We’ve probably all had times when we realise just how much we try to hold everything together by ourselves. We patch things up, we keep going, we smile when we’re tired, we pretend we’re fine when we’re not. We try to be strong, capable, sorted. And sometimes we manage it for a while. But sometimes the cracks show, and we realise that some things cannot be mended by our own efforts.
Paul understood this. In Romans (10:5-15), he speaks to people who were trying to make themselves right with God by sheer determination. They were trying to climb their way up to God, trying to be “good enough”, trying to earn righteousness by the law. And into that struggle Paul speaks a simple truth - the word is near you.
This is the heart of Paul’s argument. The righteousness that comes from the law demands achievement, “the person who does these things will live by them.” But the righteousness that comes from faith is different. It does not require heroic spiritual effort. It does not ask us to scale heaven or go down to the depths. Instead, Paul says: “The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.”
What is this word? Paul tells us plainly - it is the word of faith, the message that Jesus is Lord and that God raised him from the dead. It is the gospel itself, the announcement of what God has done, not what we must do. It is the word that brings Christ close, the word that carries grace into ordinary lives, the word that says salvation is not distant or difficult but present and offered.
In other words, Paul is saying - Stop trying to fix yourself before you come to God. The word that saves you is already near. You are invited to come just as you are.
And Paul insists this message is for everyone, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” No exceptions. No spiritual elite. No one too far gone, too broken, too doubtful. The word is near you, whoever you are, whatever your story, whatever your storm.
Then Paul asks the question that lands right in the middle of our churches today - How will they call on him if they haven’t heard? And how will they hear unless someone tells them?
Paul is wonderfully direct here - we have to share the gospel - not because we enjoy being bold, not because it always feels comfortable, but because people cannot respond to a message that they have never encountered. If we long for others to see Jesus, if we hope to see our churches grow, then our words and actions must be confidently invitational… silence is never neutral - it simply leaves people unaware that there is a Saviour who calls their name…
Faith is not only something we receive; it is something we are called to share. We are the ones sent to speak hope, to speak Jesus, to speak life.
And that challenge brings us to one of the most vivid and human stories in the Gospels - Peter stepping out of the boat.
The disciples are together in a boat, battered by the wind, exhausted and anxious. They’ve just witnessed Jesus feed the 5,000, a miracle overflowing with compassion, but now they’re alone in the dark, fighting the waves. And then Jesus comes walking towards them on the water. They panic, of course they do, that’s only natural, until Jesus speaks the words he speaks again and again throughout Scripture: “Do not be afraid.”
Peter, as ever, is the first to respond. He wants to trust, to step out. He wants to do something bold, faithful, even impossible. And Jesus gives him one word, the same word he gives us, Come.
And Peter does it. He actually walks on water. For a moment he trusts completely. For a moment he is living faith at full stretch. For a moment he is doing what no one else dared to do.
But then the wind distracts him and doubt rises. Peter looks at the waves instead of Jesus, and he begins to sink.
And Peter cries out, “Lord, save me!” and immediately Jesus reaches out his hand.
Peter’s problem wasn’t that he doubted. His real problem was that he stopped looking at Jesus.
And isn’t that all of us at times? We start with enthusiasm, we step out bravely, we trust God with something new… and then the wind picks up. Life gets complicated. We get nervous. We remember past failures. We look at the waves instead of looking at God - and we sink.
But Jesus still says Come. And Jesus still reaches out. And Jesus still saves…. One of the most encouraging things about this account is that Peter is not a spiritual superhero. He is impulsive, inconsistent, emotional, easily distracted - he is wonderfully human. And Jesus chooses him anyway. Calls him anyway. Uses him anyway.
In the Bible faith is never presented as something only the flawless possess. It is something ordinary people discover when they dare to trust God in the middle of their fears and doubts. It grows when we step out of the boat, even if our legs are shaking. It deepens when we cry “Lord, save me!” and discover that he really does.
And this is exactly what Paul is talking about. Faith is not a performance or a competition. It is a relationship with God - who comes near, who speaks peace, who reaches out his hand, who saves.
Paul says the word is near you. Jesus says Come. Both are invitations - not to perfection, but to trust.
The journey from doubt to belief is rarely a straight line. It is more like Peter’s walk of courage and fear, trust and hesitation, boldness and trembling. Faith grows when we take the next step, even if we’re not sure what comes after it. It grows when we stop waiting until we feel “ready” and simply respond to Jesus’ invitation. Faith grows when we stop staring at the wind and fix our eyes again on Jesus. It grows when sinking becomes the moment we discover how strong Jesus’ grip really is.
And faith grows when we share the good news with others. As Paul said, people will only hear if someone tells them. The Church is not called to be a club of the already-convinced. It is called to be a community of people who have heard Jesus say Come and want others to hear it too.
So what does this mean for us today?
It means we stop trying to earn God’s love and simply receive it, letting go of the exhausting belief that we must prove ourselves worthy before God will take notice. It means we stop thinking we have to be sorted before we come to Jesus, recognising that grace meets us in our unfinished, uncertain, imperfect places. And it means we stop waiting for perfect conditions, for calm seas, clear skies, no wind, before we step out in faith. Faith grows not in ideal circumstances but in real life, where storms and doubts are part of the landscape.
It means we become a church that speaks hope with confidence, because the gospel is good news for real people with real storms, not a prize for the already sorted. It means we dare to believe that God can use us to carry his message of grace into the world. And it means we trust that Jesus will catch us even if we struggle, knowing that stepping out in faith is never about our steadiness but about his strength.
It means we remember that the Church’s future is not found in anxiety or nostalgia, not in clinging to what once was or fearing what might be, but in Jesus who still calls, still sends, still saves. The same Jesus who reached out to Peter in the storm reaches out to us now, inviting us to walk with him into whatever comes next.
And so the invitation of our readings comes to us simply - come as you are, trust that Jesus is nearer than you imagine, step out even when the wind is rising, and believe that the One who calls you is also the One who holds you fast.
We do not respond because we are strong or certain or impressive, but because Jesus is steady when we are not, faithful when we falter, present when our courage is failing. We do not come because doubt has vanished, but because God never lets go.
The word Paul speaks of is already near us, not distant, not hidden, not reserved for the few. The hand that reached out to Peter reaches out to us still. The voice that called across the storm calls across our own lives, inviting us into deeper trust. And yes, the boat still rocks, and the wind still blows, and the waves still rise, but God is here, not waiting for us on the shore, but with us where we are.
Perhaps this week we might try one small act of stepping out of the boat. Nothing dramatic maybe, simply one moment where we say, “Here I am, use me.” It might be a conversation we’ve been meaning to have, a kindness we’ve held back, a prayer we’ve hesitated to pray, a decision we’ve postponed. Let that one step be our way of trusting that Jesus will catch us even if we feel unsteady, and of discovering that God can work through us in ways greater than we imagine.
So may we be a church that listens for that voice, dares to answer it, and chooses to move towards Jesus even when our steps are small and trembling. May we discover again and again that God who saves is also God who sends, and that the future he shapes is found not in anxiety or nostalgia, but in the courage to trust him today. Amen.
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