19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
Matthew 14:22–33
Let us imagine the scene for a moment. Could Peter not have asked for something a little more sensible? He might have said, “Lord, if it is you, let me walk around the boat.” That would certainly have been less risky. If he had failed, he would have sunk as well, but he could easily have climbed back into the boat. And if he had succeeded in walking around it, then taking a few steps toward Jesus would have seemed much safer and more responsible.
But Peter does not ask for that.
There is something much deeper taking place in this daring request to leave the boat. Peter is not trying to perform a miracle or impress the other disciples. Rather, he wants to entrust himself completely to Jesus. And that is always the essence of faith.
To trust Christ means to let go of familiar securities. It means stepping beyond what feels comfortable: our routines, our profession, our social circles, our opinions, our carefully planned lives. We leave behind the places where we feel in control without yet seeing clearly where God is leading us. It is a step into uncertainty—but not into emptiness. It is a step toward Someone.
Everything changes with one simple word from Jesus: “Come.”
For Peter, that word is stronger than the crashing waves, stronger than his fears, even stronger than his own doubts. Jesus’ invitation does not throw him into the sea; it draws him toward himself. Peter walks straight through his fear. And as long as he walks toward Christ, the water bears him.
Notice that Peter does not become fearless. The Gospel never suggests that faith removes fear. Fear is part of being human. It protects us from danger. In many situations it is a gift from God.
The problem begins only when fear becomes our master.
Peter is almost certainly still afraid when he steps out of the boat. But his fear no longer decides his actions. His trust in Jesus is greater than his fear, and that trust enables him to do what seemed impossible.
So why does he begin to sink?
The evangelist tells us very simply: “When he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink…”
The issue is not the strength of the wind but the direction of Peter’s gaze.
Walking on water is not a magical ability. Peter can walk only because he is walking toward Jesus. As long as his eyes remain fixed on the Lord, as long as his heart is drawn by Christ’s voice, he is secure. But the moment his attention shifts to the wind and the waves, fear grows larger than faith. He begins to sink.
This story is not only about Peter. It is about every disciple.
All of us know what it means to face storms. Illness, uncertainty about the future, conflicts in our families, disappointments, loneliness, financial worries, the suffering we see in the world—these are the winds and waves of our lives. We cannot always calm the storm, but we can decide where we look.
Christian tradition offers a helpful distinction here. It speaks of securitas and certitudo—security and certainty.
Security (securitas) is found in the familiar things of life: our home, our health, our career, our financial stability, our family, our routines, our plans. These are good gifts, and we rightly value them. Yet they are fragile. They can disappear much more quickly than we imagine.
Certainty (certitudo) is something deeper. It is the confidence born of faith that, whatever happens, Christ is with us. It is the quiet conviction that our lives are safe in his hands, even when outward circumstances are anything but secure.
The saints often lived without much external security, yet they possessed an extraordinary inner certainty because they knew whom they had trusted.
Prayer is where this certainty grows. Every time we pray, we make the same movement Peter made. We step away, if only for a few moments, from our dependence on visible securities and turn our hearts toward Christ. We learn again that our deepest stability does not come from controlling our lives but from belonging to him.
Perhaps that is why Peter’s request is so beautiful. He does not ask, “Lord, make the sea calm.” He does not ask, “Lord, make me stronger.” He simply says, “Lord, command me to come to you.” That is the prayer of every Christian disciple.
Life will continue to bring storms. There will be moments when we feel the wind more than the presence of God. There may even be times when, like Peter, we begin to sink. Yet the Gospel reminds us that Jesus is always close enough to stretch out his hand. He does not wait for Peter to swim back to the boat. He reaches out immediately and takes hold of him.
The Lord does the same for us. Today he invites each of us once more with that same simple word: “Come.”
May we have the courage to leave behind whatever keeps us from him, to fix our eyes on Christ rather than on our fears, and to discover that even in the midst of life’s storms, he is the firm ground beneath our feet.
Fr. Dominik Terstriep S.J.
