wisest thing Peter does. He quits trying to prove himself. He stops testing Jesus. He admits he can’t do it alone. And immediately Jesus reaches out his hand.
Let’s face it, storms are going to come. Maybe you’re in the midst of one. Or maybe you’ve just come through one of your own. Or maybe the clouds are gathering against the horizon right now. Storms are going to come. And while our culture tells us that real strength is handling everything on our own, this story, and the gospel itself, suggest something different.
Real faith isn’t refusing to be afraid. It’s refusing to let fear have the final word.
Real faith isn’t never starting to sink. It’s knowing that when we do—and we all do—we can and should still cry out for help.
Sometimes it’ll feel like the very hand of God meeting our outstretched hand. Sometimes it will be a spouse, a friend, a therapist, a neighbor, a church member, or a stranger whose kindness keeps us afloat. That’s grace. And this story reminds us that we need more of it—for ourselves and for others.
Friends, the storms will come. They always do. And we don’t get to choose when the winds rise or the waves crash. But we do get to choose how we respond. We can pretend it’s not happening or that we’re invincible. We can convince ourselves to soldier on or handle everything alone. Or we can reach out—to God, to one another, to the grace that keeps meeting us in the middle of all life’s storms. Perhaps that is what faith has looked like all along.
May it be so with us. Amen.
1“Christian to an Atheist,” Upjoke.com: https://upjoke.com/walk-on-water-jokes.
2John 20:29, NRSVUE.
