Sermon | The Rev. Peter Sipple | August 9, 2026
SERMON – Trinity on the Green: Sunday, August 9, 2026
Saint Peter’s attempt to walk on the Lake reminds this plain old Peter of a moment when my fear almost got the better of my faith. Half a lifetime ago I served on the board of the Northwest Outward Bound School. Outward Bound programs, as you may know, call on participants to meet challenges, often in the wilderness or at sea, that appear daunting, even life-threatening. Meeting these challenges, overcoming them, helps to heighten participants’ recognition of their resilience and endurance. They develop faith in their own capacity and faith in others whose cooperation and support they draw on to make it through.
Board members were encouraged to take an Outward Bound course, or at least to become familiar with the challenges faced by students. And so, one long weekend I ventured forth with an OB instructor, plodding and even bushwhacking through the Oregon wilderness. At one point we encountered students engaged in rock-climbing, an activity my instructor encouraged me to try. After learning the principles of rock-climbing and watching the others work their way to the top of the ledge, I was strapped into a harness that allowed me to be belayed from above. Now it was my turn to attempt the sheer granite face that looked to be 100 feet high but was probably more like 40.
The first half of the journey went fairly well. Two rules guide the successful rock-climber: first, keep the middle of your body away from the rock face, in other words avoid the temptation to hug it. And second, find three niches to hold onto at any one time while seeking the fourth: two feet and one hand, or one foot and both hands. And up you go. In my case, arriving about half-way there, I was unable to find a fourth nook or cranny to grab onto, either with fingers or boot-toe. After looking for a niche for what felt like an hour but was probably two minutes, I shouted to the instructor that I was stuck. “I can’t go up or down!” “Just keep looking,” she said; “you can do it!” But after whining a few more times, I was told just to let go and fall; I would be belayed from above. Just let go and fall?! Doing that sounded pretty scary, and even worse than falling was the embarrassment I would suffer as a board member from students who had made it to the top. This double round of fear, until then blinding me to a solution, finally jolted me into locating a finger-hold, and a few minutes later I pulled myself over the top edge. In my case, the fear of falling and not making it to the top allowed me to go forward, that and faith in the person above who was holding the rope to which I was attached.
Fear played a role for the sainted Peter who impetuously chose to join Jesus on the surface of the Lake. The first part of his journey went well, but the wind reminded him of his fragility, and fear of falling gripped him, and faith in his ability to follow Jesus left him, and he started to sink. Needless to say, walking on water was a whole lot scarier experience than inching up a rock face.
Now whatever we may think of this miraculous moment that’s included only in Matthew’s account of the Good News, it surely tells us something more about the role of fear in poisoning faith, and the role of faith as the antidote to fear. This event, reminding us of fear’s negative effects, anticipates that moment in all four Gospels when Peter denies knowing Jesus out of fear that he too will be arrested. What we learn both from this miracle on the Lake and Peter’s insistence that he didn’t know Jesus is that the flip-side of faith is not doubt but fear; and when fear casts out faith, what’s missing is courage. For courage is what allows us to remain faithful when confronting frightening situations or people.
As a school administrator I would meet occasionally with parents whose reason left them as they tried to defend their child’s blatant disregard for school rules. The primary emotion motivating these otherwise rational people was fear—fear that they were inadequate as parents and fear that their child wasn’t going to make it—whatever “it” was. Fear can cause us to lose our bearings, our stability and security; we stop listening to others as we anxiously prepare our defenses. We see only the problem and stop looking for solutions. Threatened and vulnerable, we respond by building walls to avoid the threat; we lose tolerance for ambiguity and favor predictable outcomes and safe answers.
That said, in the Bible the term “fear” can have quite a different, in fact contrary, meaning—what we might call positive fear. This is the term “the fear of God” found in the Hebrew Scriptures, and it is used to inform our theological understanding, for it expresses our respect for the clear distinction between God and humankind. Psalm 147 assures us that “the Lord has pleasure in those who fear him, in those who await his gracious favor.” This fear of God—the will to await God’s gracious favor—allows us to be centered; it tells us that we have rightly construed our relationship with God and the world around us. It’s a step toward the achievement of wisdom. The Book of Proverbs bids us to “come, settle here with food and drink; lay aside silliness, irrational behavior, and walk in the way of insight.” In so many words, recognize who and where we are vis-à-vis God and enjoy ourselves in that place. Once comfortable and secure there, we’ll be better prepared to deal with controversy and whatever may lie ahead.
This past week Margaret and I attended a theatrical rendition of The Wizard of Oz and there he was, the Cowardly Lion, well played by an actor who had all the moves of Bert Lahr in the film, from the feeble tail-flicking to the mouse-like non-roar. We were reminded that the Lion wasn’t granted the courage he sought; he earned it by taking the hard road to the Emerald City with Dorothy and the others, by sticking to the plan, resisting the wicked witch and her minions. Gradually fear left him as he followed the yellow-brick road of hard knocks, ultimately discovering that courage emerged from the courageous act, that fear was overcome by intention and purpose.
Matthew may have included Jesus’ miraculous walking on water to show how the fear of God—the maintaining of right relationships and respect for the natural order—steadies our faith, keeping us high and dry. Up on that rock wall, I could have kept faith that I would find a niche for my grasping fingers, staying calm and trusting that a solution was at hand—or at foot. Peter the Apostle could have recognized that God’s incarnation was the miracle, one to receive in gratitude, though striding on the Lake alongside Jesus was not to be. And later, when at a crucial moment he could have walked side by side with Jesus, Peter denied knowing him. No doubt about it, fear messes with our faith if we let it.
As for you and me? Our faith, and the courage to stick with it, grow as we recognize that God has given us miracles to enjoy: the miracle of our birth, the love we hold for one another informed by the love of Christ, and the miraculous beauty—yes, and challenges—of the natural world. Our faith can be shaken by fearsome surprises, dreadful happenings and grief; but God remains, helping us to find a new niche to hang onto, a new friend to belay us from above, a new challenge to overcome. Our task is to maintain courage in the face of daunting prospects and to remain certain that God is hanging in there with us. Amen.