Jesus, I always found the account of you walking on the water towards the disciples in their boat somewhat amusing, as the gospel writer indicates in plain words that they thought you were ... a ghost. A group of very salt-of-the-earth men having that reaction always seemed almost intentionally ironic - maybe even sardonic - an intentionally humorous jab probably not meant to stick around and be read for 2,000 years.
But then today I saw some ghosts of my own. I saw the ghosts of the past - both mine and others' - the ghosts of former lives, joined together again to haunt the present day. I saw the ghosts of the boys we were and the men we had become, with all the joys and sadnesses we've been through and still face. I saw the ghosts of friends with futures very uncertain still able to radiate peace and commitment, and face head on whatever life brings their way. I heard the voices of ghosts laughing at memories of the past, and swallowing hard with steely-eyed determination as they imagined what today brings them, and how this will form the memories we'll talk about tomorrow.
Our little boats, tossed in different storms, were frightened at first by all these ghosts, but came to realize that they in their own way calmed our storms for a few brief moments, when we were all just little boys again, and the world if only for a while stopped turning.
Thank you.
Amen.
