Jesus, The Bread of Life
Before we read, let’s remember that Jesus and his disciples had gone up a mountain to get away from the mob that wanted to make him a bread king (or perhaps we should say, their bread-slave).
16 When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, 17 where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. 18 A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. 19 When they had rowed three or three and a half miles…
This passage is a dizzying study of Greek tenses. John’s memory is so vivid that he can set the events out for us like a card player laying down a straight flush, card by card by card. Since you already know the story of Jesus walking on the water, permit me to bring you behind the scenes of John’s text to see precisely what he’s saying. New Testament Greek used six tenses: Present, imperfect, aorist (no “moment” in time, just a fact in the past), future, perfect and pluperfect.
16a. When evening came
Aorist, the fact was that it was now after sundown and it was dark.
16b. his disciples went down to the lake
Aorist, another past-tense fact. Jesus wasn’t with them; they went down as a group without him (he was going to join them later).
17a. where they got into a boat
Aorist yet again; John is just getting the facts lined up for us before he sets the story into motion. They got into “a” boat, although it was probably the only one anchored there at Bethsaida.
17b. and set off across the lake for Capernaum
Imperfect, which shows a different sort of past action; it’s just getting under way; now we’re moving at last. John is letting us in on his plan to tell us what went on during what should have been no more than a quick little sail across to Capernaum.
17c. By now it was dark
Or “Now it had become dark,” the rare pluperfect tense tells us that the darkness didn’t last forever (of course), but that John has taken us into a point in the story when it still was quite dark. He wants us to notice that the darkness was still there.
17d. and Jesus had not yet joined them
Another pluperfect, again emphasizing that the subject of the clause—Jesus—was still not there, although he was now on his way.
18a. A strong wind was blowing
There is a present participle here (called an “historical present”—John remembers it as if it’s going on right now), but the phrase is also an interesting construction called a genitive absolute. When this happens, the whole phrase or clause is “glued together” to form one single part of speech. Here it shows the cause for the rough seas: because the strong wind (is) blowing….
18b. and the water grew rough
The imperfect tense does something pretty interesting here, showing us building action in the water, “the seas grew rougher and rougher.” You can see the waves building and hear the wind shrieking through the ship’s rigging as the Apostles certainly struggled to reef (take in) the sails to keep her from listing over too far. Too much sail in such weather could carry away a spar or a sail’s boom or even snap a mast. If that happened, the lines and halyards that attached the sail to the ship would remain tied to the useless sail as it trailed behind, and the whole ruined sail assembly could drag the ship underwater. The men had to act fast in dangerous, life-threatening conditions. Besides the rising seas and shrieking wind, it’s easy to feel the tension and the fear build in the sailors caught in the unexpected storm…
19a. When they had rowed three or three and a half miles
(Greek, 25 or 30 stadia, A stade or furlong was 606 ¾ feet—the length of a racetrack.) John now uses the perfect tense, which sets us smack-dab in the middle of a moment in time in such a way that the information or the results are still with us. John’s memory says to us: “By now we’ve rowed (the sails were fully reefed) three, three and a half miles. And now that’s how far we are—we’re still there in my mind.”
19b. …they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were terrified.
Staying in the perfect (present then and still present now) tense, John relives the moment: Jesus is walking on top of the water, coming toward the boat. He doesn’t sink. The spray lashes at their faces and the little ship rises and falls sickeningly with the swelling waves, but Jesus just steps, steps, steps, across the water toward them, as if a dirt track were there in the troughs of the heavy seas. But there’s no dirt, no path—just the Savior’s sandaled feet, stepping across the water. The physical universe obeys its Master; he isn’t subject to the laws of gravity or of buoyancy, which are perfectly indiscriminate and fair and even predictable—and yet he permitted himself to become subject to the discriminatory, unfair and fickle laws of mankind, to save us.
Permit the force of another Greek tense. It’s the aorist “they were terrified,” telling us nothing more than a fact. The fear of the Apostles rose higher than the high seas themselves. Their screams were out-screaming the wind in the rigging.
20 But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” 21 Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading. (NIV)
“I Am,” Jesus says. “It’s me.” The one fact we know about the Twelve—their fear—is instantly addressed and calmed by Holy Jesus, fast approaching the heaving stern of the ship. The disciples, amazed, help the Lord inside, and then something else happens. John has told us with his perfect tense that they “are” at most three or three and a half miles across the five-mile wide lake. But now, immediately, they were—this is a fact, too—at the far shore. This final miracle of the day is somewhat overshadowed by the others, but the three of them together—the feeding of the five thousand, walking on the water, and the instantaneous arrival of the ship—all point to the divinity of Jesus Christ. He provides for us when it is otherwise impossible, he does what is impossible for our bodies, and accomplishes what is impossible for nature or physical matter altogether.
Jesus is God. There is nothing beyond him. And what he did for our souls—far beyond what we or anyone or anything could ever do—he accomplished out of compassion and love for us. He is the “I Am” who takes away the sin of the world.
Something Extra:
Psalm 37:27-29
ס (Samekh)
27 Turn from evil and do good;
then you will dwell in the land forever.
28 For the LORD loves the just
and will not forsake his faithful ones. (NIV)
The Hebrew alphabet’s fifteenth letter is samekh, which begins the word sur, “Turn aside!” It’s what we do when we repent. We turn aside from our evil and from our sins, and turn back to God’s good path. We aren’t forgiven because we are God’s “faithful ones” or because we are so good or because God knows how good we could be. We’re forgiven because God loves us, sinners though we are. But now, because we’re forgiven, we are able to be faithful to him, through Jesus Christ. Because of Jesus we are renamed, renewed, and reborn. Because of Jesus, we have the gift of eternal life.
ע (Ayin)
They will be protected forever,
but the offspring of the wicked will be cut off;
29 the righteous will inherit the land
and dwell in it forever. (NIV)
Sixteenth in the Hebrew alphabet stands the deep guttural letter ayin, which begins the word olam, “forever; for unbounded time.” The promise of heaven shines on us very much like the moon. The same side is always presented to us, although we know there is more to it. Sometimes the light hits it differently, and perhaps we see more or less of it, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. It’s always there. And again, like the moon in our time, each of us knows of someone who has been there (like Buzz Aldrin, who paused before he got out of the Lunar Module in July 1969 to take communion first), and each of us dreams a little (some more, some less) about what it will be like to be there. But few of us will get to the moon in our lifetime. Yet all of us, everyone who puts their trust in Jesus, will certainly arrive in heaven, and we will live there in joy and peace forever.
Pastor Smith serves St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in New Ulm, Minnesota. His wife, Kathryn, attended Chapel from 1987-1990 while studying Secondary Education (Theater and Math) at UW-Madison. Kathryn’s father, John Meyer, was also the first man to serve as a Vicar at Chapel.
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