The Sea of Galilee is an unusual body of water. It’s not really a sea at all. It’s a large freshwater lake, about thirteen miles long and eight miles wide. Most days it’s calm, even serene. But it sits 700 feet below sea level, with mountains rising up to 2,000 feet around it.

That geography is beautiful, but it’s also treacherous. Cold air can pour down from the heights without warning, colliding with the warm, moist air above the lake. In minutes, the water can go from mirror-smooth to a churning, dangerous storm. Waves five to ten feet high aren’t uncommon.

The disciples are out on that lake in a typical first-century fishing boat. Imagine 12 men in a boat about 27 feet long, low-sided, designed for casting and hauling nets. Fully loaded with men and gear, the sides of the boat would have risen only six to thirteen inches above the waterline. Perfect for fishing. Terrifying in a storm.

It’s the “fourth watch of the night,” sometime between 3 and 6 a.m. They’ve been battling the wind for hours, exhausted, wet, and afraid.

And remember, they’re here because Jesus sent them. Just before this, He fed over 5,000 people with five loaves and two fish. Then He sent the disciples on ahead while He went up the mountain to pray. They are doing exactly what Jesus told them to do, and still, they find themselves in a storm.

Psalm 46 says, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way… though the waters roar and foam…” But on that dark, windy lake, it’s hard to feel that truth.

The Storm Is Real — and So Is the Fear

These are seasoned fishermen. If they’re afraid, the danger is real.

We have our own kinds of storms in our lives. Sometimes they’re external: grief, illness, injustice, a sudden loss that knocks us sideways. Sometimes they’re internal: anger, pride, bitterness, despair. The kind we can hide from everyone but God.

And fear? Fear doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re human.

Psalm 107 paints a picture of the kind of fear we sometimes face: “They reeled and staggered… their courage melted… they were at their wits’ end.”

That’s where the disciples are when Jesus comes to them. The story says that Jesus gave them the fright of their lives. Imagine: in the middle of a storm at 4 in the morning, you see someone in the distance walking on the water. Yikes.

Jesus Comes Into the Chaos

He doesn’t calm the storm first. He walks right into it.

In the Old Testament, this is something only God does. Job 9 says God “tramples the waves of the sea.” Psalm 77 says, “Your way was through the sea, your path through the great waters; yet your footprints were unseen.”

Perceiving their fear and, likely, hearing their cries, Jesus says, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” In Greek: ego eimi—“I AM.” The same name God gave Moses from the burning bush in Exodus 3:14.

This is more than comfort. It’s self-revelation: “I AM here. I AM God.”

And in that moment, the storm isn’t gone. The fear isn’t gone. But there is just enough light for comfort to begin, for faith to take root, for fear to loosen its grip.

When Jesus Says “Come”

Peter doesn’t leap out of the boat in excitement. He still doesn’t know for sure that this is actually Jesus. He says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He waits for Jesus’ word.

That’s worth noticing. Peter waits for Jesus to call him. We can’t manufacture that kind of moment. We can’t decide for ourselves to step into the impossible and expect Jesus to back us up. The call starts with Christ.

But when Jesus says “Come,” we can trust that He means it. It may not make sense on paper. Likely, we will still feel afraid.

Where is Jesus inviting you to step out? What have you been waiting to hear from Him? And what fears are still holding your feet in the boat?

It may be nothing. Jesus may not be calling you to anything more than following Him with grace and truth in your everyday life right now. But for some, it will be more. It will be Jesus calling you to something.

When that call comes, you probably won’t have the whole picture. You might only have just enough light to see the next step. But that’s enough.

The Hand That Lifts Us Up

Peter steps out. He walks toward Jesus. Then the wind shoves at him, the spray blinds him, and fear floods back in. He starts to sink.

This is a moment most of us have lived: the mix of trust and panic, of stepping and sinking. A movement of faith followed by, “What have I done?”

Jesus doesn’t let him flounder. Matthew says, “Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’”

I don’t hear Jesus’ question as a scolding. I hear it as an invitation to think deeply: What pulled your eyes away from Me? Why did you doubt?

Psalm 107 says, “Then they cried to the Lord… and he delivered them… He made the storm be still.” That’s what Jesus does here. He rescues first. Then He teaches.

His hand is still doing that today. He loves first. He rescues first. By His death and resurrection, we are safe for all eternity. But it doesn’t end there. After the rescue, Jesus teaches.

What Does Worship Look Like?

When Jesus and Peter get into the boat, the wind stops. And the disciples worship Him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

This is the first time in Matthew’s Gospel they make that confession together. It’s not just thanks for being rescued. It’s recognition.

I doubt they started a liturgy or sang a hymn in that moment. Those are things we do as part of worship. But their hearts were in the very center of it—the recognition of who Jesus is.

What does worship look like now?

It’s sitting before Jesus in recognition of who He is.
It can look like trusting Him in your storm.
It can look like taking the next step when you’re afraid.
It will always include humble reverence—not because you understand everything, but because you’ve seen Him reach out to you.
It looks like following, not just singing.

Worship isn’t just what we do in church. It’s what we do in the storm—and when the storm clears and we know who held us through it.

Just Enough Light for You

The Sea of Galilee can change in a heartbeat. So can life. One moment you’re coasting across a glassy surface. The next, the waves are high, the wind is in your face, and the sides of the boat, just six to thirteen inches above the water, feel terrifyingly low.

The promise of Matthew 14 isn’t that Jesus will keep the storms away. It’s that He will come to you in them.

Episodes like this give us just enough light to trust Jesus and step out when we hear His call.

If you’re sinking, call out. His hand is already reaching for you. And when you feel His grip, when you know you’re safe, let your worship be more than words. Let it be trust. Let it be obedience. Let it be the next step He’s calling you to take.

Because the One who comes to you in the storm is the same One who rules over it. And He’s the same One who says, “Take heart; I AM. Do not be afraid.”