He saw them.
Hours into the storm,
oars digging into chaos,
going nowhere.
Obedient,
but undone.
He could have calmed it from the shore.
He could have waited till morning.
But he walked—
across the deep,
across the dark—
his tired feet
on top of what terrified them.
And he was about to pass by them.
Strange words.
Why not stop?
Why not speak first,
shout over the wind,
“I’m here!”
But the old stories
know this pattern.
Moses hidden in the cleft.
Elijah on the mountain.
God does not always
interrupt the storm—
sometimes He walks through it
to show His face.
To let glory slip through
the cracks in our fear.
He meant to pass by—
not to abandon,
but to reveal.
To say without words:
This is who I am.
The One who tramples the sea,
who stretches out hand and voice
over the deep.
The I AM
who still sees you.
But they cried ghost!
as if glory
were more frightening
than death.
Still he spoke.
Still he stayed.
Still he stepped in.
And maybe that’s what grace is:
God passing by,
so we might glimpse
what eyes of fear
struggle to see.
Not absence, but presence.
Not silence, but awe.
Not distance, but divine nearness
walking toward us
in the storm.
Original message by Sean Tan, The Bridge Church Macquarie Park NSW
The Afterword 
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