Knock Yourself Out

Knock Yourself Out

Matthew 14:22-27

So, I told this story but it was a long time ago… I was on a canoe trip with one friend, a really experienced camper and paddler.  We were out in May which feels like it is still winter up north.  It was cold as we sandwiched our packs into his pickup truck and then laid the canoe on top of the yoke on his truck.  We were silent as we strapped the canoe down.  Had it been a large group, we would have been talking up a storm.  With just the two of us, there was room for silence.  With the years between us, a nod and a lifted eyebrow said all that needed to be said.

We drove out on the winding highway until the highway ended and became a rutted gravel road.  All along the way, patches of snow blanketed any area where there was shade.  Winter was not quite ready to let go.  We arrived at the parking lot by the first portage, shouldered our packs and the canoe and took one last look around.  The thermometer when we left read 36 degrees.  This was going to be one of those trips when there were no bugs, when the campfire felt really good, and when the price for how good your sleeping bag felt at night was how hard it was going to be to crawl back out of it in the morning.

Our first stop, after quite a bit of paddling on a chain of lakes, is Canadian Customs.  That’s right…In the middle of nowhere, there is a house.  Planted firmly in front of that house is the Canadian flag waving on a tall flag pole.  You carry all your stuff to the lake in front the cabin.  Then, you walk in to the house, look around and say, “How’s it going, eh?”  (Actually, I’ve never said that but I’ve kind of always wanted to!)  There’s a park ranger there who hands you paperwork. You fill out all the forms.  You show them your remote border crossing permit which you’ve secured months ahead of time.  Most importantly, you settle up for your daily camping fees and make sure you’ve got your Canadian fishing license.  Then, the park ranger, who is always unbelievably friendly, wishes you well and you’re off.

Now, in my limited encounters with Canadians, I have had nothing but nice experiences, although there does seem to be a general tendency to use less words rather than more words, unlike us Americans.  This is why I was surprised when the ranger in the station said more than just, “Have a good trip!”  Before we left, he said to us, “It’s going to be rough out there.  Be smart!”  Of course, what he didn’t understand was that we were young and strong and sure that we could overcome just about anything.  He must have just not been paying careful attention to who we were!

So we took off. Having paddled already, we were warmed up and in synch with one another.  The packs fit perfectly in the canoe-a nice stable load.  We were good!  We put the first bay behind us in almost no time.  As we rounded the corner, though, it was like someone had turned on the biggest wind turbine on earth.  We were getting blasted by the arctic wind.  At the same time, the temperature seemed to be dropping fast.  

All of this seemed to be about as bad as things could get until we came around the corner and found ourselves in the junction of two channels—wind tunnels that day—that cut around both sides of the island in front of us.  Literally, if the nose of our canoe turned too far in either direction, we were going to be spun around like a top. In that spin, it was entirely possible that we might capsize, given the size of the waves around us. Both of us paddled as hard as we could paddle…simply to stay in place.  The only answer to our present dilemma to go absolutely straight ahead until we could get wind protection from the island and then make it to shore.  However, it appeared that this would not be happening any time soon.  We were working hard, fairly miserable, and totally stuck.

Then, it started snowing.  This was no flurry.  This was the blowing sideways, stinging-your-face kind of snow that makes your eyes water.  So, we’re working hard.  We’re even more miserable.  We’re still stuck.  The only thing that was clear was that we absolutely, positively had to keep paddling.  That’s when my friend did the only thing left to do:  he began singing, “Everybody was KungFu fighting…His feet were fast as lightning!”  Of all the songs that he could have picked, he picked that?  Yup, and it was while we were laughing that we finally started to make a little headway after all.  (I’m here. We made it, okay?)

That moment became one of those immediate metaphors that come to life when you’ve been physically challenged.  Who hasn’t been stuck?  Who hasn’t felt like you are “paddling” as hard as you can and everything is working against you?  Who hasn’t, in the middle of a great challenge, felt like the possibility of “capsizing” was very real?  And who hasn’t, when you’re fighting for all you’re worth, had something break in to your awareness, something that lightened your mood, or deepened your perspective, or led you to a reserve of energy that you didn’t know you had.  Someone says the right thing.  The right memory pops up.  Maybe, someone just sings the right bad song from the ’70’s.  You survive but you are changed.

Consider our text.  Last week, we reminded ourselves of the overwhelming evil of Herod, of his affair with his sister-in-law, of his niece’s request for John the Baptist’s head.  Jesus hears this and is overwhelmed.  In his grief, he wants to walk away and be by himself but the crowds have other ideas.  Waves of sick people, waves of people who just felt empty, come and find him.  Undoubtedly, he was overwhelmed by their sheer numbers, but Jesus heals them and feeds their souls with his teachings.  He helps people who are stuck to get unstuck.  However, when the disciples point out how hungry the crowds must be and they tell Jesus what to do, it’s time to get them unstuck, too.  Jesus tells them to do something.

In that moment, the disciples are overwhelmed.  They don’t have enough to possibly meet the needs of all those people.  The story is about loaves and fish but that’s really not the point.  Every one of us have been through moments in life when, if we did the math before we tried to help, then we never would have taken action at all.  “Do something and see what happens, see how God is the multiplier.”  That’s the lesson for us all.  In the words of Mother Teresa, “Few of us will do great things but all of us can do small things with great love.”  Small things, done with great love, tend to multiply.  Jesus teaches the disciples to share what they have.  Everyone is fed.  There’s more than enough, after all.

Now, you’d think that Jesus would give the disciples a moment to bask in the afterglow, right?  After all, no one has ever been hurt by being overwhelmed with good feelings over a job well done, right?  “Wow!  Look what we did!  Look what just happened!”  You couldn’t fault the disciples for wanting to have a little “post-feast” celebration, could you?  Honestly, though, don’t we all know the danger of reading our own reviews.  “Look what we did with Jesus’ help,” could easily become, “Look what we did,” which only takes a moment to turn into “Hey, look at me!” (Remember, these disciples would soon be arguing about which of them was the greatest!)  The easiest thing in the world is to claim all the victories for myself and blame the defeats on everyone but me.

So, Jesus, being the insightful guy that he is, doesn’t give the disciples a moment to stand there.  Matthew tells us that, “Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd.”  Jesus didn’t give them so much as a moment to catch their breath.  He didn’t make a suggestion.  He made them.  He ordered them to get in the boat and go.  Jesus forced them into the boat.  Sure, three of those disciples were fishermen.  Maybe being on a boat was no big deal to them.  However, I guarantee that the other nine were not thrilled.  “It’s been a long day.  Can’t we go in the morning?” 

Crossing the Sea of Galilee was never easy.  It was shallow, windy and filled with rocks that could wreck any boat in an instant.  Only the most veteran sailors would have been on that water at night.  The Sea of Galilee was also famous for its storms which blew up hard and fast. Imagine how small that boat felt on that sea!  It’s night.  It’s storming.  They are getting hammered by the wind.  And, oh, by the way, three quarter of those in the boat have no experience and are scared to the point of mutiny.  Still, let’s make this point abundantly clear:  the disciples are doing exactly what Jesus told them to do. Their reward is that they are now scared to death and completely overwhelmed by the power of nature.

So, you can be overwhelmed by the evil in the world, by the crowd that will not leave you alone, by the needs of the people in front of you, by the challenge of doing something when you know you can’t do it all or by the fact that you are doing the exact thing that you’re supposed to be doing and it still feels like you are about to die.  This is what happens to Jesus and the disciples…in one chapter…of one Gospel.  Should we be surprised or caught off guard or outraged when we are overwhelmed? I don’t think so.  I think that happens…often.  Why do I think this?  Because the Bible tells me so!

The disciples are at the “end of their rope.”  They are exhausted.  They are cold.  They are in despair.  They have no strength left—which may have been why Jesus sent them out there in the first place.  “So…you guys are a little full of yourself? Try this on for size.  Knock yourselves out” Sometimes, we have to exhaust ourselves and feel hollowed out by the effort before there is any room opened up inside of us.  Sometimes, if I’m going to believe in God, some tremors need to shake my absolute confidence in me.

Jesus is aware of the danger they are in.  They are never alone.  He dismisses the crowd, assuring them that their faith made them whole.  He goes off into the hills to pray.  As soon as he prays, he’s aware of their needs.  They fight the waves, breaking their backs with every stroke.  Then,  Jesus comes strolling out to them.  Everything about this moment suggests that it is possible for him to live in the world that can be totally overwhelming and he will not be blown away:  not by flat out evil; not by a world of hurt; not by the praise of a well-fed crowd; and, most certainly, not by a little breeze and some chop on the water.  In my mind, I think Jesus doesn’t just walk on water.  I think he does a little dance on those waves.  Maybe he even gives them a quick rendition of the world’s best song to sing when you’re making your way through the wind and the waves:  “Everybody was KungFu fighting.  His feet were fast as lightning…” 

The disciples think they’re seeing a ghost.  Haven’t we all been startled by the friend or the family member or the letter or the email that showed up at just the right time?  Jesus doesn’t let them linger in that fear.  He will not abandon them or let them stay stuck.  Instead, he speaks:  “Take heart.  It is I. Do not be afraid.”  Maybe, in that instant, the disciples finally began to think less of what they could do on their own and more about what they could do in partnership with Jesus.  This man who could heal broken bodies.  He could feed thousands with scraps.  Most amazingly, though, that night, he could calm twelve lost and overwhelmed men in a boat.