Step Out of the Boat

2026-45
sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
www.goodshepherdfw.org
by the Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 14A-tr 2), August 9, 2026

1 Kings 19:9-18; Psalm 85:8-13; Romans 10:5-15; Matthew 14:22-33

I know a young woman who, in her college years, spent a summer working in Yellowstone. While she was there, she had an opportunity to jump off a cliff into a swimming hole below. She told me that as she leaped into empty space, she cried out at the top of her lungs, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!”

This was already an inside joke for the campus ministry group I facilitated: blaming all your stupid decisions on Philippians 4:13. But she survived the drop, of course, and was able to repeat this as a story of courage.

Well, way back in June, I asked you to share stories of times when you acted courageously. Today I want to share one with you:

My most courageous moment was when my spouse and I drove to California to visit our grandchild, who wanted to celebrate an upcoming birthday by jumping out of an airplane! That wasn't something I had written on my ‘bucket list,’ but I didn't want to be left out. As we all got into the small plane, it so happened that I was seated right by the ejection door ... and guess who got to jump first? Scary? YES! But also a delightful experience … I'm very glad I chose to suppress my fear and anxiety … and take that [leap] of faith.

Now that’s a dramatic story of courage! Kinda like stepping out of a boat into open water with a storm raging all around you, right?

We associate that phrase, “leap of faith,” with the 19^th-century Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. It means choosing to believe something that is unprovable—or, in more modern parlance, it can mean doing something risky just hoping it’ll work out. Kierkegaard never actually used the term “leap of faith”—he called it a “qualitative leap.” But the idea is the same: sometimes you can’t have advance proof that this will work. You just have to step out of the boat, a small step that feels like a giant leap! Otherwise … well, nothing can change.

It is possible, of course, for us to step out and fail—that’s what it means for something to be risky! It’s also possible to succeed and still feel like a failure. We heard today about the Prophet Elijah, who has just won a public contest between his God Adonai and the local god Baal. Unfortunately, his victory has made him a target of the royal family, and he has had to flee for his life. That’s the context of the vision of God that Elijah receives from within the safety of a cave. There’s a hurricane-force wind, and a seven-point earthquake, and a multi-state wildfire. But Elijah perceives, inexplicably, that God is not present in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire. Only once there is sheer silence—or maybe just near-silence, depending on your translation—can Elijah tell that God is present and wants to talk to him.

Elijah says he has been “very zealous for Adonai Elohey.” This prophet doesn’t need to be told twice to take risks! But the way forward is no longer clear, and Elijah fears that even in victory he may have failed. Sometimes, though, this feeling directly follows a leap of faith. Even if it was the right decision, it doesn’t lead automatically to reassurance. More often, nothing seems as obvious or certain anymore.

The Indigo Girls have a great song lyric: “I sailed my ship of safety ’til I sank it.” I can relate. I don’t want to leave the boat and walk on water. But what if the boat is being swamped in a storm, and I see outside the boat one hopeful possibility?

Among the disciples, Peter is good at this sort of thing. He goes all in, nearly every time, and when he does, he exposes his vulnerabilities to the other disciples. But this ends up working to everyone’s benefit—including Peter’s. Peter may have just gotten in over his head. But then, life is like this for everyone. We’re ALL in over our heads, all the time, whether we admit it or not. You may be sailing your ship of safety, but eventually it will sink. And when it does, will you try walking on water?

Now, the storm the disciples are sailing in is just a storm, something that fishermen deal with all the time. Storms come and go, and some boats sink and others make it to shore. But the presence of Jesus turns the storm into a metaphor.

For the ancient Jews, water was a consistent metaphor for the forces that seek to undo all of God’s creation. In the first chapter of Genesis, God forces back the waters of primordial chaos to make a space in which we can exist. A few chapters later, God releases that hold, and the waters return to flood the world. These are the same waters that God blows back with a wind all night so the Hebrews can cross the sea on dry ground, and which God then releases to drown the Egyptians with their chariots. The metaphor appears again and again in the Hebrew Bible: God sits enthroned above the uncreated, violent waters and is the master of them.

So when John began baptizing people in the River Jordan, dunking them under the water and then raising them up again, the symbolism was clear. These waters are death. Your old life is being drowned in these waters, and you are being raised up into a new life. Jesus insisted on being baptized, and thus baptism became the metaphorical, sacramental way of stepping out of the boat.

And so we become to the actual stakes of stepping out of the boat and walking toward Jesus. It’s not about ensuring that we won’t drown. It’s about moving through the storm toward that one hopeful possibility, on this side of that inevitable day when the forces of death will indeed (temporarily) drown us.

Following Jesus doesn’t mean avoiding peril. Baptism is both a protection and a commissioning to face the peril. We can step out of the boat because we know that no matter what happens, our simple act of trust will enable us to walk on chaotic waters. Because of the presence of Jesus, we are no longer at risk from the forces that would undo God’s creation.

Now, stepping out of the boat looks different for everybody. For some people, even leaving the house may require an immense amount of courage. Or getting behind the wheel of a car after an accident. Or leaving a job that is sucking you dry. Or getting married, or having a child. Or standing up to protect the vulnerable against a fascist government. But stepping out of the boat can also be something very small that happens internally, with no public component as yet. It may take all your courage to question old assumptions.

I see that all the time in our particular expression of Christian faith. In the 19^th and early 20^th centuries, the Episcopal Church was the core American form of Christianity, sturdy and reliable. We were the church of presidents and successful businessmen. Over the past fifty years, though, chaotic forces much larger than our church have relegated us to the sidelines of American life. Most young people today have never heard of us. Today there are only about three million Episcopalians in America, and many of those aren’t reliably to be found in the pews. In our own congregation, last I checked, our average age was 64.

Is this a tragedy? Is our denomination threatened? Have we lost our way? Those who value outward success and safety certainly say so. But I say something different. It has taken courage to become a church that stands against racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and nationalism. It has taken courage to embrace the gifts of science and biblical scholarship, to root our understanding first in what’s real, and only then to proceed to what is metaphorical and devotional. It has taken courage to abandon the boat of political safety and publicly oppose the enemies of democracy so that we can stand with the victimized and the marginalized. It’s not about success. It’s about believing in the gospel and actually trying to live it.

The result is a church that has become accustomed to opposing things. We often make common cause with non-Christians more easily than we do with fellow Christians. We’re still learning how to express what we are, not just what we refuse to be. That work goes on, and it’s certainly at the center of how I go about in our community. We welcome doubters and questioners, because we’re all figuring this out together. I believe the rescuer stands ready on the water to save all who begin to sink—not just the baptized. But the baptized get to carry that message forward into new circumstances. God isn’t done with the Episcopal Church yet, but what it will look like in 50 years in anybody’s guess.

As for me, I have stepped out of the boat and begun walking toward Jesus. I’m not going back. Why would I seek safety when Jesus offers me such an authentic life, a life steeped in service to others? Compared to the boat, this life of walking on water is far more exciting. And exhausting. And hey, wait, where’s that boat again?

If you’ve stepped out of the boat, resist going back to it. You may lose courage and begin to sink. But your rescuer is standing right there, with his arm outstretched to catch you.

I’ll close today with another of your stories of courage: a story of risky giving. Here’s what one person shared with me:

One of the braver and blessed things I have done in my life was to adopt an older child by the name of Michael Troy. He was so beautiful and could eat his weight in fried chicken the day he arrived. He loved to skateboard and smelled like trees and the wind when he came in from play. As with any child, it is a brave thing to take on the support and rearing of another human being. To take an older child who had known “issues” into your home and heart is a call of a different kind, with its own challenges and blessings. I must say, getting through his teenage years required us both to be brave. Today I am blessed with my memories, as opioid addiction took him on the 4^th of July, 2015. He just could not ever fully manage those “issues.” His heart and legacy live on in my three grandchildren along with two great-grans. They bless me every day as we bravely share our lives and love.

Oh my gosh, who’s worried about average ages? This is an elder living with true courage, and blessing someone who most certainly needed it! Yes, the story is ultimately a tragedy. But can anyone doubt that at the end of his life, the hand of the rescuer drew Michael out of his own chaotic waters? Amen.