Farsighted Faith
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger Gaines-Cirelli with Foundry UMC, July 6, 2025, the fourth Sunday after Pentecost. “We’re Listening” series.
Text: Matthew 14:22-33
Crossing over from one place to another—whether the move is geographical, emotional, or spiritual—is rarely simple. Sometimes what we imagine will be a short journey turns into something far more challenging because we encounter obstacles we couldn’t have predicted. Think about how a quick errand can turn into an hour stuck in traffic because of unexpected roadwork; or how your plans to finish your to-do list get interrupted by illness or an emergency. The distance—or the familiarity of the terrain—doesn’t determine what you find along the way. The truth is: when you move from where you have been, you don’t really know what you’re going to face. You step into a liminal space, an in-between place, a place of unknowing.
Being in-between is uncomfortable. We experience this in countless ways. Moving to a new home is disorienting for most people. Others know this feeling when starting a new job or vocation that demands new skills or a new role—you feel uncertain, like you’re treading unfamiliar ground. When a loved one dies—a parent, a partner, a child—you’re left in a liminal place between what life was and the unknown of what life will now be. Some live daily in the stressful uncertainty of stretching every dollar between paychecks or unemployment checks, trying to keep the lights on and food on the table. When illness strikes and forces you to adapt every plan, when a company downsizes or a contract isn’t renewed, when familiar comforts in your church shift, when civic or political realities shake your sense of security—when you carry the weight of a sick or struggling family member far away, or when you know something in your life isn’t working but you can’t yet see a way forward—these are the crossings we face. We find ourselves in the middle of challenge, uncertainty, and change.
And that place can feel like chaos. In our biblical tradition—and in the ancient Near Eastern cultures that shaped it—the sea, any large body of water, symbolized chaos. “In the beginning…the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-2) In Hebrew, this “formless void” is tohu wabohu—formlessness and normlessness. Chaos: unpredictable, strong, potentially destructive—like the sea. In the swirling waters and crashing waves, we become aware of our human vulnerability with searing clarity.
Today’s story reminds us that Jesus “made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side…” He sent his friends to cross chaos without him. He was overdue for time alone in prayer—but why not let the disciples dismiss the crowds so they could all journey together? Did he really have to make them face this alone? Haven’t they dealt with enough chaos already?
The disciples live in constant disruption. They don’t stay anywhere long, they’re always asked to step out of their comfort zones, to try new things, check their egos, manage expectations. They’ve left everything familiar to make this journey with Jesus—without really knowing where they’re going. And now Jesus makes them cross over the deep waters, that primordial symbol of chaos, on their own.
Maybe Jesus knew exactly what he was doing. Just before this, he told the disciples to feed more than 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish—and as they did it, they learned what they’re capable of when they trust God’s abundant grace and sustaining power. Maybe, after all they’ve faced, Jesus believes they’re ready to handle a little chaos alone.
And, from the text, we see that the battering waves of the sea aren’t what frighten the disciples this time (maybe they had learned from the first venture in a storm at sea when Jesus had been with them and had rebuked the waters) (Mt. 8.23-27). This time, it’s the sight of Jesus walking toward them on the sea that terrifies them. But as soon as they cry out, Jesus says to them, “Don’t be afraid. It’s me!” In the original Greek: “Ego eimi: I AM.” And Peter’s response has always struck me as extraordinary. Peter dares Jesus to call him out, to call him to move even closer to the chaos below. I imagine Jesus filled with pride at this move on the part of his disciple—because do you see what Peter is doing here? Peter doesn’t say, “OK, Jesus. If it’s you, prove it and get your ghost-lookin’ self into this boat!” Instead, Peter asks to be able to draw near to Jesus. He takes up his agency, his own God-given ability, and asks for grace to go where Jesus goes and to do what Jesus does. Sometimes Peter—in his impulsiveness—gets it right in spite of himself…
And so at Jesus’ invitation Peter, already vulnerable to the battering waves, steps out of the relative safety of the boat and, for a brief moment, is empowered to do what Jesus does: to stay above the fray, to not be swallowed up by chaos. It is only when he gets distracted by the strong winds that he allows fear to pull him down. And here I love the commentary of Episcopal priest and spiritual writer, Suzanne Guthrie, who says, “Jesus’ response is often described as a rebuke but it doesn't seem like that at all to me. Playfully, Jesus compliments Peter, ‘Why did you doubt, ye of little faith? You HAD it!’”[1] Peter “HAD it!” But oh, don’t we understand all too well that moment when the strong winds of old habits or current realities pull our focus and make us sink in fear?
Friends, life is so often a crossing. And we are living in an extraordinarily chaotic, uncertain, and dangerous time. We constantly navigate in-between places. And chaos—along with its henchman, fear—threatens to overtake us daily. This is nothing new; it’s part of being human. The good news is that we know the One who is stronger than chaos—whose hand separated the waters “in the beginning,” who held them back at the Red Sea, who can calm the seas and walk on the deep. This is none other than our God made manifest in Jesus Christ.
And God is also the one who sees and knows all that you are facing in your life. God knows where you need to cross over. God knows your struggles; God knows how hard you are trying; God knows your giftedness and strength; God knows what you have sacrificed; God sees your pain; God knows your confusion and your fear and your anxiety; God yearns to be close to you in your loneliness; God grieves as you grieve. In the midst of the change and challenge and in-between places of life, God, in Jesus, is the one who draws near and sees you and speaks to you saying, “Don’t be afraid, I AM.” I am here. I am with you. I see you. I believe in you. And then Jesus calls you, to perhaps move even closer to the chaos out of which new life springs. The good news is that, through the grace and power of Jesus, it is possible to stay above the fray, to keep the waters of chaos under your feet instead of over your head. It takes practice because the weight of our fears and our griefs and our sins—all that keeps us from peace and wholeness—act as anchors trying to pull us down into the abyss of self-doubt, confusion, cynicism, and despair.
How does this look in everyday life?
A woman was traveling for an important job interview. She’d planned every detail: woke up early, checked in online, got to the airport with time to spare. The first leg of the journey was fine, but when she reached her second gate, the flight was canceled because of sudden storms. She panicked—this interview felt like her one shot. She called her spouse in tears. Her spouse said, “Take a deep breath. You can’t control the weather, but you can decide what to do next. I’ll help you look for another flight.”
Together they found another flight for the next morning. But she still had to spend the night in an unfamiliar city with nothing but her carry-on. In her hotel room, she sat on the bed and prayed, “Jesus, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to trust you to be in this with me. Show me what to do next.” Instead of spiraling, she set her alarm, called the interviewer to explain, and asked if they could reschedule. To her surprise, the company was kind and flexible—they even said they admired how she handled the unexpected delay.
She didn’t get rid of the storm—but she stayed calm in it by doing the next right thing, trusting Jesus to fill the gap where her control ended.
That’s walking on water. When chaos comes, pause. Breathe. Pray honestly. Ask for help. Do the next thing you can do: make the call, write the note, or rest if there’s nothing else. Step out. Jesus will show you what you’re capable of. Peter, for a moment, believed it. //
Long before we know what we are capable of, Jesus sees it in us. Jesus has farsighted faith—he sees you whole and healed, walking over the waters that once threatened to swallow you. He knows you can overcome moments of panic, move through fear, deepen your faith, live into your calling, and step toward what brings more harmony and less chaos.
But here’s the thing: to “walk on water” you have to get out of the boat, You have to risk moving into discomfort and vulnerability—admitting you won’t always know what to do. You’ll sometimes feel disoriented, sometimes up, sometimes down—but never alone. Jesus always sends us with companions for the journey. And when you begin to sink, he will prove Isaiah’s promise true: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.” (Isaiah 43:1-2)
As we continue to move forward as a congregation—seeking strength and grace to rise above the chaos of daily headlines, and to respond with courage and faith to the violent madness of our age—as we each make our own crossings with gentleness and openness to new life, may God grant us a farsighted faith: a faith that can see just enough of Jesus to step out of the boat.
Fear not. God brings life out of chaos. Fear not. By the grace of Jesus, you have this—because Jesus has you. Every time.
Thanks be to God.
