When Jesus walks on water, John invites us to see more than an astonishing sign. The same God who brought order to the chaotic waters in Genesis comes close when your own life feels stormy.
He meets you in the darkness with these reassuring words: “It is I; do not be afraid” (John 6:20).
At first glance, this part of John 6 feels like a simple journey from one place to another. Jesus has just fed thousands, and soon He will teach that He is the Bread of Life. For now, the disciples just need to cross the Sea of Galilee.
But even an ordinary trip can become a moment of discovering who Jesus is.
The Sea of Galilee is a small but volatile lake, about thirteen miles long and eight miles wide, ringed by hills that funnel cold air down onto warm water. Even today, tour boats cut their trips short the moment an unfriendly cloud appears, because storms can rise in minutes.
For people in biblical times, that unpredictability made the sea more than a stretch of water to cross. It was a vivid picture of chaos and danger, something we can understand whenever life suddenly feels beyond our control.
That is exactly where the disciples find themselves.
They set out for nearby Capernaum, a short trip hugging the shoreline. Instead, after rowing three or four miles, they are in the middle of the lake, far from where they meant to be.
Veteran fishermen, they know boats that never came back. You can almost hear the unspoken thought: “We are not going to make it this time.”
Scripture is full of this waters-and-chaos imagery.
Genesis begins with darkness over “the face of the deep” before God speaks light and brings order (Genesis 1:2–3). Later, the people of Israel find themselves caught between the Red Sea and Pharaoh’s army, until God opens a path through the water (Exodus 14:21–22).
These stories help us understand why ancient readers saw the sea as more than part of the landscape: it could represent danger and forces beyond their control, a theme you can see traced through studies of biblical cosmology such as this overview of chaos and the waters.
John wants you to remember those stories when you picture Jesus striding across the waves. This is not a Hallmark scene with gentle ripples. This is darkness and howling wind, a small, exhausted crew, and water beneath them that has swallowed other boats.
And on top of that chaos walks Jesus, their Teacher, doing what only the God of Israel has ever done: mastering the deep.
If that image unsettles you a bit, it should. The disciples are not comforted at first; they are terrified. They know human beings do not walk on water.
Many of us recognize that feeling, not just at life’s big turning points, but in the ordinary, in-between days when things have not gone as we hoped. We keep rowing, doing our best, yet seem to make little progress against the wind.
If that is where you find yourself, you are not alone. You may even wonder whether God is back on shore, closer to the people who seem calm and have everything together.
The disciples’ fear on the lake reminds us of the people of Israel at Mount Sinai. Exodus 19–20 describes thunder, lightning, a trembling mountain, and a trumpet blast growing louder and louder. Overwhelmed, the people “stood far off” while Moses drew near to God (Exodus 20:21).
It is one of the most human sentences in Scripture: they kept their distance because they had no idea what such holiness would require of them.
If you have ever hesitated to draw near to God, worried about what He might uncover, you can understand how they felt. Many of us find it easier to picture God as either powerful but distant or gentle enough to fit our expectations.
Scripture invites us to discover someone greater than either picture.
The God revealed in Jesus is not someone we can control, yet His goodness gives us reason to draw near. Psalm 29 describes His voice as one that “breaks the cedars” and “shakes the wilderness” (Psalm 29:5, 8).
C. S. Lewis captures that same combination of awe and trust in his description of Aslan: “Safe? … Of course he isn’t safe. But he’s good.”
This reality is God’s “fierce and tender” love. Fierce, because Jesus does not wait for the disciples to pull themselves together or row back toward Him. Tender, because when He reaches them, He does not shout commands over the wind; He identifies Himself and speaks comfort: “It is I; do not be afraid” (John 6:20).
John records the Greek phrase as ego eimi—“I am”—the same wording the Greek Old Testament uses when God tells Moses, “I AM WHO I AM” (Exodus 3:14).
There is a reassuring pattern here: before God gives Israel His commandments at Sinai, He reminds them of His rescue. “I am the LORD your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt” (Exodus 20:2).
His grace comes first; their response follows.
Paul describes that same gift when he says that “Christ Jesus has made me his own” (Philippians 3:12). He presses on because Christ has already taken hold of him.
We do not have to make the first move or earn God’s care. He reaches toward us before we reach toward Him.
Saint Augustine and other early Christian teachers saw the disciples’ boat as a picture of the Church: a small vessel making its way through restless waters. The journey is not always easy, but Christ does not leave His people to face it alone.
In Jesus, God’s holiness has not become any less powerful; it has come close with a human face and a voice that reassures us: “Do not be afraid” (John 6:20).
Theologians today continue to reflect on this love that is both powerful and tender. Bishop Robert Barron describes the accounts of Jesus walking on water as real events rich with meaning for the first Christians.
They reveal both who Jesus is and how He cares for His Church when it faces rough waters; you can hear a version of that reflection summarized in this podcast episode on Jesus walking on water.
Brennan Manning called this the “furious longing” of God. He was describing not a God who needs us to make Him complete, but One whose abundant love reaches out to draw us close.
We see that love in Jesus walking across the waves, not to put on a display, but to reach His disciples. The storm is still raging, yet it does not keep Him away. His goodness comes right through the chaos toward their boat.
These stories begin to fit together: the chaotic waters in Genesis, the frightened people at Sinai, and Paul learning to rest in belonging to Christ rather than in his own achievements.
Through them, we see the holy God drawing close to His people. His power still inspires awe, but His presence also brings comfort.
In the middle of your own very real storm, Jesus’ words offer that same reassurance: “It is I; do not be afraid” (John 6:20).
Many of us know what it is like to believe in God and want to follow Him, yet still hold back from drawing close.
Sometimes shame makes us wonder, “What if He saw everything I am struggling with?” Sometimes disappointment leaves us asking, “If He cares, why am I going through this storm?”
And sometimes we are simply tired, with little energy left for prayer.
If any of that feels familiar, you are not alone.
John will not let us keep that safe distance. As mentioned earlier, neither will Augustine, who read this story as a picture of the Church: a small boat crossing “the sea of this present age,” battered by cultural waves and hidden reefs of sin.
The key detail for him was not that the water always calms, but that Christ does not abandon the boat. He comes to it, gets in, and somehow they are immediately at the shore.
That same reassurance is for you, too.
This passage does not promise that having enough faith will suddenly make life as smooth as a calm lake. Instead, it invites you to see that the waves overwhelming you are beneath Jesus’ feet.
He knows the storm you are facing, and it does not keep Him from coming close. You do not have to face it alone.
So what does it look like to move from distance to nearness?
It can start with telling Him honestly about the storm you are facing, without searching for perfect words; showing up in worship even when you feel like a soaked disciple rather than a strong saint; stretching out your hands at the altar rail with as much faith as the disciples had: “Lord, if it is really You…
You can offer a simple prayer of your own: “Lord, help me recognize Your presence.”
Again and again, Scripture shows God drawing near: walking in the garden, filling the tabernacle, taking on flesh in Jesus, and feeding His people with His own life. We come as we are, trusting the One who has already come toward us.
In his reflection on Jesus walking on water, Rev. Robert E. Smith highlights how easily fear can draw our attention away from Jesus and toward the waves around us. It is a struggle many of us understand: the storm can feel more real than the presence of the One coming toward us.
His article on Jesus walking on water explores this invitation to keep looking to Christ.
We do not have to control the sea; we can turn our eyes toward the One who walks upon it, even when our faith feels uncertain.
We invite you to take a small step closer, just as you are. As you reflect on the disciples’ long night of rowing, the wind, and Jesus’ reassuring words, remember that the God who makes mountains tremble is also the One who draws near to people in small boats.
You do not have to wait until you feel calm or confident to welcome Him. The One who could have stayed on shore is already coming toward you.
If this story feels close to home, especially if life has left you feeling uncertain, overwhelmed, or off course, we invite you to watch the sermon when you have a quiet moment to listen and reflect.
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