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Too Afraid of God to Not Be Afraid of God.

Hip deep in sea water, dragging their boats ashore with exhausted hands, Peter and the fishermen heard talking.

A group a dozen or so thick was huddled together, walking along the beach, listening to a man talk. A predawn prayer group by the looks of it. Must be nice to have that kind of time. With their teacher in front, they were moving in the direction of the fishermen. The leader, a rabbi by appearances, sloshed out to Peter’s boat and legged over the side. He just got in and sat down.

The men’s lined foreheads said it all; With all due respect, what’s this guy think he’s doing?

The rabbi asked to put out a bit, seemingly oblivious to the crew’s hollow, tired hearts. They’d been out all night with no fish tales to tell. The crowd stared at Peter, pressuring him with their eyes. With a sigh, Peter motioned to a few of the others to push back out in the water. A rabbi deserved esteem. But he better not press his luck after a night like they’d just had.

The rabbi spoke from the boat toward the shore, and it took no time at all for Peter and the others to recognize a simple power in his teaching. Not counterfeit power, one you can feign with high volume and ultimatums. The markets were full of mouthy two-bit prophets like that, their fists in the air and their rear ends on fire. This rabbi was different. This one had gone out on the water for amplification so to not let his message be misunderstood by it being shouted.

His words weren’t all that exotic on the face of them. But no one could argue what the man was saying wasn’t new. Somehow more connected to what was coming than what had been. A familiar door hinged to the jamb of a great palace.

Then the rabbi asked to go fishing.

“Sir, respectfully, we’re really tired. We’ve fished all night and pulled nothing but water into this boat.” The rabbi nodded, seeming to not understand Peter had just said all he wanted to about not wanting to. Someone in the crowd cleared her throat as wives and mothers do to force consent. “Alright. Since this is what you want -” Peter did a mock bow at the rabbi, “it looks like that’s what we’re doing.”

It took about ten minutes to get out far enough in the water to reasonably expect a catch. The four men threw the net out half-heartedly, the weights on the corners splashing into the chop, their aching hands and legs protesting the beginning of a double shift. Each of the men leaned over, watching the net sink. Andrew and John loosely palmed one of the pull ropes as it unwound into the water. James and Peter managed the other. The net disappeared.

After a few moments Peter nodded to the others. That’s enough.

They began to lift the net hand-over-hand while the rabbi peered over the side naively.

Now Andrew was shrieking. “Whoa whoa whoa!” The men’s arms pulled taut and the boat listed. The rabbi stepped back to the high side of the boat, laughing.

Peter looked to the others on shore. “Come throw another net! C’mon!” he yelled, tugging and frantic. The rope popped and groaned in their hands. The men barked orders. A convulsion of fish broke the surface in a flash of tails and scales gleaming in the sun. Soon the second boat was a few yards away, their net cast close. Now they were in the same tussle. Those on shore laughed and clapped, more amused than awestruck at the crew’s frenzy of yelps and ropes and tangled legs.

Peter’s boat was full. The second boat soon after. Writhing tilapia, binys and sardines where only bare floor planks had been before. Both boats squatted blessedly low in the water. Amazement replaced exhaustion. It was a miracle by anyone’s standard. God had poured out tangible, scaly goodness on Peter and his crew and their families.

It’s easy to imagine Peter praying during that long night before. Frankly, it’s impossible to believe there wasn’t at least one clenched-jaw petition that at least breakfast would swim into the nets. Whatever Peter said, I’m persuaded the catch of fish was an unambiguous answer to unrecorded prayer.

Anyone would’ve said God had blessed Peter through the mysterious man standing knee deep in fish in his boat.

One time, perhaps years after this catch of fish, Jesus was transfigured before Peter. Moses and Elijah appeared with him on a mountain. It was apparently a stunning experience. Peter was suddenly talking.

“I’ll make some tents, one for each of the three of you!”.

Though appreciated, Peter was told to shut up and listen.

Another time Peter, along with the other disciples, sent children away so they wouldn’t bother Jesus. Seen and not heard as the saying goes. Jesus instantly reversed the order and put a child on his lap, explaining to the crowd that God highly values what society ranks low.

Another time Peter was involved in sending hungry people away so they could go feed themselves. Jesus contradicted this dismissal as well, and a mass feeding of fish and chips, as well as a reminder that spiritual and physical needs are sides of the same, ensued.

Another time Peter told Jesus that Jesus was in error concerning his own crucifixion. The text actually says Peter rebuked Jesus for saying he’d soon suffer a criminal’s demise. True messiahs, after all, don’t get crucified. Everyone knows this. To Peter, Jesus responded by calling his friend Satan and telling him to get out of his way.

Another time, when Jesus was being arrested, Peter lunged forward with a sword. To Peter it seems reasonable that true messiahs need to be physically defended by uneducated fisherman. Didn’t everybody know this too? Peter was going for the officer’s head but only connected with his ear. Jesus told Peter he had the wrong movement and the wrong religion and commanded Peter stow his weapon, to use it for no more than filleting fish, and then healed Peter’s victim.

Another time Peter puffed his chest out and said “I will never leave your side, Master.” Jesus winced and told Peter that he would not only do exactly that, but would do so three times before the rooster announced breakfast.

Another time Jesus asked Peter who he thought Jesus was. “The Christ, Son of the living God,” Peter answered with zeal. Jesus went on to say he’d answered accurately, but not on his own. God had given Peter the answer.

Peter, as we’re presented over and over, was always wrong. His actions were impulsive, his perspectives were narrow, his theology needed reconstruction. More often than not, if Peter was doing or saying something, it would need corrected and undone. If and when he got something right, he was told that it was because it hadn’t emanated from him.

Peter’s response to Christ in that very first scene in the fish-filled boat on the lake that morning tends to get an exception.

“Get away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!”

Every sermon and book and article I have ever come across that gives commentary on this story presents Peter’s fearful response as appropriate, prescriptive, humble and good. When in the presence of the mighty Jesus they explain, you should tremble in abject fear.

Peter, who we know is always wrong, almost comically so, is suddenly so terrified of the presence of the divine, so jarred by the miracle, he begs the Lord to leave in light of his own shortcomings. Considering the scene, Peter must have already figured out Jesus could walk on water.

Why should I suppose Peter’s impulse was right this time?
Why would I think Peter’s reaction to Christ here is the right one? The prescription?

And why would the very next sentence have Jesus saying to him, “Don’t be afraid” if being afraid is good?

Peter was a Jew. And Jews have always knowingly affirmed that God isn’t unaware of anything. One of God’s traditional nicknames is El Roi, “The God Who Sees.” The scriptures speak of God telling the prophet Samuel “I don’t see things like people do. People are stuck with appearances. What their eyeballs show them. I can see all the way inside.” This is to say, Peter’s tradition taught that no one ever fooled God with their performance or good hair. No one ever tricked God into being kinder or ever incurred God’s wrath by falling out of character. This unlimited seeing is a big part of what makes God God. And yet Peter, knee deep in seafood, seems to have thought it was done for him because God had’t really read his file.

“Get away, Lord, before you figure out who I really am and regret your kindness!”

This is the mantra of the ashamed; If only you knew.

Peter acted like a terrified child, but because of our certainty that fear is good, we assume it was the one thing Peter got right. Be afraid. Be very afraid. And if you don’t walk around feeling it, learn to conjure fear as a way of proving you understand how miserable you are to God. Oh and remember all good things mean something bad will happen later, for balance. Fish today, flu tomorrow. Let that anxiety hang over you. We’ll file that under “reverence.”

But what if being afraid of God is as wrong as telling children to get away from Jesus?

And what if God wanting our fear, as we define fear, is not as holy as it is psychopathic?

What if that’s why the divine voice is always heard saying, “Don’t be afraid?”