"THe Fourth Watch"

Dr. George Sinclair, Pastor

Gen. 37:1-4, 12-28; Ps. 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b; Rom. 10:5-15; Matt. 14:22-33

August 10, 2008

              The Roman Navy divided the night shift into four watches.  The last, the fourth watch, was 3am to 6am.  The “fourth watch” is a different kind of time. I remember my first “fourth watch” like it was yesterday.  We were fifteen hours into a sailing trip from Annapolis to Savannah and were crossing under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge for the open waters of the Atlantic. 

We left Annapolis around noon that day, just across from the Naval Academy.  It was a cold, windy day, early November. We caught a cold front pushing through—very windy. And when I say “windy” I mean windy. I took a picture of the wind gauge and it registered forty-one knots.  We were on a sixty-five foot boat, but still that’s a lot of wind. 

My children, then nine and twelve, were with me, along with another friend, and two   experienced sailors.  I had never been on a sail boat.  When we first got underway and the sails unfurled and the lee rail went to the water I wasn’t sure the boat wouldn’t just topple over and that would be it. 

To this day, my daughter blames me for her bout with sea-sickness.  She was cold and I told her to go below and warm up.  Big mistake.  She was green for the rest of the day as was my friend Benji, who was along for the ride; and, like me, a first-time sailor. 

After a great day of sailing, a big evening meal, lots of conversation, and more than a little excitement, the crew turned in for some well deserved sleep, which I discovered is not altogether easy on a rolling, pitching boat.  After a short, fitful nap, it was my watch.  For safety reasons, we did two-man watches.  I stood my first “fourth watch” with my friend, Captain AJ.

Capitan AJ had taught himself to sail in the Sea of Japan during the Korean War.  Back in the day, he also taught himself celestial navigation so he could deliver boats from Hawaii to L.A., which he did as a hobby.  AJ’s other hobby was bike-riding, which is how we met.  Over the years, AJ and I logged several thousand miles sailing together and two or three times that riding bikes. 

On that first “fourth watch” with AJ in the wee hours of the morning, there were boats everywhere—not little boats, not other sailboats, though some of those too; but great big ships, freighters, and navy ships—all kinds of boats.  There were lights in every direction.  Once, we actually made out what we thought was a carrier. 

With the wind aft at maybe twenty-five knots, we were still rocking along at a good clip.  The stars were out. It was freezing cold.  I was tired, but never happier.  It was absolutely      beautiful.  Making for open waters, we toasted the night, sat back, and dreamed on about the nine hundred mile trip before us.

I wish I could say that about every fourth watch I’ve stood. Some fourth watches make for very long nights.  Even when the weather is good, it’s hard to stay awake.  You expend a lot of adrenalin sailing, especially when you’re off shore and have sailed for days and nights on end.  The fourth watch can be down right spooky—you’re tired, you’re watching the horizon for other vessels; you’re worried about getting run over, you’ve got one eye on the compass and another on the sails. And, when you’re a rookie like I was, you’re half-afraid you’re going to do something wrong.  On the fourth watch, you can’t wait for the sun to come up.  You can’t wait for first light.

Jesus came to the disciples on the “fourth watch.”  John the Baptist had just been beheaded by Herod.  When Jesus learns the awful news he leaves Galilee, crossing the lake out of Herod’s reach. When it’s time to return, Jesus sends the disciples back to Galilee while he goes away, up a mountain, to pray.  The mood is darkening.  With John’s death, the landscape is changing rapidly.  Soon Pharisees and scribes from Jerusalem will come to     Galilee to investigate Jesus. 

All of this is happening when Jesus comes to the disciples during the fourth watch.  Matthew describes their meeting in these words, “the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them.  And in the early morning (the Greek reads  literally, “in the fourth watch of the night”) he (that is, Jesus) came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him     walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, ‘It is a ghost!’ (the Greek reads, “it is a      phantom.”)  And they cried out in fear.  But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

That sounds about right. It’s the fourth watch and you’re on a small boat in the middle of a large,  troubled sea.  You’re going to be afraid.  I know it’s true.  But this story is about more than frightened sailors on a troubled sea.  It is a story of courage: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

“Take heart.” 

This is a parable about the church, a church separated from Jesus, a church in     trouble.  This is parable about the church taking courage from Jesus.  The church is almost home, but it is the fourth watch and the sea is troubled.  Those in the boat are exhausted. They are wet and cold and tired.  And when they see Jesus they assume he is a phantom, a figment of their imagination: “Lord, if it is you.”

“Lord, if it is you,” Peter cries, “command me” and I will come. 

If it’s the fourth watch and you’re over troubled waters, you better know the phantom who calls you. And not just by name. You   better know the phantom’s intent, his desire, his purpose and most importantly his identity: “Lord, if it is you.”

When it’s the fourth watch and you’re about to jump into troubled seas, you better have good reason. There had better be         substance.  I mean, who comes to church to believe a fairy tale?  Even if it is a very nice fairy tale, even if it is well told, do you really want to jump into a troubled sea based on a phantom?  That’s what Freud thought—we need a god so we invent one.  We need a god so we project a heavenly father onto the big screen of heaven.  We need a god, so we make one up.  We create a Phantom.  “There must be a reason we are here on earth—God made us.  There must be some purpose to human existence—God calls us.  Surely we’re not alone in the Universe—we are God’s children. ” We need a god so we make one up—that’s what Freud thought.  God is an illusion, a Phantom.

Peter wondered the same thing. Peter didn’t need Freud to tell him that. I know; Peter was uneducated. He was not well read. What did he know—poor, dumb fisherman?  You know fishermen: they’re all superstitious.  And besides, silly people of Bible times, what did they know?

Yet Peter asks, “Lord, if it is you . . .” Peter wants to know.  He’s not jumping out of the boat to chase a phantom. He’s got more sense than that. “Lord, if it is you, command me.”

Jesus said, “Come." 

Peter got out of the boat.  And you know what; he started walking on the water. He was going toward Jesus. He was walking. He was actually doing it—the impossible. But then “he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened,” and he started to sink.

A teacher said one of her friends went through a fierce competition with another preacher for a pulpit.  The search committee was divided. Some thought the other candidate was stronger, but they finally chose the teacher’s friend.   The friend accepted the call. After his first sermon, a member from the search committee marched up to the preacher, looked him in the eye and said, “Buddy, you’d better be able to walk on water.”

A few months later, the same woman came up to the minister, “Remember when I said you better be able to walk on water? Well, I think you do!”

The teacher said her friend was a highly gifted preacher.  He worked hard. He was very competent.  Trouble was he started to believe his converted critic.  He started thinking he had to walk on water, that he should walk on water, that he could walk on water. And you know what, he didn’t last long.  It wasn’t long before he gave up—he walked away from ministry.

I’ve got a lot of sympathy for that story. I’ve got sympathy for preachers or anyone else who think they must walk on water—as if we could walk on water, if we only had the faith.  That’s how this story is often read.  “If Peter hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jesus, if he’d just had faith, he wouldn’t have sunk like the rock he was.” 

Any of us can play that game. You don’t have to be a preacher.  Anybody can play. You know, “If I only had enough faith my marriage wouldn’t be sinking, my kids would be right.  If I just had enough faith, I could fix what’s wrong; I could tackle this project and make it right.  Oh, ye of little faith.  Why do you doubt?  If you only believed, Government Street would prosper. We’d have people coming here in droves. The pews would be filled. We couldn’t beat them away with a stick.  If we only had faith.”

It is such a temptation to make this story about us.  But the story is not about us. It’s not about what we can or can’t do with just the right faith.  It’s about Jesus and the power of God to save us.  It’s about the power of Jesus to give us courage. It’s about the power of Jesus to give us “heart.”

Now it’s true enough: Peter takes his eye off Jesus.  Peter starts looking at the waves. Peter hears the wind.  And he thinks, “O my gosh, I’m out here on the water.  What in the world am I doing here?  I’m not supposed to be on the water. I’m supposed to be in the boat. The boat is safe. The boat is solid. Have I lost my mind?  What was I thinking? Why’d I ever leave the boat?”

Peter’s heart is sure enough divided.  And a divided heart will sink you.  But Peter’s heart is not divided because he took his eye off of Jesus and lost effort or focus or concentration or sincerity or any of those other things we tell   ourselves when we’re going under. You know, we tell ourselves: “What I really need to do is to try harder. I just need more faith. If I just believe enough, then it will come true.” 

 If faith worked that way, then faith really would be a matter of “wishful thinking” and we would be like the little engine that could.  But that’s not how faith works.  Faith is not about how much we believe or how hard we try or how sincere we are.  Faith is about who God is and what God does.  Peter sinks because he starts  trusting himself. Peter sinks because he forgets who calls him out of the boat. Peter sinks because he doubts the identity of Jesus. 

Peter’s doubt was not a matter of degree or effort. Peter doubts the identity of Jesus.  “Did Jesus really call me?  When I cry to the Lord, is there really a “Lord” to answer?  And is this “Lord” really my Advocate, my Father, my     Creator, my Savior? Is Jesus really who he says he is? Maybe he is just a phantom. Maybe I am just wishfully thinking.”

We’re tempted to make this story about us.  But the story is about Jesus.  Jesus is the one who walks on the water. Jesus is the one who reaches out to pull us into the boat.  Jesus is the one who comes to us in the Fourth Watch.  He is not a Phantom. He is not our imagination playing tricks on us, but really and truly Jesus, the Son of God.  Jesus comes to us in the Fourth Watch and when we go to him he gives us courage, he gives us heart; he takes us home. And we are saved. Amen.*

*I am indebted to Anna Carter Florence for      portions of this sermon.