"Taking the Plunge"
August 7, 2005: A-Pentecost-12
The Rev. John MacIver Gage, co-pastor
United Church on the Green, UCC: New Haven, CT
www.newlights.org

Scripture:
Matthew 14:22-33
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. And early in the morning he 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." Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."

Sermon:
There is a tension in our Christian faith between comfort and challenge. Big shocker for a religion whose central images are death and resurrection, right? It's a pervasive dynamic that underscores all of scripture and the traditions of the churches. Yet somehow most days we manage to keep the two fairly well separated. Over the course of the church calendar, for example, we tend to divvy up our holidays along these lines. There's Christmas (comforting) then Lent (challenging) then Good Friday (challenging) then Easter (comforting). And truth be told, we prefer the comforting side of the equation—again, surprise surprise. There's a reason this meeting house is packed to the rafters every Christmas Eve and almost empty come Ash Wednesday.

There's also a reason that the fairly recent revisioning of plain-old Palm Sunday into Palm-and-Passion Sunday makes us so uncomfortable. For most Protestants, Palm Sunday used to be solidly on the "comforting" side, with its children's parade and happy hymns, but since we started using it as our point of entry into a more intentional observance of Holy Week and the suffering and death of Jesus... well, "challenging" barely covers our uneasiness. It is difficult—distressing even—to hold the two thoughts in our head simultaneously. I know, because some of you have told me just that.

And Jesus doesn't make it any easier, either. He stands there in the scripture, speaking out of both sides of his mouth. In just one example of many, this taken from the Gospel of Matthew on either side of our reading for today, Jesus first shares with us these soothing words: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light" (Mt 11:28-30). Then only a few chapters later he hits us with this: "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me" (Mt 16:24). So which is it, Jesus? Comfort or challenge, safety or conflict, the carrot or the stick?

This tension is illustrated beautifully in our passage this morning in the central image of the boat. Of course there are images of boats in other parts of scripture. Most notably there's the ark, God's miraculous vehicle of salvation for Noah and his family. On the other side of the equation, there's the doomed boat Jonah boards to escape God's call and from which God rescues him with a giant fish. Comfort and challenge in tension again. And the boat here in Matthew 14 embodies this ambiguity. Think about it: Is the boat a good thing or a bad thing in this story? Jesus sends the disciples on ahead across the lake in the boat, but Jesus himself is not on board. When the storm comes up, the boat seems to be the only thing standing between the disciples and certain death. Then when Jesus finally does appear, he's still not in the boat. Boat-schmoat! Jesus comes walking toward them across the very waves themselves.

Confusing, huh? Christian churches have struggled to live with this tension between comfort and challenge in our experience of faith since the disciples first set foot in that boat. Perhaps that's why over the ages we've claimed the ship as a symbol of our life together. At times, we've experienced the church as a community of comfort. It has been for us an ark, a safe place, a haven from the storms of life. We have found direction in the movement of this creaky old wooden vessel and a sense of belonging to one another and to God in Christ, the captain of our salvation. At other times, we've felt lost at sea, as on a ship of fools, heedless of wind and weather, reef and shoal, and we've been sure that Christ is not at the helm, that Christ is not here. The challenges just keep coming, rolling over us like breakers, both from within and without the community of faith.

As we take a moment to survey the world around us through the lens of this symbol, we may find ourselves feeling more the latter than the former. We can see a vast array of other churches in the water with us, vessels of every shape and size. Some—huge, once magnificent ships of the line—seem now to be nearly empty and adrift. Others—sleek and powerful modern designs—are under full sail but seem from our perspective to be on collision course with disaster. And all the while, the clouds are massing, the storm about to break.

But what of our own boat, the United Church of Christ? In this flotilla we seem tiny and frail by comparison, little more than a dinghy, really. After all, we've been around a little less than fifty years at this point—hardly the sort of pedigree that inspires confidence. The passenger list, too, is a bit shady, to say the least. Here we have Pilgrims and Puritans gone to seed sitting next to hard line German pietists; homegrown American pragmatists and the descendents of slaves sharing space with lesbian and gay and bisexual and transgender believers; and Hungarian and Samoan and Native American ethnic churches all gathered under the same banner. And the crew? Don't get me started! These nuts actually embrace the ambiguities. They—we—are crazy enough to believe that the best way to travel is with one foot in the boat and one on the waves, sailing always somewhere between the comfort and the challenge of faith, always scanning the wild horizon for Christ who meets us and greets us and calls further on in the way of God.

I am here in the United Church of Christ because it is here I have found comfort in the challenge, and challenge in the comfort. Here I have found the easy yoke that has freed me to take up my cross. The boat may be small... and rickety... and leaky... but this is where I have found Christ and Christ has found me. It doesn't resolve the tension of faith. I still have to face the world. I still have to face Good Friday and Easter, both. But in this boatload of beaten-up believers God gives me direction and companions for the journey. So I am not eager to jump ship, even as the wind rises and the waves threaten to overturn us completely. For despite the wind and waves, despite the boat, even, this truth shines like a beacon: God has come to accompany us in Christ, and Christ is still with us through the power of the Holy Spirit. And when the sea is stilled and the clouds are drawn aside, we will find that God has brought us safely through to a bright, new shore, to God's kingdom of love, justice, and peace on earth, as it is in heaven.

In closing this morning, I will leave you with a song by The Indigo Girls, some of my favorite singer-songwriters. I am continually surprised by their wisdom and their insight and their courage, and this is one of their best, I think. It's from their album Swamp Ophelia, and it's called "The Wood Song":

The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear
My friends and I have had a tough time
Bruising our brains hard up against change
All the old dogs and the magician
Now I see we're in the boat in two by twos
Only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
And the very close quarters are hard to get used to
Love weighs the hull down with its weight

But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
That's where I need to go

No way construction of this tricky plan
Was built by other than a greater hand
With a love that passes all our understanding
Watching closely over the journey
Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
Seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside
Although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
The prize is always worth the rocky ride

But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
That's where I need to go

Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far... yeah
But the question drowns in it's futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride

The wood is tired and the wood is old
We'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we'll have missed the point
That's where I need to go

Amen.