Yeshua stood and watched the crowd depart. Over 5,000 people, spread out over the hillsides. Their diversity was amazing, as was the diverse reaction to the miracle they had just witnessed.
He watched as a young widow gathered her children together, calling softly to them in the gathering darkness, shepherding them home in the night. For an instant, she dared to look into the face of Yeshua, and a beautiful smile erased the lines of care and worry on her face. And yet…the beauty was so temporary. She was grateful for the food; not seeing the greater Gift he had held out to her.
There—a knot of men, speaking excitedly. Angry at some of the things he had procoaimed so boldly. Perhaps even threatened by the very miracle that had filled their bellies.
Another group—satisfied in body. “When you eat and are filled, then beware, lest you for get the Lord your God…”
“Raboni?”
Here at last, on the faces of his nearest disciples, Yeshua found the awe and wonder inspired by the miracle and teachings. Yet it was not unmixed with fear and unbelief.
“Raboni, you are weary. Come away now. There is a boat ready.”
“No.” Yeshua looked around, feeling the numbing, debilitating weariness that was harder to bear than any physical pain. “There are people here who need me still.”
The woman. Shy, frightened. Anxiously waiting for him to come her way. A small, sickly baby held tightly in her arms. A cripple, being helped so gently by his young sister; still a child, yet possessing a great, a beautiful faith.
Rest…Yeshua put the temptation resolutely from his mind, thinking again how stabbing it was that the Tempter should use one’s nearest friends as his evil instruments.
“Raboni,” John, the younger son of Zebedee, was speaking to him gently, “come away to rest and sleep. You can talk to these people again later.”
Raboni blinked his eyes. The long, slow blinks of a man exhausted. Still he shook his head. “I must stay. The people here need me. When they are gone, I must find a place of quiet…then will I be at rest. Go now. I will be with you later.”
“We will wait for you, Raboni. Simon Peter is readying the last boat. There will be no more until tomorrow.”
“Go. I will catch you up.” John opened his mouth to protest again, then thought better of it and went to the boat. The darkness was descending, and no doubt Peter was impatient to leave.
Peter had cast off the boat and spread the sail. The temptation of idleness was gone. Now, there remained only to do, and at the moment that was enough. As he met with the few stragglers, he felt his drained body crying out for sleep—and even more for the deeper need of communion with his Father.
***
“Andrew.”
There was a strange note of urgency and warning in his brother’s voice that made Andrew turn quickly. Peter walked a few paces away from the other men, tipping his head for Andrew to follow.
“What do you make of that cloud?”
With a deep foreboding, Andrew watched the black mass rising in the sky. “If I were near land,” Andrew said quietly, “I’d strike out for it as quickly as possible.”
“How soon? How much time do we have?”
Andrew shrugged. “I’m no prophet! You know as well as I what a storm can be here.” His brother’s impatience told Peter more than Andrew knew—more than Peter himself wished to know.
The sons of Zebedee had detached themselves from the group and joined Peter and Andrew. From where he sat, Philip looked at the rising storm uneasily.
The cloud came toward them with frightening speed, and the first gusts of wind caught the sail. Quickly, the fishermen began to prepare for the rising gale. None of them were prepared for the vehemence of the storm when it struck.
“Do something!”
“We’ll be driven onto the rocks!”
“Andrew, the sail!”
Peter and James tried to direct them, but the panicked cries of the others and the raging of the storm nearly drowned their voices.
“Do something! I thought you called yourselves fishermen! You’ll get us all killed if you don’t get this boat under control.” There was panic in the eyes of Thomas and in his voice.
“Shut up.” Peter’s words were tight and angry. “We’re fishermen, not the Almighty! We have not the power to still storms or change winds. Andrew! Curse your idleness! The sail.”
“I wish Yeshua were here.” For an instant, everyone remembered when they had been caught before on the Sea of Galilee, in just such a fierce storm. “Shalom! Be still.” But Yeshua was not here. The moment of false peace was destroyed when a giant wave came in, nearly capsizing the tiny vessel.
A voice was raised, suddenly louder than the rest, and Peter recognized it as Thaddeus’, lifted in a prayer of supplication.
There was a lull. Peter did not know what came first, the wave that sprayed in his face, blinding him, or the sudden shout of Judas. “There! Look! Merciful heavens, what is that?”
He saw it then. A spirit in shape of a man, walking towards them on the blusterous waves.
“It is a ghost!” Ghost, spirit, demon, what? In the hubbub around him, Peter lost sight of the shape.
Suddenly, a voice. “Be of good cheer. It is I; do not be afraid.” The voice was the voice of Yeshua.
Peter leaned farther out of the boat, straining to see the face. It was…no! He could not tell who or what it was. He knew only that the voice was the voice of Yeshua.
Andrew pulled at him frantically. “It is not he, it is a lying spirit, sent to destroy us. Get down, my brother.”
But Peter stood tall, alone in the helm of the boat. His voice rang out firm. Whether with faith or defiance those who heard could not tell. “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.”
Yeshua gave a single nod. “Come.”
“Peter!” it was the voice of Andrew, but it seemed strangely distant now. Peter slung his leg over the side of the boat and lowered himself into what—if he sank—must surely be a watery grave, strong swimmer that he was.
He did not sink. His eyes steadily clung to the face of Yeshua, and his feel walked towards him. As he walked from under the shadow of the small fishing boat, he felt on his body the full force of the driving wind.
Peter caught his breath. Yeshua had seemed so much nearer, the wind so much calmer when he stood in the boat. A nameless fear seized him and he looked back towards the boat, away from Yeshua. He was aware of the seeping, tossing water. He stumbled, felt the abyss open up to receive him, and with a bitter cry, echoed by those in the boat, he began to sink into the icy water.
“Lord, save me!”
But he could not. He was still too far away. Peter closed his eyes, feeling the water engulf him, and then felt the hand of his Savior, and was again looking into his face.
“Yeshua.”
“Simon. You man of little faith, why did ye doubt?”
And looking into the eyes of the Son of God, Simon Peter had no answer.
Strong hands were let down, taking them up into the boat. When Yeshua stepped on to the boards of the deck, the wind ceased. The waves vanished, the sail cloth went slack. Not a rippled rocked the boat.
Around Yeshua the shaken, awed disciples knelt. “It is the Messiah!” “You are truly the Son of God.” And Yeshua did not forbid them, nor keep them from giving him the worship due his name.
Peter realized that he still clutched the robe of Yeshua, and he sunk to his knees at the feet of his Master. He was no longer aware of any doubt, or any shame that he had doubted. He only knew that he knelt at the feet of Yeshua, the carpenter’s son from Nazareth. The Son of God, the Messiah. And so he worshipped, clutching the robe of the Master.
especially this one and "is that you"
