“Command me to come towards you!”

Year A – Ordinary Time – 19th Sunday
Matthew 14:22–33: “Lord, if it is you, command me to come towards you on the water”

Last Sunday’s Gospel told us about the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves for a great crowd in a deserted place, which ended with the gathering of twelve baskets full of leftovers. That event is followed by today’s well-known episode, in which Jesus walks on the sea.

These two miracles — the multiplication of the five loaves and two fish, and Jesus’ walking on the water — are a further manifestation of Jesus’ identity. He reveals himself as the Messiah — who, according to one tradition, would renew the miracle of the manna — and as the Son of God: walking on the water was, in fact, considered a divine prerogative.

Between the two episodes, the Gospel presents Jesus praying alone on the mountain during the night.

1. “Go out and stand on the mountain” (Elijah, first reading)

Faced with this epiphany, let us ask the Lord for the grace to come out of the caves in which we have taken refuge, like the prophet Elijah, so that we may welcome the newness of God’s passage through our lives.

Perhaps God will no longer reveal himself as “a strong and mighty wind” — as in our youth — nor as the earthquake or fire of our first years of Christian commitment, but as “the whisper of a gentle breeze”, perceptible only in the silence of the heart.

2. “Command me to come towards you” (Peter, in the Gospel)

a) Urged towards the other shore

“After the crowd had eaten, Jesus immediately made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to the other shore.”

It is significant that, in this episode, Jesus “makes” the disciples leave. We can imagine him having them load the twelve baskets full of leftovers and urging them to get into the boat, despite the protests of the Twelve: it is too late, the wind is against us, it is unwise to head towards the other shore of the lake, towards a predominantly pagan and foreign territory! And why leave Jesus alone?

The apostles would have preferred to remain there and enjoy that moment of euphoria with the crowd. But there is no alternative: they reluctantly set off towards the other shore, as if to show that the bread must be carried there as well.

The same happens to us, the Church whom Christ continually urges towards “the other shore”!

b) At the mercy of the sea and ghosts

“Towards the end of the night, he came towards them, walking on the sea.”

To the threatening elements of the sea, the night and the wind, a ghost is now added! Overcome with terror, the Twelve cry out in fear. “But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying: Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid!”

Fear is our habitual companion; God’s invitation not to be afraid is its daily antidote. “Do not be afraid”, because “it is I”; or rather, “I Am”, an expression that evokes the very Name of God.

c) Command me!

Peter takes the initiative and says to Jesus: “Lord, if it is you, command me to come towards you on the water.” “If it is you…” Is this a doubt and a request for proof? The effect of an uncontrolled emotion after his fear? A childish and enthusiastic reaction? Or an impulse of trust in the Lord? Perhaps even Peter himself does not know exactly, as so often happens to us!

What is striking, however, is the way Peter phrases his request: “Command me to come towards you on the water.” Command me! He does not say: “Enable me to come…” or “Allow me to come…” No, he asks to do so by virtue of Jesus’ command. And Jesus agrees.

“Command me to come towards you on the water!” This can become our request too. Our life is hardly ever a peaceful cruise. It often resembles sailing in a fragile little boat at the mercy of the waves. At times, it even seems that this precarious security is disappearing from beneath our feet. Then nothing remains but naked faith, capable of walking on water: not because of our courage or initiative, but because of our trust in the Lord’s command.

Command me, and I will walk upon the stormy sea of illness or bereavement.
Command me, and I will face the threatening waters of a marital crisis.
Command me, and I will brave the storm of a difficult relationship with a son or daughter.
Command me, and I will make my way through the tempest that has turned my life upside down.

d) Save me!

Faith is something tremendously serious: precious and fragile like life itself. The true believer knows and experiences this. It is enough to take one’s eyes off Christ for a single moment to feel oneself sinking.

Poor Peter, and poor us! Why does Peter doubt right in the middle of the miracle? Perhaps he expected the waves to subside so that he could walk in complete tranquillity. But that does not happen. The external circumstances do not change. Faith does not exempt us from risks.

Then nothing remains but to cry out: “Lord, save me!” And the fisherman… is fished out!
Today, it seems more difficult to cry out: “Save me!”, partly because Christ is not always perceived as the Saviour. Save us from what?

What happened to a priest presiding over a First Holy Communion Mass is very telling. After inviting the children to offer spontaneous prayers, he was surprised when a little girl said: “Thank you, Jesus, because you saved me… although I can’t remember what from!” The whole congregation laughed heartily. But how many of those present would have been able to go beyond the stock answer learnt in catechism?

3. “The great sorrow” (Paul, second reading)

Those who have experienced the saving hand cannot remain indifferent towards those who seem to be lost. This is the suffering that Saint Paul confesses in the second reading: “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart” because of “my own people, my kindred according to the flesh” (Romans 9:1–5).

For a believer, seeing one’s fellow citizens, family and friends far from Christ is a thorn in the flesh. Praying for them is not simply a “good deed”, but a responsibility, an answer to God’s question: “Where is your brother?”

Matta El-Meskeen, an Egyptian Christian monk († 2006), states: “Through prayer, a person becomes a priest, in the sense that he becomes responsible for the salvation of others […]. By taking their sin upon himself, groaning from the depths of his heart beneath its weight and doing penance, he becomes capable, by making himself a sinner in their place, of asking forgiveness and obtaining it for them.”

For reflection

  • How do I behave in times of trial: with anger or patience? With fear or trust? With discouragement or hope?
  • Amid the storms of life, do I too cry out: “Command me! Save me, Lord”?
  • Am I ready to reach out my hand and grasp those who are sinking?

Fr Manuel João Pereira Correia, MCCJ



Fr. Manuel João, comboni missionary
Sunday Reflection
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