Take Heart

August 9, 2026 Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Year A Walker Chapel UMC, Arlington, VA Matthew 14:22–33 (NRSVue)

Peter's perilous attempt

When we think of the phrase "a leap of faith," we perhaps would think of Peter from today's scripture reading. Peter left the boat, trying to reach Jesus by walking on water. He knew very well that such a task was humanly impossible, yet he asked, nonetheless, if he could walk on the water too. We don't really know why. Maybe he wanted proof that the ghostly figure on the sea was truly Jesus. Maybe he simply wanted to know what it felt like to walk on water. Scripture doesn't say. And I wonder what we are supposed to make of Peter's attempt.

Perhaps Peter's attempt might look more favorable in today's world that anticipates and celebrates individual heroism. Sure, Peter did not succeed. But look at what almost was possible, if only he'd had a little more faith. Peter's perilous attempt is a great example of a "leap of faith," as he was not afraid to take the risk because he trusted that Jesus had his back. So, we're told, believe in yourselves and dream big, for we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us.

Except our sacred text is not a self-help book.

This focus on Peter's attempt to walk on water — which is, in other words, an attempt to be more than human — makes us forget about the rest of the disciples. Although I understand Peter is a sort of representative of all disciples, I still wonder about those who stayed behind. By staying within the boundary of a boat, did the disciples fall short in faith?

We have to remember that it was Jesus who called the disciples to get into the boat in the first place. Jesus pushed them to embark on an uncertain journey into the sea. And we are not even sure whether Jesus informed the disciples of the journey's destination or purpose. Nonetheless, the disciples obeyed and went out into the sea. And on the boat, far away from the shore, they were battered by the waves and the winds of the wild, restless sea. Embarking on a journey on a boat in itself posed a great danger and risk to the disciples, which also required "a leap of faith."

So, it is not about Peter versus the rest of the disciples. And it is not about sizing the amount of their faith against one another. We are all of little faith. We all doubt. Doubting is a normal thing to do as humans, and it is also a healthy thing. For doubting is not the opposite of faith. Rather, what stands against faith is a hardened certainty — a heart that leaves no room for mystery, wonder, or the possibility that God may surprise us.

While I am still unclear what Peter's motivation behind getting out of the boat was, perhaps that question matters less than what happened next. The consequence of Peter's action, and the action of the rest of the disciples, was the witnessing of Jesus' divinity as the Son of God. And such revelation in the midst of the storm ultimately prompted the disciples to worship him.

We are all sinking

We too are on a boat, far away from the shore. Our world is a turbulent sea. The church is the ark of the kingdom.¹ The faith of getting on this boat does not guarantee the stillness of the waves and the calmness of the winds. And the boat itself also does not seem to provide us with clear direction and objective. We say we are going to the kingdom of heaven, yet Jesus reminds us that the kingdom is not here or there, but among us (cf. Luke 17:20–21). And we are unclear what that means.

And so, we give ourselves our own purposes for this journey. Some say it is to enjoy the perks of sailing as much as possible. Some say it is to catch as many fish as possible. Some say it is to survive the turbulence of the sea as long as possible. Some say it is to reach the destination as soon as possible.

And these purposes begin to reshape our values as if they were ultimate. We do things in the name of Jesus that are not quite comprehensible, like Peter's, or outright incomprehensible, like those who manipulate and cause harm to God's creation. And we do so out of fear — the fear of losing the perks of sailing, the fear of not catching enough fish, the fear of dying, and the fear of being left behind. For we are trained to believe our worthiness is tied to the fulfillment of these purposes.

So, Peters of our world try to be more than human by getting out of the boat. They go beyond their capabilities to achieve something extraordinary, pushing themselves to the limit and sometimes even at the expense of others.

Some quietly disappear after taking only a couple of steps. Some take more steps on the water than others. We celebrate the faith of the Peters who have taken more steps than others. And the rest of us try to replicate their successes by following in their footsteps on water.

But the truth is we are all sinking.

I am one of those Peters. I know the temptation to believe that faithfulness means becoming more than human. There is that expectation to go against the currents to preserve this institution called church. And we often believe and are told that it can be achieved through one pastor's brilliance, charisma, and leadership. And I fear falling short of their expectations. I fear dashing their hopes. And so, I too try walking on water with the little faith I have, like the Peters who are ahead of me on this water.

You too are those Peters, in your personal life, in your work, in your faith. The world expects you to be more than human. And so, you also leave the boat with little faith, trying to walk on water in every direction at once.

One step for the job. One step for the marriage. One step for the kids, the aging parents, the mortgage, the church committee, the version of yourselves everyone is counting on, and more.

We are not taking one step — we are taking all of them, all at once, all on the same sea, and calling it faith when it is really just refusing to sink in front of anyone. We call it staying afloat, which in reality is just delaying the sinking. And we are all one nudge away from losing our balance: one gust, one wave, one distraction, one misfortune, from finding out we were never meant to walk on water at all.

But every so often, even in the middle of the storm of the violent sea, a miracle breaks through.

Every time we witness the voice that meets our terror and says, "Do not be afraid," that witness is itself a miracle.

Every time we witness the hand that reaches for us in the middle of our sinking, delivering us from the savior complex, the comparison, and the lonely race to stay afloat, that witness is itself a miracle.

Every time we witness the unconditional love that guides us back into the boat of courage, compassion, and connection, that witness is itself a miracle.

The church is built not on the testimonials of those who have succeeded in being more than human. Rather, the church is built on the testimonies of those who have witnessed these miracles in the darkest moments of their lives and in the most helpless moments of their journeys. The church's purpose, then, is not to train people to walk on water, but to worship the one who saves us. In other words, the very purpose of the boat's journey is to worship the one who continues to reveal the saving grace in the middle of the storm.

"Take heart, it is I"

Brené Brown, a very well-known researcher and author, frequently notes that the root of the word courage is cor, the Latin word for heart.² From that etymology, she makes her case that true courage, in one of its earliest forms, means "to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart," or, in short, to be vulnerable. And what stands in the way of that vulnerability is fear — particularly the fear of not being worthy enough. Brown argues that it is the ordinary courage of being vulnerable which opens a door for compassion and connection, which then frees us from the exhausting race of proving our worthiness, and into what she calls a wholehearted life.

("The Disciples See Christ Walking on the Water," Henry Ossawa Tanner)

In today's scripture reading, Jesus said to the frightened disciples on the boat, "Take heart" (θαρσέω).³ Perhaps Peter understood it literally as "Take courage," which then prompted him to jump out of the boat. But what if the courage Jesus offered also meant "Be vulnerable, and soften your heart"? For it is not our heroic courage that quiets our fear, but our openness to God's saving grace. What if by saying "Take heart," Jesus is not calling us to the courage of proving that we can walk on water, but rather pointing us to the courage of admitting our limits and crying out, "Lord, save me!"

After being rescued from his perilous attempt, Jesus said to Peter, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" But what if this is not a word of rebuke, but only a word of endearment? Jesus never once told the disciples to increase their faith. In fact, it was the disciples who begged him to increase theirs, yet Jesus answered that faith the size of a mustard seed could move the mountain (cf. Luke 17:5; Matt. 17:20).⁴

Which means we are all of little faith. We are all Peters whom Jesus rescues and brings back inside the boat, and upon these rocks, Jesus builds his church (Matt. 16:18). Our rightful place is not on the water with our own feet, but in the boat with one another, away from the shore, in courage, compassion, and connection, participating in the kingdom life of worshiping together.

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, Have you been busy trying to walk on water? Have you been fearful, not knowing how long you can float? Have you been weary, trying to squeeze out courage you don't have? Have you been lost, not knowing where this boat is going? Have you been alone, quietly wondering if you'd still be loved if anyone truly saw you?

May we hear the voice that meets our terror and says, "Take heart." May we grab the hand that reaches for us in the middle of our sinking, delivering us from the savior complex, the comparison, and the lonely race to stay afloat. May we encounter the unconditional love that guides us back into the boat of courage, compassion, and connection.

May we continue to be faithful to our purpose of witnessing and worshiping the one who saves us, who gathers us back into the boat, and who builds his church on us, people of little faith.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

¹ Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos, 2015), 141.

² Brené Brown, "The Power of Vulnerability," TED, 6 Oct. 2010,

³ The Greek word Jesus speaks here is tharseite, from tharseó (θαρσέω), "to be courageous" or "to be of good confidence." Major translations render it two ways: the ESV, NRSV, and New English Bible read "Take heart," while the NIV, NASB, and CSB read "Take courage." Both are faithful renderings of the same Greek imperative.

⁴ You might ask, "What about Jesus telling Thomas, 'Do not doubt but believe' in John's Gospel?" But the words translated as "doubt" in Matthew 14 (ἐδίστασας) and John 20 (ἄπιστος) are different. In Matthew, the doubt highlights a momentary hesitation of the heart. While in John, Jesus' words are more accurately understood as, "Do not be unbelieving (ἄπιστος) but believing (πιστός)."

Rev. Minoo Kim is an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, currently serving in the Virginia Annual Conference. Follow his Medium publication to receive his latest sermons or check out his website minoowkim.com for his latest content. Peace!