Love Comes Gently

Fear has a way of making the world seem much larger than it really is. It magnifies every danger, every uncertainty, every possibility of failure until those things become all we can see.

Most of us know what that’s like. We’ve all had moments when grief, disappointment, illness, loneliness, or uncertainty seemed so overwhelming that we couldn’t imagine taking the next step. That’s exactly where we find Elijah this morning.

Elijah is exhausted. He’s witnessed terrible violence. He believes he is utterly alone. He has fled into the wilderness and hidden himself in a cave on the mountain. If anyone ever had reason to be afraid, it was Elijah.

Then God comes—but not in the way Elijah expects.

There is a great wind, but God is not in the wind. There is an earthquake, but God is not in the earthquake. There is fire, but God is not in the fire. Instead, God comes in what our translation beautifully calls “sheer silence.” I’ve often wondered whether Elijah simply couldn’t have received God any other way.

If God had arrived in overwhelming power, perhaps Elijah, already so frightened, would have retreated even further. So instead, God comes gently, quietly, tenderly. God meets Elijah exactly where he is.

Yet although God’s presence is gentle, God’s invitation is anything but small.

God asks Elijah to leave the cave, to set aside his fear, and to return to the difficult work he has been called to do. At the same time, God promises that he will not do it alone. God doesn’t remove the danger; God offers companionship in the midst of it. That pattern seems to echo throughout all of today’s readings.

The psalmist sings one of the most beautiful lines in all of Scripture: “Steadfast love and faithfulness have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.” What a marvelous image! Love and faithfulness belong together. Real love gives birth to faithfulness, and real faithfulness grows out of love.

The more deeply we know ourselves to be loved by God, the more courage we find to remain faithful when life becomes difficult.

Paul says something very similar in his letter to the Romans. He reminds us that “the word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.” Salvation is not presented as mastering complicated doctrines or passing a theological examination.

Paul points us instead to trust in the God who raised Jesus from the dead—the God whose life proves stronger than every force of death. I also find it significant that Paul emphasizes the resurrection. He doesn’t say that salvation depends upon understanding theories of atonement or believing that Jesus died for our sins in a particular way. He points instead to God’s victory over death itself.

Then he makes one of the broadest promises in Scripture: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” Everyone. Anyone who cries out for help. Anyone who opens themselves to receive the life that God longs to give.

Then we come to the familiar story of Jesus walking on the water. It’s easy to forget what has just happened. Jesus has only recently learned that John the Baptist has been murdered. Last week we read about how he tried to slip away to grieve alone, but the crowds followed him. Out of compassion, he fed the five thousand. Only afterward did he finally send the disciples ahead so that he could climb the mountain and spend time alone with God.

Even Jesus needed to replenish his own spirit by communing with the One he called Father.

Meanwhile, the disciples are struggling through the storm. When Jesus finally comes toward them across the water, they’re terrified. They think they are seeing a ghost. But listen to the first words Jesus speaks: “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” I love that greeting. “Take heart.” It feels so gentle. So compassionate.

Much like God’s whisper to Elijah, Jesus doesn’t come in an overwhelming display of power. He approaches them in a way that invites trust rather than demanding it.

Peter then says something fascinating. He doesn’t say, “Lord, let me walk on the water.” Instead he says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you.”

Peter seems to understand that if Jesus calls him, then Jesus will also give him what he needs to answer that call. Jesus replies with one simple word: “Come.” And Peter steps out of the boat.

Imagine what that must have felt like! For a few astonishing moments, he is actually walking on the water. But then he notices the wind. Fear replaces trust, and he begins to sink. Immediately he cries out, “Lord, save me!” and Jesus reaches out his hand and catches him.

Isn’t that the story of our lives? We begin with faith. We know God is calling us. We take those first courageous steps. Then something happens. A diagnosis. A financial setback. A broken relationship. A disappointment. A season of loneliness.

The wind begins to howl, and before we know it our attention has shifted from Christ to the storm.

We haven’t stopped believing in God. We’ve simply allowed fear to become louder than love.

I can’t hear this Gospel without thinking of one of my favorite poets, the Irish writer David Whyte. Years ago, I had the privilege of hearing him speak at a conference.

I have to confess, he was very captivating—dark hair, dark eyes, a wonderfully rugged face, and that rich Irish voice that could make almost anything sound profound.

Before reading one of his poems, he told us a story. He had only recently met the woman who would become his wife and was deeply in love, though the relationship was still new. Around that same time, he was hired to help a Catholic hospital merge with a secular hospital.

The nun leading the project asked him to speak about Peter sinking beneath the waves after taking his eyes off Jesus. David politely said yes, while privately thinking, “Now…what’s that story again?”

As he reflected on it, he found himself thinking about how long it had taken him to find this woman, how difficult his own journey had been, and how often he had doubted that such love could ever be his. Out of that reflection came this remarkable poem.

The Truelove
by David Whyte

There is a faith in loving fiercely
the one who is rightfully yours…
(To read the rest of the poem, click here)

I have always loved that poem because it reminds me that faith is not simply believing harder.

Faith is allowing love to become stronger than fear. As I hear David Whyte’s words, I can’t help but think of my own journey. There have certainly been seasons when loneliness has shaken my confidence, when the storms have felt stronger than my hope, and when I wondered whether God had forgotten me altogether.

Perhaps you’ve known moments like that too. Moments when the wind seemed capable of knocking you completely off course.

But again and again, Christ comes—not in overwhelming force, but gently. “Take heart.” “Do not be afraid.” “Come.” Perhaps that is the invitation for all of us this week. Not to pretend the storms aren’t real. Not to deny our fears.

But to remember that the One who calls us is also the One who holds us.

It’s worth remembering that Elijah leaves the cave because God whispers. Peter leaves the boat because Jesus says, “Come.” In both stories, the miracle isn’t the cave or the water. The miracle is that fear no longer has the final word because gentle love has called them forward.

Whether we are being called into forgiveness, into service, into hope, into reconciliation, into a new beginning, or simply into trusting God one more day, we do not walk by our own strength. We walk because Love calls us. And when Love calls us, even the deepest waters can become solid ground beneath our feet.