The wind howled, the waves crashed, and the boat was being tossed violently. The disciples, gripped by fear, struggled to stay calm in the storm. Then, through the chaos, they saw a figure walking toward them on the water—it was Jesus.
But He said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” — John 6:18–20
Even in the face of this miracle, fear still held most of them—except for one.
“Lord, if it’s really You,” Peter called out, “tell me to come to You on the water.”
Jesus simply replied, “Come.”

Peter was the one who believed—who stepped out of the boat, refusing to let fear hold him back. That day, Jesus was growing Peter, like a father guiding his son.

Today, I believe many Christians remain in the boat—the boat of this world—where it feels more comfortable and less threatening. But in that comfort, we risk little, and we grow even less. We’ve built a version of Christianity where miracles feel out of reach, more like distant legends than living possibilities. Walking on water, feeding the five thousand, parting the sea, building the ark—these once-real events now sound to some like folklore, lumped in with fairy tales and ancient myths.

Instead of anchoring our faith to these testimonies, we often treat them like inspirational fables—nice stories with a moral, but nothing to build a life on. No wonder our faith feels weak. When we treat the Bible like a book of symbolic tales rather than a record of God’s power in real lives, we quietly strip it of its authority and relevance.

We’ve all heard the story of Jesus walking on water. It’s a Vacation Bible School classic, often reduced to coloring pages and memory verses.

I understand the hesitation, because I’ve lived it. The reason we stay in the boat isn’t because we don’t know the story—it’s because we’re afraid. And fear, when left unchecked, will always destroy faith.

What We Fear

When we think about stepping out of the boat and experiencing the miraculous, fear often stops us. Deep down, we wonder, Will God really show up? That doubt often reflects the reality of our own weak relationship with Him—a relationship that hasn’t grown deep enough to trust Him fully.

We fear letting go of our “boat”—the familiar comforts of this world, the relationships and securities we’ve built—because stepping toward Jesus means leaving those things behind for something we’re not entirely sure of. And that kind of surrender feels risky.

We’re afraid we might sink, that we’ll drown in the deep—and worse, that we’ll look foolish, vulnerable, even like failures to those still sitting safely in their worldly boats.

I believe we’re also afraid of offending those who remain in the boat—worried that stepping out might be seen as a judgment against them, as if we’re calling out their compromise.

We fear losing the approval or support of people we think we need—worried they won’t stand with us if we’re no longer sitting beside them. What if they get hurt along the way and turn back to blame us? What if walking by faith costs us relationships, security, or peace?

Today, many Christians choose to remain in the boat, attempting to fulfill their calling from a place of comfort and safety. We preach against the vanity of the world, yet quietly cling to its comforts. We call others to repentance while still indulging in the very fruits of Sodom.

But the miraculous doesn't happen in the boat—it happens when we dare to step out in faith. That’s when God’s power can break through the darkness. That’s when His glory is revealed, and the world begins to see the light of salvation.

Peter stepped out onto the water, and for a moment, he walked—something no one thought possible. But when he took his eyes off Jesus, he began to sink. Still, Jesus was there, reaching out to lift him up.
The disciples didn’t mock Peter. They had just witnessed a man walk on water. Even in failure, Peter displayed a boldness the others hadn’t yet found.

The same may happen to us. When we step beyond what's safe, we may stumble or sink—but we’re never alone. And if we’re mocked, it’s often by those who are secretly convicted, even jealous, of the courage it takes to get out of the boat in the first place.

In the end, Peter stepped out of the boat—and found himself in the arms of Christ. He experienced the miraculous and ended up exactly where every believer should long to be: in the embrace of Jesus. What a powerful moment between the Savior and His disciple—what a testimony. In that encounter, Peter learned firsthand that Jesus is able.

Meanwhile, the other disciples remained in the boat—spectators to a miracle they could have participated in. They missed a life-changing opportunity to grow in faith because they chose safety over trust.

I can’t help but wonder how many of us today are still sitting in the boat, watching from a distance, never experiencing the kind of deep, soul-shaping growth that only comes from stepping out in faith.

I’ve faced this kind of fear many times, but the most defining moment came when God asked me to leave a church I was working for. I didn’t have another job lined up, and the fear of not being able to provide for my family kept me anchored in place. I chose to stay—and it turned out to be one of the worst decisions of my life.

The church eventually collapsed due to internal conflict and illegal activities I had no idea were happening. I lost my job anyway. That choice—to ignore God’s prompting—has haunted me ever since. It set off a domino effect in my walk with Christ, one that led me into a spiritual pit I’m still trying to climb out of.

Staying in the boat felt safer, but in the end, it only delayed the storm.

When I look at the church today, I see many operating out of fear. Fear of losing jobs, money, or members. Fear of being sued, questioned, challenged, or corrected. Fear of being vulnerable, transparent, or truly transformed. In its effort to stay safe, the church has traded faith for formula—choosing predictability over the power of God.

But that safety comes at a cost. It has stunted spiritual growth, diluted our witness, and dimmed the light of Christianity in a world desperately in need of it. Staying in the boat may feel secure, but it's kept us from walking in the miraculous. And a church that clings to comfort cannot be the salt and light Jesus called us to be.