from the artist // LISLE GWYNN GARRITY
At the start of this chapter, John the Baptist is brutally
beheaded. Jesus withdraws from the crowds to a deserted
place, yet is followed by the masses—perhaps many of
them former followers of John the Baptist. Moved with
compassion, he heals the sick and miraculously generates
bounty from a meal of five loaves and two fish.
Then, he “immediately” rushes the disciples into a boat,
dismisses the crowds, and retreats to a mountain by himself.
Perhaps he needs space to grieve John and to grapple with
the gravity of his calling. The crowds and demands of his
ministry were surging; in the same way, the waves and the
wind begin to batter the boat that had drifted far from shore.
If you’ve ever been in open water during a storm or even
high winds, you know the shockwave of fear that pulses
through your veins. Yet, as dawn breaks, a mirage beckons
to them, casting out words to buoy them up: “Do not fear.”
What I find in Peter’s response is not a challenge or a
profession of doubt, but a willingness to step into the
swell, like a trust fall into the unknown. Perhaps in seasons
when our sense of certainty and security unravels, our
desperation is more likely to convert into courage. Is there
something about unraveling that makes us a bit less risk-
averse, a bit more willing to try what we wouldn’t have
dared when everything felt predictable and sure?
Imagine this same scene with no storm, no raging seas,
no ghostly glimpse of Jesus skimming the surface. Would
Peter have stepped in then? Would he have expanded his
definition of what’s possible? Would he have experienced
the divine so surprisingly, so surely? Would you step in?
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