There are times when shaking our heads in awe and amazement is the only reasonable response to the stories we read in scripture or hear about on the news or remember as we look back over our own lives. There are times when we can only shake our heads and ask ourselves the question “what could they possibly be thinking?”—or “what could I possibly have been thinking?” John Edwards, in the news story that broke earlier this weekend, gave us the answer to that question when he said, “I started to believe that I was special.” Before we begin pointing fingers, I think it’s helpful to remember that Edwards was correct. He is special. We all are. Every one of us is unique, with particular gifts and strengths, growing edges and weaknesses. We are all special. Where he got into trouble—where we all get into trouble in varying degrees—is in holding a inflated understanding of that specialness—a feeling of being set apart from other people.
Our lections today give us some good examples of how that feeling of specialness can lead us astray. First we hear the story of Elijah’s encounter with the Holy on Mount Horeb. The scene opens with Elijah coming to a cave. The back story is that he has traveled 40 days and 40 nights to get to that cave. His purpose is not to find God but to escape the wrath of Ahab and Jezebel, the rulers of Israel. Elijah fled after a string of miraculous events culminating in a prayer duel with 850 prophets of Baal and Asherah, after which he killed all the prophets, called off the drought he had called on the land some time before, and got out of town. God’s voice comes to Elijah, calling him out of the cave and asking him what he’s doing there at Mount Horeb. Elijah tells God that he is the only righteous person left in Israel—that everyone else has gone over to the worship of Baal. Perhaps Elijah expects comforting words or recognition for his loyalty. What he gets are marching orders. The God who sent angels to nourish Elijah during his long journey, the God who has been with him in every moment, tells Elijah to go back where he came from, to anoint two new kings and to anoint a prophet to replace him. God says that the new kings and prophet will kill the unfaithful, then points out that the 7,000 people who have remained faithful will be spared. Seven thousand faithful people, not one lone righteous prophet. There seems to be a disconnect between Elijah’s and God’s understandings of the situation.
It’s hard to imagine what came into Peter’s mind. It must have seemed like a great idea at the time. There they are. Peter and the other disciples are in a boat that’s been driven out into the sea by the strength of the winds. They have been struggling all night to follow Jesus’ orders to go to the other side. Just before dawn, in the darkest part of the night, they are stuck—stuck in the middle of the sea, apparently unable to go forward and perhaps unwilling to go back. As they struggle against the wind and the water, plagued with exhaustion and all the other demons that come to us in the darkness, they see a figure walking toward them on the water. They see someone or something walking on the water, and they are terrified. That seems like a reasonable response to me. Jesus hears their cries of fear and identifies himself to them. He speaks to reassure and encourage them.
The next logical step would be for the disciples to ask Jesus to come to them, to assist them in some way. But that’s not what happens. Peter calls out to Jesus, saying, “If it’s really you, give me a sign. If it’s really you, command me to walk on water. If it’s really you, I’ll be able to do the impossible, to walk along beside you, to walk just like you.” And Jesus, whose patience with Peter is second only to his patience with me, says “Come on down.” So Peter hops out of the boat and begins walking across the water toward Jesus. Can you imagine how he must feel? Wow! Walking on the water—heading out to be with the Lord. It couldn’t get any better than this! And then it happens. Peter notices just how bad it is out there. He notices the fierceness of the wind, he thinks about what he’s doing, and he begins to sink. In his fear and in his faith, he cries out to Jesus: “Lord, save me!” He is so close to Jesus when the fear strikes that Jesus’ hand immediately reaches out for his, and he is saved.
Where in the world did Peter ever get the idea that walking on water would be a good thing for him to do? Was it simply another of his tests for Jesus? He was always saying, “If you’re the messiah, do this trick or that miracle to show us all.” Did he have some notion that following Jesus means doing exactly as he does? Or did he have some idea that this would be a mark of Jesus’ favor for him—an affirmation of his special status?
Elijah was indeed special; however, his special call was not to be the only righteous person in Israel but to call all God’s people to live in righteousness. His call was not to stand alone in opposition to Ahab and Jezebel but to gather God’s people into community. Peter was indeed special, but God wasn’t calling Peter to walk on water. That was Peter’s idea. Peter was called to be a rock, and rocks aren’t supposed to walk on water. Rocks are called to give stability to structures. Rocks are called to give strength for building. Rocks are called to provide a center point for growth around them. Peter’s call was not to walk on water in direct imitation of Jesus but to be a centering influence for the new church. His real walk on the water came as he stood firm in his faith as a leader of the young community in opposition to the Roman authorities.
And what about us? Each of us is special, and I have no doubt that, at one time or another, each one of us has acted out of that specialness in a way that doesn’t answer God’s call to us. Each of us have had times when we’ve felt alone, shouldering the burden of the world—times when we’ve been certain that we are the only one who understands the situation, the only one who can be counted on, the only one who can save the day. There are other times when we long for recognition, when we long to be seen as embodying whatever it is that we most admire. And sometimes, when those feelings come, we forget who we are and whose we are. Sometimes, when those feelings come, we find ourselves in self-made isolation or in over our heads. Sometimes, when those feelings come, we find ourselves doing things that make other people wonder what in the world we’re thinking.
We are human—not God—and it happens to each of us, sooner or later. And when it does, we learn once again about our blessing. When it happens, we can listen for the voice in the silence or reach for the hand that reaches for ours and know that our God is with us to hold us, to love us and to forgive us.
Thanks be to God.