Fourth Watch

Matthew 14:22-31
Immediately after
this, Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the
other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home,
he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there
alone.
Meanwhile, the disciples were in
trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting
heavy waves. About three o'clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking
on the water. When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were
terrified. In their fear, they cried out, "It's a ghost!"
But Jesus spoke to them at once. "Don't be
afraid," he said. "Take courage. I am here!"
Then Peter called to him,
"Lord, if it's really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water."
Yes, come," Jesus said.
So
Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus. But
when he saw the strong wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink.
"Save me, Lord!" he shouted.
Jesus
immediately reached out and grabbed him. "You have so little faith," Jesus said.
"Why did you doubt me?"

I don't like three a.m. During a long string of nights recently, I came to understand that the only reason I ever see that hour of the night is because I am caught in a storm. When things are as "normal" as they ever are in this life, I observe that hour properly with peaceful sleep. I can say wholeheartedly that I am a fan of peaceful sleep.

I've always loved this story about Peter, my favorite. I have felt that desperate longing to get out of the boat, to take that step of crazy faith that will lead me to do things that look impossible, and I have surely seen the wind and waves and sunk like a stone.

Three a.m. can lead to a lot of sinking. I feel like I've experienced it enough to know very well the feeling of desperation that leads you to cry out "save me" because it is nearly impossible to avoid a hard look at the facts of the situation, the limitations of your own power, and the impossible odds in the quiet of the night when all other noise that we use as distraction has been stripped away. At that time of night, there are no friends to call on, television is a wasteland, my mind is usually too disordered for the escape of books so there is only the problem. And my complete inability to fix it.

I really hope you have no idea what I'm talking about. That you've never sat beside the bed of a loved one who is battling for life or faced the thoughts of what an unfavorable diagnosis means to the rest of your own life. Sometimes the storm is just the aftermath, it arrives in the middle of the night after you've lost someone you can't imagine living without or you face the demands of paying the bills when the job you've given your time and talents to for so long is gone.

Have I mentioned my disordered mind? I really should not be up at that hour of the night. My thoughts bounce. I am a Christian, I am a Peter fan, and I know this story pretty well. So first, I cry out. I claim the promises I remember from the Bible, usually in broken fragments, doing my best to be anxious for nothing but to pray and ask for peace and wisdom and healing and direction and sometimes just to rest.

And in the storm, I hear answers: be still, know that I am God, a promise to give me a hope and a future, another promise to work things to my good because I love Christ. That's the mature me. That's the faithful me. Unfortunately, at three a.m. the other me is hard to contain.

The sinking me throws out some angry "why" questions, maybe a "how can you" to avoid repetition and several "I just don't understand" comments. I really should sleep. The lack turns me into a fussy child. Loneliness, fear, disappointment, and confusion don't help.

I thank God that the constant in every storm is His love for me. He sees my distress from far away, he hears my cries, the mature ones and the ones that come from the heart, and He comes for me. He calms the storms. The storms will come. I believe that if we're doing this properly, our faith increases. I will never celebrate three a.m. but I do rejoice to know that Christ is already there. He is always there.