Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
July 27, 2003
John 6: 6-21; Matthew 14: 22-33
In John Irving’s novel, The World According to Garp, the Garp family, you may recall, lived near the beach. Whenever the children would venture out into the ocean for a swim, parents would warn, “Now you watch out for the undertow.” That particular stretch of beach had a problem with a sometimes-treacherous undertow. And so, “Watch out for the undertow,” was the incessant parental injunction.
One day, the youngest member of the Garp family was seen walking about on the rocks and pools near the ocean intently searching for something. “What are you looking for?” his curious parent asked.
“I’m looking for the under-toad,” replied the child.
The “undertoad.” The little boy had thought, when he was being warned by his parents, that there was some slimy aquatic beast underneath the waves and foam just waiting to snatch him and pull him under…the dreaded undertoad!
From that time on, said Garp, whenever any member of the family would venture out, not just into the sea, but into any risky, demanding endeavor, they would all say, “Now, watch out for the undertoad!”
Reflecting on all this, a colleague has written, “The “undertoad” is that strange, never actually seen beast that drags us under, snatches us from the surface and pulls us under the waves and the sea. One moment we are minding our own business, floating along quite nicely, then from out of nowhere, the “undertoad.”’ I’m sure we each have our own image, based on our experience, of what that undertoad might look like; there, just below the surface of life, waiting for an opportunity, when we least expect it, to drag us down.
“Immediately 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.” The Gospel of John says: “The sea became rough, because a strong wind was blowing.” Not a good situation. Jesus was alone, praying on the mountain. The disciples, lost and alone, in a small boat at night, in the midst of a raging sea, fearing that they were about to be dragged down and that nothing could save them. You know what they were feeling; you have been there. Alone at night. Battered by the waves.
I think of my father, sitting by himself each afternoon, worrying about my mother, worrying if he has done the right thing placing her in a board and care home, worrying how long it will be before the money runs out, always worrying. Feeling battered by the waves.
A father and husband in our church struggles with an aggressive cancer. What does the future hold? What does this mean for him and his family? What about his children’s future? Battered by the waves.
The phone rings. It’s a young single mother. Her boyfriend left as soon as the baby was born. Can the church help in any way? Battered by the waves.
He knew it was coming for weeks, but that didn’t lessen the sting of the blow – “Business is bad. Sorry, we’re going to have to lay you off.” What about the mortgage payment? What about health insurance? Battered by the waves.
And so it goes. My hope would be that each person here this morning is enjoying smooth sailing in life. But, life being what it is, this universe being what it is, there will be storms. No matter what our circumstances, there will be storms; times when we will encounter, in our own way, “the undertoad.” A Stephen Crane poem comes to mind:
A man said to the universe, “I exist.”
“That may be true,” said the universe, “however that has never created in me a sense of obligation.”
I think of that moment in Death of a Salesman when Willie Loman’s wife, so angry and wounded by the battering storms both she and her husband have had to endure, finally cries out to the universe, “This is a human being. Attention must be paid!” Again, I suspect most of us can identify with what she was feeling. We’ve been there. Some of us, no doubt, are there right now. Is anyone paying attention? Does the universe care? At the heart of creation is there a heart? Or are we simply at the mercy of the battling waves?
“And early in the morning, Jesus 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.’” He says exactly the same thing in the Gospel of John. Some version of this story, Jesus walking on the sea, is found in all four Gospels. Clearly an important tradition. As you have heard me say before, the Hebrew people were not sea-faring folk. Fishing on the Sea of Galilee was just about all the big water they wanted to deal with. It is no coincidence that in Genesis 1, darkness and water are the first forces overcome by God in creation. These were the symbols of chaos and disorder, wild, fearsome, untamed powers at loose in the world. When it was dark and stormy and there were waves on the sea, for the Hebrew people it was as if creation itself was being threatened, as if God’s reign over the earth was being contested.
But what do we see in this text; in this image of Jesus walking magisterially walking on the sea? Whether or not you want to take this text literally, the point is clear; these fearsome, untamed powers have no power over Jesus. In fact, he is Lord, even over them. In all their fearsome power, they will not prevail against him. And they will not prevail against those whom Jesus loves. In the storm, when fear has overtaken us, when the clouds turn dark and the wind howls, when all seems hopeless and lost, a strong voice speaks, “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.”
Well that sounds good, pastor, but just what does that mean? If we follow Jesus, is that the end of all our troubles? “I gave my heart to Jesus and the next day found a winning lottery ticket in the street. Hallelujah!”
I think of our recent fishing trip to the Fall River – I wrote about it in a newspaper column. There were eight of us, almost all of us connected to this church. The trip had barely gotten started when we received a phone call on Tuesday and that a daughter-in-law of one of the members in our group had begun to hemorrhage. She had had a difficult pregnancy and had been taken by ambulance to the neonatal intensive care unit in Sacramento. We waited. There were more phone calls, her condition was not getting better, there was increasing worry and fear about her and the baby. By Tuesday afternoon it was clear that he was going to have to leave. As he was getting ready, somebody helped him pack, another made a thermos of fresh coffee, another put some food together for the trip, another offered to take his bicycles home so that he wouldn’t have to take the time to load them. Then, just before he left, we paused in a circle for just a moment of quiet and prayer. Eight guys by the Fall River, holding hands in a circle, sharing a blessing, wishing our friend and his family the best.
Did it change anything? Did it solve anything? Who knows? She was still in critical condition (although thankfully I can report today that both her and her child are doing just fine.) Did it change anything? Did it solve anything? I don’t know, but I know this: there by the river, for just a few moments, fear was put on the back burner. For a moment, at least for me, hope was rekindled, faith was rekindled, the darkness was pushed back just a bit, the storm seemed more manageable.
Does our text promise an end to struggle and strife? Does it release us from the storms of life, from the dreaded “undertoad?” Not hardly. We know this is a world in which bad things happen to good people, to faithful people, each and every. I recall a line from an Indigo Girls song; “We’re sculpted from youth, but the chipping away makes me weary.” And there are times when it seems like there is an awfully lot of chipping away.
Life is often terribly unfair. Loving our neighbor, working for justice, going to church each Sunday does not grant us immunity from the pain of life. Jesus never guarantees smooth sailing. In fact, look at our text from Matthew. He tells the disciples to get into the boat and then sends them out into the storm! Thanks a lot! Following Jesus is at times just the beginning of trouble. Storms seem to follow him wherever he goes.
No, we are not immune, but we are also not alone. The eye of a storm is always a place of calm even as violent and destructive winds swirl all around. That is more and more how I see Jesus – in this text and indeed in my own life. “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” Here is one who does not abandon us, even in the most fearful circumstances. And the miracle of his presence and power can equip us for any eventuality. “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” We can stay at our place in the boat, even in the midst of great storms, confident that we don’t have to come to Christ because in good time, he will come to us. “Take heart, it is I. Do not be afraid.” What if it really isn’t all up to us? What if there always exists the possibility that our anguished cries for help just might be heard? In the words of one colleague, “It just might be that things are more open-ended than we thought. There is always hope, always a way even when there seems no way, and nothing is over until God, in God’s wisdom, says it’s over.”
Getting back to the Fall River, that is really what I was feeling as our friend drove away. I felt not an answer, not a solution really, but an abiding love, a presence whispering in my soul.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
We have already come.
“tis grace hath brought us safe thus far,
And grace will lead us home.