“A Hand to Hold Onto”
Matthew 14:22-33; Genesis 37:1-8, 12-28
Genesis 37:1-8, 12-28
{37:1} Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan. 2 This is the story of the family of Jacob [who was now called Israel].
Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives; and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. 3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. [This was traditionally mistranslated, “coat of many colors.”]
4 But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.
5 Once Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers, they hated him even more. 6 He said to them, “Listen to this dream that I dreamed. 7 There we were, binding sheaves in the field. Suddenly my sheaf rose and stood upright; then your sheaves gathered around it, and bowed down to my sheaf.”
8 His brothers said to him, “Are you indeed to reign over us? Are you indeed to have dominion over us?” So they hated him even more because of his dreams and his words…
12 Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem. 13 And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” Joseph answered, “Here I am.” 14 So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.
Joseph came to Shechem, 15 and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?”
16 “I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” 17 The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’”
So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. 18 They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. 19 They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer. 20 Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.”
21 But when Reuben [the oldest brother] heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” 22 Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him” —[so that Reuben] might rescue [Joseph] and restore him to his father.
23 So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; 24 and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
25 Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. 26 Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? 27 Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed.
28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.
Matthew 14:22-33
22 Immediately [after the miraculous feeding of the 5,000 families, Jesus] made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds.
23 And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, 24 but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them.
25 And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. 26 But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. 27 But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
28 Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” 29 He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. 30 But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!”
31 Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
32 When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. 33 And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”
The Sermon
Like all the other disciples in the boat that night, I knew all the old stories. All of us, including Peter, knew the stories of Adam and Eve; Noah’s Ark; Abraham and Sarah; and their son, Isaac; and Isaac and Rebekah’s son, Jacob—later called Israel—and Jacob’s son, Joseph.
Those were the stories that made us who we were, in a way, the way the stories of the Mayflower and Valley Forge and the old West make Americans who they are.
They mattered, because each one told us something about who we are as a people—God’s people.
But those old Bible stories also tell us something about who we are as individuals.
The creation story isn’t just the story of creation. We recognize something in Adam when he gets caught having eaten the fruit of the forbidden tree, and blames Eve for it. That’s you, and that’s me.
In the Noah’s Ark story, when the Ark has beached on Mt. Ararat and Noah keeps sending out the dove, hoping it won’t come back, meaning it will have found a place to perch, meaning the waters will have receded enough for them all to get out of the ark and find their own place—anyone can recognize that feeling of wanting to get off the boat and be somewhere.
In the Abraham and Sarah story, I don’t know about you, but I recognize the way Sarah laughs when she hears God tell Abram that she, at 90, is going to have a baby. And God says, “What are you laughing at?” and she goes, “Huh? What? No! No, I didn’t laugh.” (Have you ever tried not to laugh in church? Sarai might have been the first one to have had that struggle.)
We know those Bible stories, because, much as they’re about those specific people, they’re kind of about us, too. And in the story of Joseph and his brothers, we can recognize just about everybody.
There was Reuben, the oldest brother, who probably thought of himself as just a wonderful guy for getting the others not to kill their little brother—just to toss him into a pit, before sitting down for supper, and then sell him into slavery and God only knows what kind of future. But hey, they didn’t kill him. What a wonderful big brother.
There was Judah, who was not only perfectly happy with whatever, but also thought, hey, as long as we’re going to get rid of the little rodent, why don’t we see if we can make some money off of it, too? He probably thought he was just terrifically thrifty.
And then, there’s Joseph himself. If you wanted an innocent victim in this story, you won’t find it in little Joey.
They hate him because he’s a spoiled brat who’s 15 years past the age when you can get away with that.
They hate him because he thinks so highly of himself, for no apparent reason, other than that their Dad regards him—and, more gallingly, treats him—as a miracle. They’re all more or less just farmhands, but little Joseph is a miracle; and he wears that stupid robe with the sleeves that Daddy had made just for him, while we’re out here working in burlap.
And they hate him because he quite clearly believes that all his older brothers should think of themselves as incredibly fortunate to be in a position to be charter members of his fan club.
And I recognize something in every bit of that story.
The sacred light in Jacob’s eyes as he looks after his precious son—the muscle in the jaw, the grinding of the teeth as the brothers remember every slight with which Joseph ever humiliated them—the cautious look on Reuben’s face as he debates inwardly whether he should say what he knows he ought to say, in the face of a mob who feel otherwise. I can see all of those expressions, because I’ve lived them myself.
But when I saw Jesus coming toward us on the water, I saw something I had never seen before. Levitation is a neat illusion, and maybe you love your grandmother more than anyone else. But if you saw your grandmother levitating, would that not be the scariest moment of your life?
When we saw Jesus walking on the water, there were no old sayings about it, no jokes about who else could or couldn’t do it. We were just a bunch of young men in a boat, battered by the waves, far from the land, with the wind against us. And we thought we were seeing a ghost. And we cried out in fear.
There was only one thing in all God’s universe that could have calmed us, one voice that could have reassured us. And Jesus spoke to us and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”
When you are facing the worst fear of your life, know this: the God who made everything there is and rules over it will come to you, no matter what it takes. And do not be afraid.
And the wind was still coming at us, and it helped to carry his voice to us; and when we heard it, we knew it was his voice. But we still couldn’t quite believe what we were seeing.
So Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And Jesus said, “Come.”
So Peter got out of the boat, and just like we were seeing Jesus do, Peter started walking on the water, and he began to move out toward Jesus.
But the same wind that had blown Jesus’ words to our ears was still blowing strong, and all of a sudden, for a horrifying instant, we thought Peter was going to sink like a stone.
And for some reason, that story about Joseph flashed in my mind. And as I watched my friend Peter struggle in the water, I could see his fear from all the way back in the boat, he who was always so brave, so impulsive, so stubbornly loyal and faithful—now he looked pathetic, mortal, weak—scared. And I could have cried; I thought we were going to lose him.
And I pictured the hand of Joseph, that irritating, spoiled, 17-year-old brat who sincerely thought he was so wonderfully thought of by everyone, a mix of ignorance and arrogance that makes you ache to throw him in a pit and forget about him.
I pictured little Joseph’s open hand, his outstretched arm, the taut shoulder muscles, and the bewildered, terrified look on that poor kid’s face, as the Midianite traders reached down to pull him up out of the pit.
Did he wonder for a second if they were the good guys, sent by Dad to get this whole thing cleared up? Did he think, “Oh, thank God; it was all just a big joke my brothers were playing on me—they really do love me after all!”—only to be disappointed and brought up into a whole new world of fear, a whole new level of doubt and worry and the pain of complete rejection and total exploitation?
I don’t know why I suddenly remembered that story as I looked at Peter—you can’t even call it stumbling; he was sinking, not like in quicksand, not like in the swamp, but like he had suddenly taken the plunge, and was going to go down like a stone, like any of us would out there on the windswept water.
There was the open hand, the outstretched arm, the taut shoulder muscles, working to hang on for dear life—and we couldn’t see his face, but I imagined it must have been just as bewildered and terrified as Joseph’s would have been, all those centuries ago.
But this time, it was no Midianite trader, pulling Peter up out of his own pit of terror just to sell him into slavery in a faraway land.
Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught Peter, and he said, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
Henri Nouwen wrote,
Hope means to keep living
amid desperation
and to keep humming
in the darkness.
Hoping is knowing that there is love,
it is trust in tomorrow
it is falling asleep
and waking again
when the sun rises.
In the midst of a gale at sea,
it is to discover land.
In the eyes of another
It is to see that he understands you.
As long as there is still hope
There will also be prayer.
And God will be holding you
in his hands.
Keith Grogg
Carolina Beach Presbyterian Church
Carolina Beach, NC
August 10, 2008
(The poem is from Nouwen, With Open Hands. Notre Dame, IN: Ave Maria Press, 1985.)
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