So, I remember when I was a little kid, my grandmother seemed to always be in the kitchen. Which was good because I picked up a lot of tips. She always enjoyed having me help with whatever she was doing when I was done with all my outside playing. And by enjoyed, I mean she probably dreaded it, because I was sort of a Tasmanian Devil in the kitchen.
One of the annual occasions that I always looked forward to was the annual baking of the Christmas sugar cookies with colored powdered sugar icing. We had Santas, reindeer, candy canes, Christmas trees, and holly leaves. Those were the only cookie cutters, and no others were allowed. So, Grandma would set things out, and we'd get started. She would have the lion's share of cookie dough, but I had my own little ball of dough that I'd squish and squeeze and flatten out (I wasn't allowed to use a rolling pin). And I'd cut out the cookies; we'd stick them in the oven; and then I'd wander off to watch TV until it was time to do the icing. I was always so proud of MY cookies, and we'd put them in a special box so I could dole them out to my friends. And grandma would brag to my mom and grandaddy about what a good baker I was. Cookie baking was how I knew that Christmas was starting.
What I never saw was my grandma taking my cookies out of the oven and throwing them away. You see, I had outdoor kid hands, and no matter how much I washed them when I came in, I never did the best job. And that dough of mine? It was, well, it was pretty dirty. Like kinda grey. Nobody was ever going to eat those nasty things.
But grandma would substitute her own cookies when I wasn't looking. I never knew this until I grew up and she would tell me stories.
In our Gospel passage today, we have what is probably one of the most famous scenes of Jesus' ministry in all the New Testament. We have a boat, a storm, cowering disciples, brave Peter, scared Peter, and Jesus...walking on water. An unmatched miracle story that we all know. And we think we know it pretty well. We talk about Peter's faith, then his seeming lack of faith. We wonder about boat symbolizing church and how we want to stay in it all safe when the storm blows us around. We have heard it all.
But I wonder about Jesus. I wonder how Jesus felt. And I wonder: what was he really doing while they were in the boat?
At the beginning of the passage Jesus is just moseying down the road with his friends. They have just fed the 5,000. Maybe they have spent the time under his watchful eye giving away the leftovers. They each had a basket, they could have even made it a game. Who can knock on the most doors the fastest! “Here you are, ma'am, a tuna sandwich. And one for each of your kids, too” But now it's time to move on.
Then Jesus pull up short and says, “Y'all go on ahead. I catch up later.” And he leaves.
Matthew tells us he goes away to pray. Maybe he did just that. I don't have any reason to doubt that Jesus liked to get by himself to pray. And he certainly had a lot to pray about. Things were ok for now, but the rich and powerful were beginning to notice him, and this would not end well. There were so many people with so much need. There was so much to do. If anyone needed to take some time and sit quietly with God, Jesus was the guy.
But, you know, part of me wonders if instead, he might have just trailed along behind his friends, just out of sight, seeing how that handled all this new life of love and service on their own. Not like that show, “Undercover Boss,” where the owner gets a job in disguise at his own business to see what really happens. Not like that.
But more like a mother watching her daughter jump off a picnic table holding an umbrella, trying to be Mary Poppins. Like a teacher watching young children finally connect letters with words and suddenly realizes THEY ARE READING. Like a grandma watching her grandson smile because he's baking...no, he's creating something kinda on his own.
I wonder if Jesus watched them, strolling down the road on their own, laughing and cutting up? But still amazed at what had just happened. Maybe even stopping now and then when they came across an old friend and filling him in on what they had just seen.
I wonder if he saw the fishermen among them razzed poor Matthew about maybe getting seasick, but telling him not to worry, he'd be ok?
I wonder if he watched them with some wistful pride? They had so much to learn, and they were going to learn it the hard way. But they were such good men after all, mostly. Mostly.
And I wonder if he watched the storm come up and the little boat get tossed about? And I wonder if he thought, well, they are going to have to learn some lessons, I guess this is as good a time as any?
And when they cowered in fear and nearly gave up, I wonder if he put all his own concerns aside and walked on water to get to them? Just like a mother...or a teacher...or a grandma.
And I think that maybe, maybe, Jesus might have done these things. Maybe, he followed, just a bit out of sight, carrying his own problems and sufferings with himself. Just like a mother...or a teacher or a grandma.
And I think that that's what we need to hear today. Nowadays we are buffeted about in a storm of national and international anxiety and fear, of bigotry and unmuzzled hatred, of selfishness and greed and injustice. And it's good to know that Jesus is there, right over there, watching. Watching how we grow up, watching how we handle things on our own. Watching and seeing and smiling every time we automatically react to events by simply loving God and our neighbor.
But also watching us fall and fail and bruise our souls, and smiling when we get up, open another umbrella, pick up another book, fall off that bike, or roll out more grimy dough. Knowing that he'll be there when we need him.
Just like a mother...or a teacher...or a grandma.
Amen.