12.08.2026
Saint Francis
Sermon Pentecost 11A | August 9, 2026
The Rev. Christian Jennert, Bridge Pastor
Psalm 105, 1-6, 45b; Romans 10:5-15; Matthew 14:22-33
Few commands in Holy Scripture are repeated more often than these words: “Do not be afraid.”
God says them to Abraham. To Moses. To Mary. To Joseph. To shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night. To the women who come to Jesus’ tomb on Easter morning. To Paul sitting in prison. And today, to frightened disciples tossed about on the Sea of Galilee.
Again and again, whenever God’s people find themselves facing uncertainty, these words return: “Do not be afraid.”
Apparently, God knows something about us. We human beings are remarkable good at being afraid.
Some of us come this morning carrying fears about our health. Others worry about their aging parents, spouses, or children. Some wonder what tomorrow will bring – for their work, for the country, or for the future. Sometimes we cannot even name what makes us anxious. We simply feel unsettled. Communities can feel that way too. Whenever there is change or transition, even faithful people can begin wondering what comes next.
Fear is simply part of being human.
Our Gospel this morning begins with the disciples gathered in a boat. Jesus has just fed the five thousand. He sends the disciples ahead while he goes up the mountain alone to pray. Even Jesus knows the importance of stepping away, resting, and spending time with his Father.
Meanwhile, the disciples find themselves out on the sea. Matthew says the boat was battered – or perhaps better translated, tormented – by the waves, because the wind was against them.
A boat is an interesting place. There is nowhere to hide. Everyone feels the same wind. Everyone hears the same crashing waves. Everyone wonders whether they will make it safely to shore.
It is no surprise that many early Christians saw this little boat as an image of the Church itself – sometimes sailing peacefully, sometimes struggling against strong winds, yet always carried by Christ.
Matthew was writing for Christians who knew what storms felt like. They faced persecution, uncertainty, and questions about whether the risen Savior was truly still with them. Perhaps every generation of Christians has felt that way at one time or another.
Then, in the darkest part of the night – in what Matthew calls the fourth watch, just before dawn – Jesus comes toward them, walking across the sea. You would think the disciples would be relieved. Instead, they become even more terrified. “It’s a ghost!” they cry. How often are we like those disciples?
When life becomes overwhelming, our fears grow so loud that we fail to recognize Christ standing right in front of us. We stop noticing the quiet ways Christ continues to be present. We become so focused on the waves that we lose sight of the One who comes walking through them. The disciples see Jesus – but they cannot recognize him.
Immediately Jesus speaks: “Take heart. I am. Do not be afraid.” Our English translations usually render those words, “It is I.” But the Greek says something far deeper. “Ego eimi.” “I AM.” These are the very words God spoke to Moses from the burning bush.
Before Jesus calms the wind. . . before Peter climbs back into the boat. . .before the circumstances change at all. . .Jesus first reveals who he is. The deepest comfort is not that the storm immediately ends. The deepest comfort is that God himself is present in the middle of it.
“I AM.”
The eternal God has stepped into the storm. Then comes Peter. Peter does what Peter often does. He speaks before thinking. Yet there is also something deeply beautiful about Peter. He wants to be where Jesus is. “If it is you, Rabbi, command me to come to you.” And Jesus simply says, “Come.”
For a few astonishing moments Peter actually walks on the water. As long as his eyes remain fixed on Christ, he does what should be impossible. But then Peter notices the wind. He notices the waves. He notices the danger. Fear begins to replace trust. And he starts to sink. Isn’t that our story as well?
Whenever our eyes move away from Christ and become fixed only on our circumstances, fear begins to take over. Fear becomes a hidden master. We begin to believe everything depends on us. We carry burdens we were never meant to carry. We try to control what we cannot control. And eventually we begin to sink under the weight of it all.
Peter’s prayer may be on of the shortest prayers in Scripture. “Lord, save me!” (Kύριε, σῶσον με). Not a polished prayer. Not a theological speech. Just three desperate words. And immediately Jesus reaches out his hand.
Notice what Jesus does not do. He does not lecture Peter. He does not wait for Peter to deserve rescuing. He reaches out. Immediately. That may be one of the most comforting words in today’s Gospel. Immediately. Christ is always quicker to save than we are to ask.
One writer observes that stepping out of the boat is frightening because it requires letting go of the illusion that we are in control. Faith is not the absence of fear. Faith is trusting that Christ is present even while the wind continues to blow.
The church has weathered storms before. Every congregation has seasons of calm and seasons of uncertainty. Leaders come and go. Circumstances change. Plans change. Life changes. But the One who comes walking across the waves has never changed. Christ is still Lord of the Church. He has not abandoned the boat. And Christ has certainly not abandoned you.
Perhaps today you feel more like the disciples than the saints – tired, anxious, uncertain about what lies ahead. If so, hear once more the words Jesus speaks before the wind is stilled, before Peter succeeds or fails, before anyone has everything figured out:
“Take heart. I AM. Do not be afraid.”
Those words are enough. Christ is still with us. Christ is still leading us. Christ is still holding us – even when the winds are strong.
And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
