A Little Faith
- Mar 15, 2019
- 2 min read
by Raymond Hammond
And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?— Matthew 14:31
I
first footfall on ice the fishermen step tepidly onto four-inch-thick false floor that will float their steps just above the cold chilling water they can see the bottom as they waddle out from shore like cautious penguins being careful not to step hard from fear of falling through, silence shattered by an occasional sharp shard of sound of a new crack created that must sound like a rifle report to a dying deer a quiet solitary ritual every year at lackawanna state park dozens walk on water with or without belief in anything other than ice
II
the disciples departed the feeding of the five thousand with their bellies full jesus told them to go ahead and that he would catch up—somehow, well, he did not on a boat but by floating footfalls on the stormy waters; as he approached peter asked if he could walk on water, too, so given the same miraculous powers, he tested his own faith and fate by stepping off the boat walking toward jesus but he began to doubt; started to sink like tarzan into a quicksand pit until jesus reached out and saved him from doubt like cheetah always saved tarzan
III
standing on the seawall on liberty island at 3 a.m. watching the lights of new york city reflect perfectly on the mirrored glimmer-glass still waters of upper new york harbor—a single hum that is made up of a million hums hums in the distance; same sleep-inducing drone as the engine monotone of my parents’ car returning from some late night astronomy event of my father’s; through heavy eyelids it looks like a dark open field between me and the city firefly filled, I imagine my first foot- fall wet, firm—each step with a little faith
Raymond P. Hammond is the editor-in-chief of both The New York Quarterly and NYQ Books. He holds an MA in English Literature from New York University and is the author of Poetic Amusement, a book of literary criticism. He lives near Scranton, PA with his wife, the poet Amanda J. Bradley, and their dog Hank.
