On the Isle of Iona, where I used to live, the ferry keeps different schedules in the summer and the winter. In the summer there’s a lot more sailings to cope with the higher number of tourists visiting the island. In the darkness of winter, there are far fewer sailings, and the first crossing is later in the day, but if you need to get to the mainland before noon, you can book the early morning ferry. This means that they will sail a roll-on/roll-off six-car ferry over a mile of choppy sea in the dark, often against strong winds, in storms and torrential rain to pick you up, before anyone else on the island is even awake. I used to be able to see the ferry leaving its mooring from my kitchen, and I knew if I left as soon as I saw it, by the time I reached the jetty the ferry would almost be there.
So I’d run down the village’s single street in the dark, in the rain, in the wind with my backpack going to a meeting at the diocesan office. For those of you who are younger, back before Zoom, everyone needed to be in one place to have a meeting, even if you live on a remote island. Normally it was me all alone waiting to get on this big boat that tossed around in the water like it was nothing. The crew wouldn’t line the boat up straight with the jetty. They kind of came in from an angle, sailing into the wind, so that as they lowered the ramp, the boat would blow into alignment with the jetty. Then they’d hit the engine as hard as they could and keep gunning it, driving the ramp as far up the jetty as possible and holding it in place against the swell, before lowering the end of the ramp, revealing the captain standing in the middle of the ferry, wearing a blaze-orange life jacket and looking deeply unimpressed. One hand in his pocket, he casually waves you up, as if to say I can’t believe you got me up at this time in the morning. Then you run as fast as you can, eyes locked on the captain, his gaze the only reason the waves don’t sweep you sideways into the sea. Inevitably, you get wet feet, but you also make it safely aboard.
The sea can be scary, especially in stormy weather when strong winds can blow you off course, and gusts can catch you in ways you don’t expect. Even the crew on board the Iona ferry wouldn’t always land in the middle of winter. If the wind was in the wrong direction, they’d phone you up and say I’m sorry, we can’t make it; who do you think we are, Jesus? You'll have to try again tomorrow. Stepping out on the ocean, whatever the weather takes bravery; but to go out in the face of storms and headwinds requires faith. You have to accept vulnerability and trust something other than yourself to step onto the ocean.
When the disciples see someone walking out to them on the water, they are understandably terrified. Is it a ghost? What kind of power is this that can walk over the ocean? What kind of strength is this that can face into the headwinds and make progress towards them as they, all pulling together, can barely tread water? It’s Jesus, of course. Because Jesus is the power of God, the power of one who is Lord over all of life's storms. Yet Jesus' power is not shown in dominance but rather is demonstrated in vulnerability, in the willingness to step out into the worst of conditions on the most impossible and unsupportive of surfaces, in order to reach those whom he loves and cares for. God's power is shown in that God comes to us where we are. To us stuck in our little boat, weathering the storm with no hope of escape or progress.
Jesus sees the disciples in that terror, in the boat of life, in their failure to progress, and invites them to drop all fear and step out on the water with him. Only Peter has the bravery, or maybe the foolishness, to step out and walk towards Jesus. He does so by locking his eyes upon Jesus. He doesn’t look at the storm, the wind, back at the other disciples, or down into the sea; no, he sets his eyes on Jesus and walks towards him. Peter trusts the one who has power over the storm, and as long as Peter has his eyes set on Jesus, he can run towards him. Just like me, chasing up the ramp to the ferry captain. If I’d tried looking at the sea, I’d have been scared stiff, and would have been washed away.
Which, sadly for Peter, is what he does: he looks down, and immediately the vertigo catches him, and he starts to sink. He could have been lost, but Jesus catches him. When we step out in faith as Peter did, we often make the same mistake, taking our eyes off Jesus and looking at the storm. Then we find ourselves sinking, swallowed up by it all. But don’t be afraid; Jesus is there when our faith falters. God does not seek to trick us into the sea like sirens in the Odyssey. No, Jesus comes out onto the water to bring us out of the futile struggle of a stuck boat. Out of the impatience of life in the storm. Jesus brings us the power to step towards God despite the weather, and when that faith fails, Jesus is there to rescue us.
Sometimes being a Christian can feel like you are pulling with all your strength into a headwind, in a little ship full of fools. Right now, in our society, we are drowning in storms of fear. Fearful storms of political instability, of authoritarianism or communism, fearful storms of inflation and encroaching poverty, of AI and climate change with its very literal storms.
We might think that no matter how hard we pull on oars, we are stuck in the rolling sea. Never progressing to safety, working our lives away to bail out a sinking ship. And that’s true if we rely solely on ourselves; we can’t fight the storms of this age in our own power. In all these storms of life, Jesus comes to us, inviting us to step out in faith. Step out looking at him, not at all that overwhelms us. Jesus has the hope of the world in his gaze, and he is looking at you. You are invited to walk on water, to be filled with the spirit of God that lifts us up and carries us over the waves. If you have never stepped out in faith, putting your hope, putting your trust in Jesus, then today Jesus invites you to do so.
And don’t think this is an invitation into faith just for those who are not yet Christians; Jesus calls to twelve disciples, those who are already his followers in the boat, and only one of them has the faith to step out. This is not an easy calling, nor is it a final one. Jesus is always walking through the storms, inviting us into his journey. And when our faith fails, which it will, Jesus is going to save us from drowning and pull us into a larger, safer vessel, which we call the church. We all sometimes need a helping hand from the heavens to pull us into safety. And when we are the ones walking in power over the water, floating over life's storms through faith, we will have the opportunity to join Jesus in pulling others out from the waves.
Whether you are a tired disciple working your oar, or a brave disciple stepping out in faith, or a fast-sinking disciple who has failed in that faith, one who is drowning in the attempt at life with God, whoever you are, Jesus is there for you. Just like the winter ferry, all you need to do is call him in, then keep your eyes fixed on Jesus, who is the Lord of all life's storms. Knowing that, like a good captain, he will see you safely through the hardest of seas, and up onto the shores of eternity. Amen.