It’s about six miles from Bethsaida to Gennesaret. Six miles isn’t much of a walk at all, not for people who walk all the time. And when you are meeting someone in between, four miles of walking is something even I could do.

If it’s been raining, of course, it could be a little harder. Your shoes might get wet. Your clothes could drag a bit. But still, it’s a doable thing. If it’s in the middle of the night, it would get a little tough, especially if it’s raining. You might miss the path, falling into the ditch.

It’s not a walk I’d want to do.

But I could.

Unless, of course, we’re talking about six miles as the gull flies. Or, more accurately, the six miles directly under where the gull flies, the path that Jesus chose to walk when he walked to meet the disciples one night.

They were rowing, hard, against the wind. They had been rowing for several hours and had made little progress. And Jesus came walking up to the boat.

They were startled, of course, because no one comes walking up to your boat when you are on the water … except a ghost. But this was no ghost.  This was Jesus.

There is every reason to think that he didn’t just appear, that he walked the four miles from his prayer spot to the boat. He could have appeared, but our accounts of that are after the resurrection.

And which would be more revealing of his power: appearing, or taking a four-mile hike where no one had ever walked before?

When Jesus invited Peter out of the boat, to take his own tentative steps, Jesus wasn’t asking him to do anything that he hadn’t done.

He never does.

He’s waiting on the water.