May I speak in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. A traveller leaving London Bridge railway station heading west on a train towards London Waterloo East and Charing Cross on the extended viaduct which runs over some of the oldest and most interesting parts of London south of the River Thames, will soon find himself above the junction of two roads, Red Cross Way and the wonderfully named Dirty Lane. There, should he look out of the window to his right, the traveller will see painted on the side of a brick building in white letters on a blue background, the words Take Courage. Strange as it might seem, this is not intended primarily as a motivational slogan, much as the traveller who has entrusted his commuting needs to the South Eastern Railway and is facing a hard day in the city might be needing such encouragement. No, the building upon which these words are written was for centuries the site of a brewery, and by the 1950s was owned by the Courage Brewery. And so the words take courage are simply an advertisement from this era, inviting passengers to partake of their product. The phrase was always a clever marketing ploy, of course, precisely because of the double meaning to the phrase take courage. Indeed, I understand that in the more censorious world of recent years, the British Advertising Standards Authority prohibited the revival of the slogan on the grounds that they feared it might imply that drinking beer actually increases confidence. At least they didn't knock the building down. But for our purposes, I'm very happy to indulge this double meaning, because it takes us right to the heart of this morning's gospel. We'll get to the dramatic stuff, the walking on the water and all that in just a moment. What's actually more important are the words of Jesus in response to the fear of the disciples. The King James Version that we've just heard renders these words as be of good cheer. If that sounds a bit Shakespearean, that's because it is. Mistress quickly speaks these words to the dying Falstaff in Henry V. The revised Standard Version has the phrase take heart, which sounds like something Jane Austen might have written, although I don't think she actually did. But by far the best English rendering of the phrase is take courage. This is not only the most accurate translation of the Greek, it also captures the strength and force of these words of Jesus. Take courage, do not be afraid. Again and again and again in the Gospels, Jesus urges his followers in any number of settings, do not be afraid. Among many other examples, they are almost the first words he utters after the resurrection, according to Saint Matthew. There is a force and a power to them, but also a sense of realism. Jesus does not say, Look, I've solved all your problems. He does not say this is going to be easy. But what he does say, repeatedly, is do not be afraid. If the church is ever to recapture the hearts, minds, and souls of the people of this nation and beyond, these are the words which she must proclaim from the rooftops, and yes, even from the side of breweries. Take courage, do not be afraid. And why? Why do these words have such power? For precisely the reason Jesus himself gives in the same passage. It is I. Or at least it is I, is how the vast majority of English translations render the Greek words ego aimi. But the literal translation is I am. And as we know from the frequent I am sayings of Jesus in St. John's Gospel, I am was the way in which the Jewish people spoke about God, the God whose name could not be uttered. Exodus 3.14, I am who I am. The disciples would have known this. And so when Jesus calls out to them from the water, courage, I am, he's not simply saying, Hi, it's me to his friends. He's revealing himself as God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God who in Psalm 107 stills the storm and hushes the waves, the God who in the book of Job tramples the waves of the sea, the God who now calms the waters which had threatened the disciples' ship, prompting their recognition of him as the Son of God. These words of Jesus, properly understood, are not merely an appendix to the flashy miracle of walking on the water. They are the reason for the miracle. This is an epiphany, a moment of divine manifestation. Take courage, I am, be not afraid. This is Jesus, and Jesus saves. Salvation is of the Lord. And that is why we are to take courage and be not afraid. Not because in Jesus are easy answers to all the world's problems, but because Jesus saves, and in that truth alone do we find the strength and the courage to face whatever storms the world might throw at us. I said a moment ago we would consider the miracle itself. Let's do that now in three brief stages. First, the context. After Jesus has fed the five thousand, he goes away by himself to pray, sending the disciples on ahead of him by boat. While they are separated, the sea becomes rough, and when Jesus comes to rescue them, they are at first afraid, thinking he is a ghost. And it is this fear that prompts the words of Jesus we have just been considering. Since the earliest times, Christian commentators have seen in this image an allegory of the church, separated from Christ's physical presence after his ascension, and yet still utterly dependent on his grace and power by the working of the Holy Spirit. Secondly, the disciples. So often in the Gospels, the disciples can be seen as embodying the ways in which we react to and behave towards God. Think of Peter promising one minute that he will never leave Jesus and denying him three minutes the next three times the next. Or think of James and John jockeying for position in the kingdom of heaven until Jesus gently points out that such ambitions are not the stuff of the kingdom at all. And here again in our gospel this morning, it is easy to see a mirror of ourselves in the behaviour of Saint Peter. He wants nothing more than to reach the Lord, to be with his Saviour, and to begin with full of faith, he is able to walk across the water himself. But he takes fright, his faith falters, and he begins to sink. Jesus responds by describing him as having little faith, a phrase he uses of the disciples several times in Saint Matthew's Gospel. It is surely a phrase that applies to us as well. Our faith, like theirs, is neither perfect nor absent. It is little. Very often the smallest things are the most beautiful of all, but they need love and care and nurture if they are to grow. Think of a newborn baby. So it is with our faith, neither perfect nor absent, but little. In his interaction with Peter, there are three things to which I want to draw particular attention this morning. Seeing Peter's faith, Christ bids Peter come to him. When that faith falters, he rescues him, and he does so by holding him. He reaches out his hand, the gospel says, and catches him. And in these actions we find encouragement for our own discipleship. Seeing our faith, little as it may be, Jesus bids us come to him. Day by day, week by week, we are bidden to this altar, where Jesus feeds us with himself, the bread of heaven, food and nourishment for the journey of faith. When our faith falters, Jesus doesn't stop calling us, quite the reverse. It's when we falter that Christ reaches out his hand and catches us. And as he does so we become aware that Jesus is holding us too, just as he held Peter. For Jesus, the sense of touch, the sheer physicality of his incarnate being was always important. And again, before too long, we too will touch and be touched by Jesus, as his body and blood are placed on our hands or into our mouths. And so by regular reception of the Eucharist, but also through sacramental confession for the absolution of sins and anointing for the healing of mind, body, and spirit, through these ways and more Jesus reaches out his hand, he catches us, and he holds us. As he does so, and as we acknowledge him as God, we become aware that the storms around us have subsided. Not in the sense that everything is suddenly going to be easy, but in the far more profound understanding that Jesus bids us come, Jesus saves, Jesus reaches out and holds us. And with that knowledge, we need no longer be afraid. To end by returning to the beginning, it may be pushing things a little too far to suggest that the viaduct over the junction of Red Cross Way and Dirty Lane represents a second Sea of Galilee. But the message proclaimed there is precisely the same. Take courage. Amen.