Walking on the water

Bear with me, since I've been doing exegesis most of today, and am very tempted to share every element of this. Frankly, I refrain only because, 'tortoise' that I am, I have a thousand ideas and have yet to organise them. I was focussing today on the 6th chapter of the gospel of Mark. I heard a brilliant sermon on that passage yesterday (for example, though the Creator God and Trinity dominate my spirituality, it was the first time it occurred to me that the spirit of God across the waters in Genesis had its parallel in Jesus' walking on water.) Since I'm in one of my 'dull' spiritual periods, I thought I would latch on to providence and ponder the passage further.

Perhaps it is summer complaint of some sort, but I found myself slipping, as the old saying goes, from the sublime to the ridiculous. (That last word is inappropriate exaggeration, but I'll not strike the reference.) Occasionally, however well trained I was (so don't blame the Dominicans and Jesuits), I slip into the colourful, loose associations which are my Franciscan birthright. I'm going to ramble a bit about a totally homely idea that struck me.

In a trace of exegetical mode, I'll marvel that the apostles (whose 'hardness of heart' keeps them from the faith Jesus' seeks to inspire in them) saw all the wonders of chapter 6, then mistook the Master for a ghost. Aside from that I'm terrified of ghosts, I'll concede that I'd probably have gone into shock at seeing anyone walking on water, and, though we literary types are undoubtedly less durable than peasant working men, they wouldn't be inclined (as many of us are - momentarily, after which we usually realise it's a shadow or a tea sachet we didn't realise we dropped) to see ghosts, faeries, and so forth. I'm not at all surprised, let alone scandalised, at the apostles' bewilderment. (In fact, I'm afraid to open my eyes during the night sometimes, since a New Age upstairs neighbour told me, with fascination rather than terror, that she saw ghosts of those who once lived here. She can entertain whomever she wishes, but I hope none of them visit me.)

I know, of course, that the Christology which the passages set forth underlines "Who is Jesus?" Yet moving from seeing him as a great prophet and healer to witnessing nature miracles and the like must have been staggering for the apostles. "Just who are you?" must have been a perplexing question. I've noticed that, for many who are devout, moving from more familiar images to any deeper realisation can inspire fear as much as awe - I can only imagine if I began to catch on that a companion of mine had a divine nature. We cannot understand much of the divine in any case - but nothing would have prepared the apostles for the Incarnation (which certainly goes beyond images of the Messiah with which they might have had familiarity. Lord have mercy, as well all know, they had all the worse with which to deal shortly...)

Is it any surprise that, at all times of theophany, whether in the Old Testament, in the Annunciation, wherever, that a 'fear not' is standard? Fear and awe are a delicate balance. The sermon to which I referred yesterday included an exquisite reference to how the apostles "cannot tell nightmares from mystery."

The quickest glance at chapter 6 shows that the apostles had much of both awe and fear about them. They are commissioned to preach, heal, perform exorcisms - and indeed they do all of these things. (I'll preach any time - but not without preparation, and I dare say that fishermen and tax collectors, et al, might not have as much background, the more because the NIGTC was not published at the time. I think I'd pass out if I found that I'd laid hands on someone who recovered - and I wouldn't go within a light-year of anyone possessed by demons!) That in itself must have inspired both awe and fear. It hardly made their prospects better that John the Baptist was executed in the interim, or that their longed for rest period was interrupted by 5,000 men who needed to be fed (and were!)

I've seen many situations in my life when I truly believe divine providence was at work, but have never witnessed miracles. It must be utterly exhausting, and troubling because it is the unknown. I can't imagine how confused and overwhelmed one might be if the miracle happened at one's own hands. But 'nature miracles' such as the multiplication of bread and fish, or the walking on water, must have left the apostles puzzled and afraid. (I am inclined to think they actually had very strong faith, considering they accepted a commission of healing, preaching, and exorcism, successfully.)

It is an odd paradox. The divine always is mystery - and it frightens us (even as it inspires awe). Creation cannot be explained or understood. We always know how very little control we actually have of circumstances. Yet, whether in the first century or now, people will turn to the soothsayer, or medium, or (often charlatan) magicians, precisely out of fear. We long for some kind of power and control - and many do not fear approaching those in the occult arts for assistance, where we are frightened by awareness of the divine that is the source of our existence, Perfect Love, total Truth.

What is Love, Truth, Creation? What is 'hardness of heart', and how do we move beyond this? Can we even distinguish awe from fear, or what is unknown because it is beyond our understanding from an 'unknown' that inspires terror? Why did those who touch Jesus' hem receive healing, where we spend our lives in confusion wondering if the divine is indifferent? (Oh, yes... I know some of you care only that God's will be done... sorry, I failed that course.)