July 1, 2020

Every June, my mom would buy pool passes for all us kids. Now, I imagine this was cheaper than putting air conditioning in our home and likely kept my poor mother from being either incarcerated or admitted, depending on which way she would have snapped. So, every day the back seats of our Ford Gran Torino station wagon were folded down and we piled in, collecting a few other neighborhood kids on the short drive to the Greenbelt Public Pool. The car smelled of musty towels, suntan lotion, and brown-bagged lunches (banana, peanut butter and jelly on saltines, wheat thins, and milk with ice cubes in it). Most days we would be there from midmorning to the middle of the afternoon. We passed the hours doing some swimming of course, but we’d also play board games, blow lawn-mowing money at the snack bar, and sit in circles jabbering. But in my backpack, I would always pack a book or two. There was a shady spot against the wall of one of the shower rooms and I usually devoted a little time each day to reading. I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart in April of 1986 at a Billy Graham crusade in D.C. and so that summer, I took to taking my bible with me to the pool. I didn’t have a program for my reading, but I pretty much stuck to the narrative sections. I was fascinated by the palace intrigue and bloodshed of Kings and Chronicles, the epic sweep and ups and downs of the lives of the patriarchs, and the barnstorming Paul did for the gospel as he marched across Europe and the Near East. One day as I sat against that cool cinderblock wall, my knees drawn up as a desk to hold my Good News Bible, I happened upon the story of Peter’s walk on the water. That Jesus made a walkway of lake water was fascinating stuff, but to read that a normal, everyday guy like Peter got out there and did it too; that really captured my imagination. As I lifted my eyes from the page to ponder it all a bit, the shimmer and glint of the crystal blue, chlorinated pool water set my thinking to personal application. The Greenbelt Public Pool was going to be my Sea of Galilee! I stood up, put my things away, and walked over to the deep end. I stood on the edge, my toes gripping the concrete lip and offered a simple, earnest little prayer. Smiling ear to ear over the whole idea, I opened my eyes and took a very modest step of faith. I was sincere and I gave it a good shot. For a millisecond I imagined the water might hold my weight, but in a moment I was completely submerged. I wasn’t too disappointed. I didn’t much expect that I would be able to do it anyway; after all, there are no basilicas in Rome named after me. Even so, the whole thing did leave me wondering about the reality of wonders in my newly minted faith.

That night at dinner, I decided to relate the story of my piety to my dad. “So, what do you think, Dad? Why didn’t it work for me the way it did for Peter?” My dad paused to put down his fork and shift his weight toward me. “I’m not entirely sure, son. I suppose that’s a question you and the Lord will ultimately have to settle. But, let me ask you,” a warm smile dawning on his face. “Did you have your swimming trunks on when you tried?” Hmm. I saw what he meant. Come to think of it, I think I had my goggles on too! But, he wasn’t done. “One more question,” dad began – this time a little more seriously. “Was Jesus out on the water welcoming you?”

I learned a lot about the exercise of faith from my experience that day and from the exchange I had with my dad. Leaps of faith will always involve an authenticating risk that must be taken. And no risk should be taken, without God calling you to join Him in the unknown. As we strive to grow in our faith today, let’s work to attune our ear to the voice of God and let’s stop living as though we’re expecting to drown. -Pastor Tate