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Matthew 14.22-33
Matthew 14.22-33
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Pentecost Thirteen
Shelton, WA
Tattered Faith
The picture on the PowerPoint is one of my favorite images of Jesus. It was painted for a church in the Russian city of Zvenigorod at the beginning of the 15th century by Andrew Rublev. It wasoriginally part of series of icons, panels that made up a sort of screen that stretched across the entire front of the church. The screensin Orthodox churches serve as a sort of reminder that even though God has revealed much to us through Christ and the Word, God is still ultimately mystery. We reach toward God, but never do we fully get hold of God.
In the Orthodox Church, icons are considered “windows” into heaven—glimpses into mystery. In a way, it’s similar to howJohn Wesley uses the term“means of grace.” For Wesley, these various means of grace arethose God ordained ordinances where the absolutely holy and unapproachable God touches creation in a unique way that allows God’s gift of grace to flow freely into our hearts and lives. In much the same way, the icons that form the panels on the screen remind us that even though God is ultimately wholly other and beyond our ability to see, understand, or even approach, God has provided for us windows through which we can look into this mystery that is God.
The truly unfortunate thing isthat only three panels from that church in Russia remain: One depicting Michael the Archangel, one of Paul the Apostle, and this one depicting Christ the Savior. And this one is by far the most famous of the three.
Actually, when you look at it, it is absolutely stunning. Rublev was brilliant. This slide really doesn’t do justice to the actual painting. The colors are vivid and breathtaking. And even though he followed the traditional orthodox rules for painting his icon, Rublev was able to convey something truly unique.
There’s a gentleness captured in this image of Jesus, a gentleness that somehow beckons us to come… to draw near… to move in closer. It is a gentleness that is full of invitation… full of compassion and love. When we look into the face of Jesus captured by Rublev, there’s an unmistakable sense of safety, a sense that we can risk being vulnerable, that we can risk being real, that no matter who we are… no matter what we’ve done… no matter what we’ve become… we can be safe when we come to Jesus.
I think it’s the eyes. It’s the eyes that do it. Look at them. Their gaze is mysterious and deep. They don’t look past us. They don’t look through us. They look directly at us. When we look into those eyes, somehow we sense that they see us. And not just our face and our appearance, not just our features and our carefully fashionedfaçades, but they see much,much deeper. They are the eyes the psalmist spoke of when he said:
O Lord, you have searched me and know me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
you discern my thoughts from far away.
You search out my path and my lying down,
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from you presence?
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my thoughts.
See if there is any wicked way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.
They are, in short, the eyes of God. And they look at us with an all-knowing gaze that sees deeper inside of us then even we dare to peer. They are the eyes of love, not condemnation. They are the eyes of mercy, not judgment. They are the eyes of compassion, not consternation and wrath. They are the eyes of God and they bid us come.
But do you know what I think is the most striking feature of the image? It’s not one Rublev ever intended—or at least not in this way. The most striking feature is how tattered it is. This once glorious painting, once part of a much grander and even more spectacularseries of panels filling the entire front of a church, is reduced to a tattered, splintered couple of old boards. As a matter of fact, this largely destroyed icon was found in a barn in 1918—it had been part of the steps leading into the barn. How many feet trampled up those steps never realizing what they stepped over? How many storms beat down on it—snow, rain, hail? How much turmoil and chaos whirled around it?
As a matter of fact, when we look at what’s left of the tatter face of Jesus clinging to these splintered boards; it’s easy to see how the face of Christ appears to us in the midst of great chaos. It’s as if the face of Jesus looks at us through the ruins of our world. And if we look close enough, we might see in those all seeing eyes of compassion, mercy, and love… a tear. Jesus weeps. He weeps for this broken world.
The tattered remains of this icon is a vivid reminder to us of God’s immense compassion in the midst of our increasingly violent world. It reminds us of God’s coming to us in the midst of the chaos, in the middle of the storm. It reminds us that God—holy, omnipotent, all powerful God—became flesh and blood, suffered as flesh and blood… got dirty, stepped on, spit on… was damaged. It also reminds us that no matter how tattered our own faith is, no matter how impossible the situation may be, no matter how violent the storms may become, there is a Savior to calls out to us from very heart of that chaos and bids us come and experience his peace.
It had been a long night, a difficult night. And now, just moments before the sun would push back the darkness, it seemed like that night might be their last. Yesterday they watched as Jesus somehow feed a crowd of over 5,000 people with nothing more than five loaves and two fish. In amazement, when all had eaten their fill, these twelve disciples went around collecting the leftovers—twelve baskets full of leftovers. I imagine that at least of few of those twelve baskets were stowed away on the boat with them as they left the shore for the other side of the lake.
It was late afternoon when Jesus sent them off. They were still stunned at what they had seen. The crowds were beginning to head home. The air was still, the sea calm. You know, the kind of calm that makes the water glisten like glass. Jesus told them to go on ahead of him in the boat while he sent the rest of the people home. They didn’t think much of it at the time; after all, he was a carpenter, not a fisherman. He probably felt more comfortable on land anyway, so off they went—the perfect ending to a perfect day.
The going was peaceful at first. Rowing against still waters is somewhat enjoyable… at least if you’re a fisherman. The bow of the boat cut through the late afternoon water with a surging ease that made the disciples think they’d hit shore in no time. But when evening came, things changed. The clam gave way to a storm. The winds pushed against them. The waves came crashing over the bow. Chaos rained all around them.
All night they fought against the storm… the waves, the wind, the chaos. All night they struggled, not really knowing if they were getting anywhere. And then, in the misty grey that comes just before sunrise, their hearts sank. They were still far from land. For all their efforts, for all their exhaustion, they were no closer now than they were the night before. I can almost see Peter taking one last pull on the oars and then throwing them down in frustration, slumping down in his seat, covering his face with his blistered hands. I can imagine the hopes of the other disciples sank as they watch Peter’s shoulders slump.
The chaos is too much. The storm too strong. Peter lifts his eyes one more time to look at the now water-logged baskets of leftovers sitting there in the boat… the chaos swirling around.
What’s that? Out there in the midst of the storm? It’s moving… come closer. The disciples all look. It’s a ghost! Their fate is sealed. The spirits are coming for them… to pull them down into the abyss… to swallow them in the sea. Terror grips them. Fear overcomes them. Chaos swirls around them. They cry out.
And then, out of the chaos, a voice calls in response to their fear. It rises above the turmoil, yet it is somehow calm, soft, even peaceful. It lifts above the storm with a stillness that defies the situation. “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
Still unsure, Peter answers, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus says, “Come.” And Peter gets out of the boat and starts to walk to Jesus. But a tattered faith is easily distracted by the circumstances; it’s easily overwhelmed by the chaos swirling all around it. And once again Peter’s shoulders slump and he begins to sink. And once again Jesus comes to him, reaches out his hand, lifts him above the chaos. Together they climb into the boat, and immediately the storm becomes still. Peace reigns.
Look again at Rublev’s tattered image of Jesus. Notice how Rublev has captured a sense of movement. The shoulders are turned slightly, but the face and the futures are square. They look right at us. It’s almost as if Jesus was walking by, in the midst of the chaos of our world, when he hears us. He stops, turns to look at us; and his eyes embrace our eyes in a look of love and compassion. He invites us to come, to step out of the boat and into the chaos. He calls us to follow him.
Let’s pray:
Heavenly Father, Almighty and ever-living God: We confess this morning that our faith is often tattered by the chaos swirling all around us. We long to follow, but often fear sinking. We long to come, but often linger behind because the storm seems too great... too much for us. And it is. Father, if not for the gift of grace that reaches to us through a tattered Savior, we would surly drown. If not for a love that, “did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking on the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross”… if not for the love of Christ there would be no peace, no hope, no life. We give you thanks, Father, for all you’ve done; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
John GrantPage 111/3/2018