So, I remember when I was a little kid, I got a red Schwinn bike with a banana seat and easy-rider handle bars. It was cool! And I remember my grandaddy helping me learn. You see, where he lived, the road started out with the steepest hill in the world and as you picked up speed, it flattened out to a cul-de-sac that was, I don't know, maybe ten miles long.
It's funny, when I would drive past it after I'd gotten big, that hill seemed to have flattened out some, and the cul-de-sac got shorter...maybe only a tenth of a mile. But somewhere in my soul I could still feel the thrill of learning to ride a bike there.
And my granddaddy was there to make sure that I didn't fall over – no training wheels for me. He would run behind me and hold me as I careened down that hill at warp speed, as I broke the sound barrier, and tried to catch up with the cool kids (though there really weren't many cool kids on that street).
And pretty soon I was biking. I would look back only to discover that my grandaddy was way back there, waving and smiling and shouting at me to watch where I was going.
What I didn't see, but can imagine now as I'm older, is an old man with a weak heart, probably bent over in half, trying to catch his breath and wondering why he thought this was a good idea and probably reaching into his pocket for his digitalis that he kept in a Bayer aspirin tin. I didn't see a man who knew that sooner or later his grandson needed to learn how to bike for himself. I didn't see him straighten up and act like everything was great and wonderful the second I turned around.
All I saw was someone who held me for a while, then let me fly, and then was there to pick me up when I suddenly remembered that I forgot to learn how to stop a bike and fell over and skinned my knees and hands. And who said I looked ok to him and walked me back up the hill to set me back on my speedy journey to adventure.
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 pulls 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 they 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 momma watching her daughter jump off a picnic table holding an umbrella, trying to be Mary Poppins, cringing and smiling at the same time. Like a teacher watching young children finally connect letters with words and suddenly realize THEY ARE READING. Like a granddaddy watching his grandson suddenly turn around and smile because he's biking!
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 razzing poor Matthew about maybe getting seasick, but telling him not to worry, he'd be ok, and throwing an arm around his shoulder because that's what good friends do?
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 start learning some of those lessons sooner than I thought?
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 momma...or a teacher...or a granddaddy.
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 momma...or a teacher or a granddaddy.
And I think that that's what we need to hear today. Right now we are buffeted about in a storm of fear and despair, 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.
Watching us fall and fail and bruise our souls, but watching us get up, open another umbrella, pick up another book, get back on the bike. Knowing that he'll be there when we need him.
Just like a momma...or a teacher...or a granddaddy.
Amen.