NOTES for Mat 14:22-34

Manifestations of the Kingdom accompany Jesus throughout His entire earthly ministry. And it is not that this required any special efforts from Him. The ministry required effort, His very presence in the fallen world among fallen people, to whom He had to give everything without counting on any gratitude. But the fullness of the Kingdom, the fullness of its power and its life, was inseparable from the very person of Jesus. That is why this power manifested itself wherever Jesus appeared, whenever the situation required such manifestations.

So it was with walking on the water during the storm. Jesus simply needed to get into the boat with the disciples. He decided to go directly, across the water. And He went. And the water, obediently changing under the action of the power of the Kingdom, being subject to its breath, changes so that it becomes possible to walk on it. For the Kingdom this is an ordinary thing, since there substance is completely subject to spiritual influences. But in the fallen world such a phenomenon is naturally perceived as a miracle.

But here is what is truly interesting: it turns out that the Kingdom in our world is now truly accessible to everyone. Here is Peter: he wanted, like his Teacher, to walk over the waters of the Kingdom, and he went, and he walked without trouble as long as he kept looking at Jesus. He began to sink only after he turned away from Him and suddenly remembered that around him there was not the Kingdom, but a storm on the lake in the fallen world.

At first glance, something strange is happening: in the Kingdom there is no storm, and in the fallen world people do not walk on water. So where was Peter when he took a step toward the Teacher? Clearly, in the Kingdom; otherwise his first step would have been his last. And where was he when he began to sink? Clearly, in the fallen world, because one cannot drown in the Kingdom. So where is the boundary? By whom and by what is it determined?

The answer may seem unexpected, but if one thinks about it, it fully corresponds to what Jesus Himself says about the Kingdom. It turns out that the boundary runs not so much across water, land, or air as through the human heart. One can be in the Kingdom and fail to notice it; it can be here, but the one who does not see the Kingdom sees only the storm on the lake. But as soon as a person takes an inward step, the Kingdom becomes reality, not subjective, not internal, but absolutely objective, more objective than the storms raging in the fallen world.

But where should this inward step be directed? Clearly, toward the One who brought the Kingdom into the world. For its form is determined in large part by the relationships that bind its inhabitants to Christ. As long as all of Peter's attention is focused on Christ, the Kingdom remains the only reality for him. But as soon as he turns away, and for a fallen person this is often enough for the focus of spiritual attention to shift away from the point on which it should have been concentrated, the raging lake becomes the only reality for him. And only Christ's outstretched hand saves him from certain death.

Many of our contemporaries, accustomed to interpreting accounts of miraculous appearances rationally, find it hard to imagine that Christ could really have walked on the water. Such interpreters suggest that this episode should be considered a parable that almost by misunderstanding found its way into the main narrative. It can be noted, however, that there is much in the world that the wise have not dreamed of and that can scarcely be explained rationally. Let us not argue, but let us observe that Jesus not only spoke in parables; every action of His also had the meaning of a parable taught to those around Him. Therefore in the walking on the water, too, we have the right to see not a demonstration of unusual abilities producing a spectacular impression, but a lesson taught to the disciples, from which they themselves were to draw conclusions.

If Peter did not fully understand this, he at least felt it, and immediately rushed toward Christ over the water. He was able to walk on the water, and this means that what Christ does can also be accessible to His disciples. But halfway there Peter doubted, and this is so familiar to us. How often, having undertaken something, we give in to the false feeling, "Who am I to act this way?" And we begin to sink where we could have stood firm.

Yes, even after we have made a choice, doubts about its rightness are possible, and weakening faith can also contribute to falls. But even then Jesus stretches out His hand to us and supports us.

"...Peter answered Him and said, Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water. And He said, Come..." How often we are overcome by doubts in our faith. This is a good sign, a sign that our faith is healthy. As Psalm 3 tells us: O Lord, why are those who trouble me multiplied? Many rise up against me; many say to my soul, There is no salvation for him in his God (Ps 3:2-3).

In the spiritual interpretation of this psalm, these many who rise up against my faith are a very real force, even if no one is visibly persecuting me. And when this force attacks, we so want to cry out to the Lord and say: "If this is You, command me to know Your divine nature, making me at least partly like Yourself; share Your divinity with me, make me a participant in Yourself, so that I may be convinced: it is You." For what is Peter's action? In essence, he desired a transcendent, unearthly experience that would strengthen his faith. There are moments when we also want this very much. Our fear becomes so great, our faith is shaken so badly, that we desperately want to seize the Lord's hand.

And how do we handle this? We hear an inner voice: "Who are you, anyway, that such miracles should happen to you? What would be left of your faith then? It would already be certain experience, not faith. Go to church, look at the faith of others, be strengthened by it; and besides," it tells you, "miracles do not happen in our day. Who has seen them, except for some madmen and church people?..." But all this self-reassurance is good, yet not good enough. Because the Lord says something else. He says, "Come." Come. It is very important to hear this. If you doubt, go, be bold, test, seek experience. For true faith comes only after the real experience of meeting God; before that event, it is only a search, only piety, only intention. Our self-reassurance may appear to us to be something supremely correct, very humble, very virtuous. But humility is empty without boldness. We must always remember this.

In some ways today's reading about Peter is close in spirit to the story of Thomas being convinced. Thomas also wanted real experience, and he received it; he received it because the Lord Himself wanted it. His will is that our faith should not be a set of written regulations, not a letter, even one received reverently, not only a rite, not only piety, not only virtue, and not our monologue sent in His direction with some frantic desire that He might at least hear it, like a letter sent to the highest government offices: of course they will not answer, but perhaps there is a small chance they will read it. The Lord does not expect such faith from us. He wants real life together, real cooperation. He wants us to break through boldly toward speaking with Him face to face. If you truly want this, go to meet Him. Go alone, leave everyone else in the boat, and go.

Everyone knows well that if we have faith, we will be able to move mountains. The question, however, is why move a mountain from the place the Creator assigned to it. Peter's action, when he goes to the Teacher on the water, should undoubtedly be defined as a feat of faith. Each of us, being no different from Peter by nature, can try this on ourselves. Here I step out of the boat and walk on the water...

Far more important is that, in old-fashioned language, this is also a feat of wisdom. The fact is that there are not so few believing people in the world, yet we still continue to build bridges and cross water barriers by using them. It is not at all apparent that Christians are crossing rivers over the waters in crowds, although our history does know such examples. The wisdom of Peter, which is exceptionally important for us, consists in his saying: "command me to come to You on the water". He goes not only, and not so much, because he believes. This would have been impossible if Jesus had not commanded him. Strictly speaking, in everything that happens in our life, with all the abundance of miracles that we fail to notice, there is only one Miracle Worker: the Lord. Without His command, by Peter's will alone, this would have been impossible.

And one more important point: where Peter is going, where he is looking. As long as his gaze is turned toward Jesus, he walks; as soon as he looks around, he begins to sink. This is by no means a metaphor. To live and not sink in the passing moment, in matter, and ultimately in death, one can do only by looking at Jesus, and at Jesus alone.

When reading miracle stories, we should understand that they are no less meaningful and no less addressed to us, the readers, than Jesus' direct words when He teaches the disciples "how to live." Their purpose is never to amaze the reader's imagination ("Wow... that's incredible!"), especially since the modern reader is no less skeptical than the ancient one. Therefore, at the center of this story is not the miracle ("So Christ could walk on water!"), but first of all Jesus Himself, the future conqueror of death, since water is a symbol of chaos and death, and second, faith as the realization of the relationship between Christ and His disciple. Both of these concern us directly. The miracle takes place not only on the pages of the Gospel: Christ's victory over death, the victory of faith over absurdity and chaos, is the miracle that happens in the life of every disciple, regardless of his ability to walk on water.

When we read today’s Gospel passage, our hearts overflow with an immeasurable love and gratitude toward the Lord, our Father who is so caring and kind. But this feeling should not be one of intoxication, but one of sobriety and vigilance. Let us quote a passage from a sermon by Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh devoted to today’s reading.

“And here is Christ’s challenge to the disciples, and Christ’s challenge to us. Yes, in a certain sense God alone can work this miracle; but only if we cooperate with this miracle through the openness of our hearts and the openness of our hands, placing into the miracle everything we have. Christ did not say to the disciples: keep what you need for yourselves and give the rest, give others what remains. He said: take everything you have and give it all...

Is this not what the Lord is saying to us now, with particular emphasis, when we are so secure, so rich, so prosperous, and when day after day we hear of hunger and destitution and the starvation of thousands upon thousands of people? And the Lord says to us quite simply: give what you have and leave Me to act further; do not ask Me for a miracle when you can do what is needed...”

What is most important about the meal Jesus arranges for the people listening to Him? One could say the miracle, and that would be true. But what is a miracle? One could also say the manifestation of the Kingdom, and that too would be true. Yet the Kingdom is the breath of God, the power of God, and the love of God acting in a particular way. What way is that? The evangelist explains by mentioning that Jesus blessed the food.

One might think that such an ordinary feature of Jewish life as a blessing hardly needed special mention. Yet the evangelist mentions it, and most likely not by accident. What, after all, was this customary Jewish blessing of food? In essence, it was nothing other than an invitation to God to sanctify the table and join the meal, where He was always awaited as the dearest guest. Jesus apparently does the same: He invites His heavenly Father to join the meal He arranges for the people listening to Him. But God's presence always gives the gathering itself a new quality. God's people are a people-community; that is how God intended them to be. Every sacred gathering, including one in a home, reveals and actualizes this quality, making it a reality wherever and whenever those assembled call upon God to bless their fellowship. The place where those who call upon God gather then becomes sacred space; it is no longer merely the meeting place of the community but the place of God's presence.

And what if the meal is blessed by the One who brought the Kingdom into the world in all its fullness? How great must the fullness of God's presence be in that case? Clearly, we must speak here not simply of sacred space as a place of God's presence and His meeting with the faithful, but of the Kingdom, which is precisely such sacred space in all its possible fullness. There God's presence is revealed as nowhere else, and the meeting becomes not merely an episode but the norm of life, for life in the Kingdom is life in God's presence, without which there is no Kingdom. When Jesus blesses the food, everyone nearby becomes, at least for a time, an inhabitant of the Kingdom.

Of course, such participation in itself guarantees nothing; it can be regarded as a kind of spiritual advance. But that advance can also become the first step on the path to the Kingdom, and therefore on the path to salvation.

Today we see how the Lord fulfills His pastoral duties toward the disciples. Sometimes the circumstances of His life are such that, in order to feed the disciples and save them from destruction, He has to perform miracles. He truly has to, for we know that Jesus never used His divine authority over nature to entice people with “signs.” Yet the miraculous character of His help and care serves to strengthen the faith of the disciples, the future preachers of His Gospel. Twice they find themselves in a hopeless situation: first in a hungry wilderness where there is nowhere to obtain bread, and then in a watery wilderness, alone without the Teacher and on the brink of death. Both times He comes to their aid, doing the impossible. Peter's bold request, ready as he is to step onto the waves and walk toward Jesus, arises precisely from the apostles' new faith that the Lord will never abandon them, but will always support and strengthen them, even if this requires Him to “alter the order of nature.”