The best argument for the historicity of the Gospels, I think, is the person of St. Peter. Never in a million years could you make up a character like that.
It’s hard not to burst out laughing when you read the story of the Transfiguration. The gang’s up there on Mt. Tabor; suddenly they turn around and see Jesus talking with Moses and Elijah, all surrounded with a heavenly radiance. And what does Peter say? “Hey! It’s great to see everyone! Can I get you guys anything? A beer? Some chips? Why don’t you stay the night? I’ll put together a couple of tents!” Christ finally reveals His divinity to the world, and all Peter can do is babble nervously and putter around doing busy-work… which is how I handle uncomfortable situations, too.
Or take the scene were Jesus walks on water, which is worth quoting in full:
And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out for fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Be of good cheer! It is I; do not be afraid.”
And Peter answered Him and said, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to You on the water.” So He said, “Come.” And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, “Lord, save me!” And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” (Matthew 14:26-31)
It’s a beautiful story, and one I’m sure you’re all familiar with. But let me ask you something: why in the world does Peter want to walk on water in the first place? And how would that prove it was Jesus anyway? If it really had been a ghost, why shouldn’t it say, “Oh yeah, hop on out, lol”—and then let Peter drown?
We say this is a story about how our faith can appear strong until it’s put to the test, so take that leap of faith and put your trust in God. Well, okay But what kind of faith does Peter have before he leaps?
In this way—as in so many ways—Peter is just like us. He’s excitable, shortsighted, a little erratic. Despite having been Jesus’s disciple for ten chapters now, he seems to know next to nothing about who Jesus is and what He’s all about. Peter doesn’t seem exactly clear about his own views, even in his own mind. He doesn’t know what he wants for himself or what he expects from others, even from God.
Not until Peter is out of his depth (no pun intended) does he begin to see things clearly. And even then, what he sees is so obvious it doesn’t even seem worth spelling out: “I am sinking” and “Only Jesus can save me.”
At some point, we all have to face those waters.
Remember the story of how Jesus calms the storm (Mark 4:35-41). In this story, this time, the Apostles don’t want to climb out of the boat and onto the sea. Instead, the sea is climbing into the boat. They’re are more level-headed than Peter. They don’t want to talk with ghosts or perform miracles. They just want to get safely to the other shore.
The water represents the many trials of life on earth, which become the proving-grounds of our faith. Most of us don’t choose to brave those waters. Just the opposite: we try our hardest to stay dry. We hurry from shore to shore. It’s not until the sea comes to us that we realize how powerless we are, and we begin crying out to God.
A few of us, however, are like Peter. We obey the Lord’s command to “launch out into the deep” (Luke 5:4). We need to test the waters, to seek out Christ. Of course, that means taking up our cross. It means praying, fasting, and giving alms. It means loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us. It means that, when someone strikes us on the right cheek, we turn the left cheek to them also. It means hating our mother and our father, our wife and our children, our brothers and our sisters. It means we have to die to ourselves—you to yourself, me to myself, every man to himself.
On paper, we understand all of this. We think we know what we’re getting into when we step off the boat. But then we look down, and all we see is the cold, swirling darkness. All around us there’s disease, violence, death, temptation, fear, and despair. Within, there’s only hunger, humiliation, loneliness, bafflement, and sorrow. This world is under the Devil’s rule, and it shows. Sin ravages everything, including (especially) ourselves.
Whatever we expected to “get” from Christianity—whether it’s beautiful music, or political power, or spiritual consolation, or easy answers to all of life’s questions—all of that disappears. Whatever we thought we wanted from God—whether we wanted to do something incredible like walk on water or just make it back to the boat in one piece—that’s in the past now. Only one prayer, the purest prayer, escapes our lips: “Master, save me!” Whatever theories we had about what God is, we see Him for who He is: a person, a savior.
In fairness to poor Peter, the men who remain in the boat are disciples as well. And like the eleven, we can spend our whole lives calling ourselves Christians without ever launching out into the deep. If Peter hadn’t been so foolhardy, who knows how long he would have gone without having his faith tested, his illusions shattered? Why wait until the hatchways give in to cry out, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy”?
The point of this Gospel is not, “Have faith, trust in Jesus and you will not sink.” No: the point is that, even if you think you have faith, you don’t. Even if you think you trust Jesus, you don’t. Even if you think you know who He is—even if He called you by name; even if you’ve been traveling with Him for a year or two, preaching and healing with Him, eating and drinking and sleeping with Him—you don’t.
If you step outside the boat, you will sink. But do it anyway. Because it’s only by sinking that you’ll learn to cry, “Save me!” And it’s only by crying “Save me!” that we truly come to know Christ, our savior. The old man has to go down into the deep; only then can Christ catch him and raise up a New Man, reborn to everlasting life.
Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business on great waters, they have seen the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep.
He spoke and the stormwinds arose, their billows lifted on high, waves mounting up to the heavens, then crashing down to the depths: their souls consumed by these evils,
Shaken, they staggered like drunken men, all their wise skills swallowed up,
And in affliction they cried out to the Lord, and he led them out from their anguish.
At his command the winds became breezes, the raging billows fell into silence.
Then they rejoiced for their stillness, for guiding them to his will’s haven. (Psalm 106:23-30)
Michael,
Respectfully, I think you misconstrue the import of Peter's proposal to build tents.
Jean Danielou, S.J., offers the common understanding of Peter's suggestion in Bible and Liturgy, which is based on first century Jewish interpretations of Sukkoth: "[The transfiguration] appears to Peter to be the sign that the times of the Messiah have arrived. And one of the qualities of these messianic times was to be the dwelling of the just in the tents signified by the huts of the Feast of Tabernacles [see, e.g., Zech. 14:16]."
Peter recognizes the eschatological significance of the revelation of Christ's glory (remember, this episode follows immediately upon the Lord's declaration that some of the disciples would not taste death before seeing the glory of his kingdom). Of course, Peter's eschatological vision remains immature and underdeveloped, as he doesn't yet grasp the necessity of the passion. Nevertheless, we shouldn't diminish blessed Peter's very powerful intuition.
There are also fascinating connections between this episode and the events of the Exodus and Mt. Sinai, which Peter may have appreciated and gestured toward - but I think the Exodus/Sinai dimension is secondary, though other commentators would emphasize its centrality.
In any event, I think the characterization of Peter as "babbl[ing] nervously and putter[ing] around doing busy-work" largely misses the mark, even if it captures to some extent his justifiable awe and wonder.
In Christ,
Philip
P.S. Keep up this lovely writing project, which I enjoy quite a lot!
Peter always seemed to me to be the most human of the apostles; he is clearly, like all of us, (and often like the church) a house divided against himself. This essay brings that out very well.