Lord, Save Me: Matthew 14:22-33

Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowd.

Made them go. Urgency. The feeding of the five thousand had created dangerous excitement—John 6 says they wanted to make him king by force. Jesus sent the disciples away and dispersed the crowd.

After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone.

Finally, solitude. The grief over John, the drain of ministry, the pressure of crowds—he brought it all to the Father. Hours passed in prayer.

And the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it.

Another storm. The disciples fighting the wind, oars straining, making little progress. The Sea of Galilee was determined to test them again.

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake.

Walking. On water. The laws of physics do not bend, but their Author walked on their surface. He came toward the struggling boat as if the waves were pavement.

When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. "It's a ghost," they said, and cried out in fear.

Terror. In the pre-dawn darkness, a figure approaching across the water. Their minds reached for the only explanation: a spirit, an apparition, something from nightmares.

But Jesus immediately said to them: "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid."

It is I. In Greek, ego eimi—"I am." The divine name, spoken over churning water. Don't be afraid—the storm was real, but so was he.

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."

Peter. Always Peter. The one who spoke first, acted first, failed first. If it's you—a test, a dare, a leap of faith in question form.

"Come," he said.

One word. Permission granted. The invitation was simple; the implications were staggering.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.

He did it. Peter—fisherman, not prophet, not priest—stepped over the gunwale onto liquid surface and walked. For several steps, maybe more, he defied gravity by faith.

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!"

He saw the wind. The waves. The impossibility of what he was doing. Eyes moved from Jesus to circumstances, faith shifted to fear, and immediately he began to sink.

Lord, save me! The shortest prayer in Scripture. Three words, total desperation. No time for eloquence.

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?"

Immediately. Jesus did not let Peter sink while delivering a sermon on faith. He grabbed him first, then gently questioned him.

Little faith. Not no faith—Peter had stepped out of the boat. But small faith looked at waves and forgot who had called him.

And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down.

Climbing in, calm. The storm that had raged all night ended when Jesus entered the boat.

Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."

Worship. Confession. The feeding had been remarkable; this was more. Walking on water, commanding storms, pulling Peter from the deep—only God's Son could do these things.

The night that began with terror ended with worship. The disciples who had cried "Ghost!" now declared "Son of God."

Peter would fail again—bigger failures ahead. But he would also remember: the Lord who let him sink was the Lord who caught him. Every time.