“Crisis of Faith”

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

August 9, 2026

Psalm 85:8-13

Matthew 14:22-33

First, let’s back up a bit in the narrative and reorient ourselves. Jesus had been teaching in parables across the countryside—including his own hometown—when word came to him that King Herod had murdered John the Baptist. Upon hearing this news, Jesus escaped to a quiet place to pray and be alone with his grief.

Except, the crowds heard the same news and followed him. As they gathered, he continued to heal and to teach. When evening came, he enlisted the disciples to feed the crowd of 15,000—which they did with a fair bit of confusion and amazement. There was so much left over that what started as 5 loaves and 2 fish became 12 baskets of extra.

This is the point in which Jesus commands the disciples to take the boat to the other side of the lake, leaving him alone to disperse the crowds. He tries a second time to be alone in prayer and grief. And then, as the storm rages and the disciples lose hope, Jesus walks toward them across the water, like a ghost.

And throughout this story, I just keep wanting to know: Why? Why did Jesus make the disciples leave? Was it for their protection from the crowds? Or to keep them from getting the crowd riled up with ideas of a warrior Messiah? Or to set them up for a miracle?

And then Jesus waits as the storm rages. He waits to join them, and then he walks out to them—through the storm. Why? What is he proving? What is he accomplishing? Why not calm the storm? What is this story about, anyway?

And then there’s Peter. I mean, really. “Command me to walk to you?” What is he thinking? Is he testing Jesus? Is he testing his own faith? Is he calling Jesus’ bluff? And Jesus says, “Come.” He plays into whatever weird manipulation is going on here. Why? What is he trying to prove?

The ONLY thing that makes sense is that Peter eventually sinks. And that when he does, he cries out, “Lord, save me!” It’s like being in some weird trippy dream and finally, with the water closing in overhead, waking up to reality. And then, of course, upon reentering the boat, the storm ceases, and everyone says, “Oh yeah. This is God’s Son, all right.”

Seriously? It takes them this long? After he calmed the storm the first time and healed the sick and fed the masses? And THIS is what finally convinces them? Why?

Instead, I appreciate the interpretation offered by the filmmakers of “The Chosen.” There’s absolutely no Scriptural evidence of the personal details, but it does offer a way to make sense of the story. In season 3, Jesus sends the disciples out in twos to proclaim the gospel to the outlying areas. While they are gone, Peter’s wife Eden has a miscarriage that nearly claimed her life.

When he finds out, he is both devastated and angry. Jesus has been healing people and blessing people—strangers they would just happen upon. But he let Eden suffer. Peter also feels guilty because he was on a mission for Jesus when it happened. He was gone when she needed him. And he didn’t really know how to show up for her when he returned and learned the truth.

It all culminates as the disciples gather baskets to distribute food to the crowds. Peter is seething, and while everyone else wonders what Jesus is going to do, Peter knows. He hates that Jesus is going to help the people—again. Because he apparently doesn’t care at all about his own beloved disciples. Why doesn’t he help THEM first?

Then the story continues. Jesus sends them out on the boat and retreats to a quiet place until the middle of the night. The disciples have been struggling for hours on the lake and have all but given up. When they see Jesus walking towards them, everyone is afraid. But Peter has had enough of the theatrics. His insistence that Jesus command him to walk on the water is a challenge—a dare. It’s like, “So, if you’re the one—if you’re the man—then do something. Prove it.”

And he begins to walk toward Jesus. Angry, with a legitimate chip on his shoulder, he takes another step. And another. Until he realizes where he is and what he’s doing. But this isn’t where his faith falters. That happened long before. This is just when he realizes it. And he cries out, “Lord, save me.” His confession of faith is in that one word: “Lord.”

When Jesus helps him back into the boat, Peter breaks down in grief, in relief, in despair, in love, in repentance. And all he says as Jesus holds him close is, “Don’t let me go.”

We all know moments of grief and anger—of doubt and antipathy. We often ask ‘why’—Why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you do something? Why weren’t you there? And what difference does it make if you can walk on water or not? How does that change anything?

But Jesus walking on water isn’t the most important part of this story. The key piece comes when we sink—and we will. We are still allowed to cry out, “Lord, save me!” And Jesus will always be there, reaching into our pain and our fear. Jesus will always be there holding onto us—even when we let go.

It’s not that Peter didn’t believe in God. Or in Jesus. Or that Jesus was God. What he stopped believing in—according to one interpretation—is that God would be there for HIM. He believed in the miracles. He believed God cared about the people. But because God didn’t step in and stop bad things from happening to him, the most fervent of the disciples, then why was he there?

Why was he working so hard for someone who would abandon him in his time of need? And there are no satisfactory answers for that. What we forget is that Jesus too was in the midst of a crisis. His cousin had just been killed in a political maneuver that foreshadowed Jesus’ own death. He was grieving. He was probably scared. He was exhausted from the healing and the teaching. Perhaps he was also angry—with God, with Herod, with the people, with the disciples. No one seemed to understand. Even with all of the followers, his was a very lonely road. So, he was not new to the pain and anxiety that seemed to pervade society.

If Jesus, himself, struggled with these things, then why do we think we shouldn’t? Why do we think being faithful earns us a seat on the ‘easy bus?’ Just because we go through difficulties in life doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care—that God isn’t there. It doesn’t mean that Jesus has abandoned us.

We of little faith need not worry about the amount of faith we have. We need not worry about being angry with God. We need not worry about the times when we can’t stand to look at Jesus because we didn’t see him when we were struggling. It’s okay. He can take our anger and our grief and our pain. He can take our disappointment and our fear. He is there every time our feet and faith give way, and we find ourselves drowning. Even when we don’t cry out, he is there.

Jesus reaches into the darkness and despair. He enters it with us. He holds us tight and promises to never let us go.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE