Jesus Walks on Water

Jesus pointed across the water. 'Go on ahead. I'll come later.' Peter did not like leaving him behind.

Peter and Andrew pushed the boat off the stones. The lake was flat as a plate.

Jesus climbed the hill by himself to pray. Soon he was just a small shape against the sky.

Peter watched the hill until he couldn't see him any more.

The little boat slid out across the gold. Behind it, the hills went dark.

Andrew hung the little lamp on its hook. One small flame against a very big dark.

Up on the hill, Jesus was still praying. He had not forgotten them.

Then the wind came. The little flame bent flat. Peter looked up. 'That's not a good wind.'

The lake turned rough and black. The waves grew teeth.

They took the oars. They pulled and pulled.

'Peter.' Andrew's voice was small. 'We're not moving.'

Peter pulled harder. The lake pushed back.

John hung on the tiller with both arms. It fought him like a big fish.

Every wave shoved them back. Back, and back, and back.

Peter looked for the shore. There was no shore. There was only black.

John scooped and scooped. The water came back faster than he could throw it out.

John was only fourteen. He did not want anyone to see his chin wobble.

'If he were here,' Peter said, 'this would be different.' Nobody answered. Everybody was thinking it.

His hands were raw. He rowed anyway.

One hour. Two. Three. The dark did not change at all.

Then Peter saw it. The sky was going grey at one edge. Morning was coming.

'Peter.' Andrew pointed. 'What is that?'

Something was out there. Something was WALKING. On the water.

'A GHOST!' Peter shouted. Big grown men grabbed each other.

The shape came closer. It was not hurrying. It was not sinking.

Then the shape spoke. 'Be brave. It's me. Don't be afraid.'

Peter knew that voice. He would have known it anywhere.

'Lord — if it's really you—' Peter's heart banged. 'Tell me to come to you.'

Jesus opened his hand. 'Come.'

Peter put one foot on the rail. Then he stopped.

Andrew grabbed his arm. 'Peter. It's WATER.' 'I know,' said Peter.

And Peter stepped out of the boat.

It held. The water HELD him.

Peter stood up. On the sea. On the actual sea.

One step. Two. Three. He was WALKING.

He laughed out loud. He couldn't help it.

Closer. Closer. He was nearly there.

Then the wind woke up. A big grey wave stood up beside him.

Peter looked at the wave. He stopped looking at Jesus.

And the water went soft. Down he went.

'LORD!' Peter shouted. 'SAVE ME!'

Jesus did not wait. His hand shot out. He caught him.

Peter hung on with both hands. He was shaking all over.

'Peter,' Jesus said. He wasn't cross. 'Why did you stop trusting me?'

They climbed back in. Peter dripped a whole lake onto the deck.

And the wind stopped. Just... stopped. The lake went smooth as a plate.

One by one they knelt down. 'It's true,' said Andrew. 'You really are God's Son.'

The shore came up gold. Peter walked beside him, still dripping. He was never going to leave him behind again.