I still vividly remember, as a little girl, accompanying my mother to my grandmother’s shop, just two miles down the road. My mother would hold her old wicker basket in her right hand, while my right hand nestled safely in her left. At that age, I didn’t think much about that arrangement, especially as we navigated a narrow path with thick hedges and uneven fences pressing in on us. Looking back, it’s clear that my mother was at the edge of the path, guiding me along while I remained on the inside, her hand offering both direction and protection.

Then came kindergarten. As we walked in a line, we were expected to hold the hand of the person next to us. This practice continued until around the third grade, when we crossed the road to the ‘big’ school. By then, holding hands had become ‘infantile.’ Later on, holding hands took on a different meaning altogether. It became a commitment, a way of saying, “You are mine,” “I feel safe with you,” “I am with you,” and “I belong to you.” Perhaps you can recall a time when holding hands held a different significance for you.

In moments of healing, there’s a time when it feels right to hold a patient’s hand—offering comfort and strength—where touch conveys a clear message of safety, compassion, and whatever version of ‘love’ we embrace at that moment. It reminds me of a brief yet profound lesson from Jesus in one of the shortest sermons Peter ever delivered: “Lord, save me.” In that moment, Jesus reached out to Peter, but how did we arrive at this scene?

Picture Peter out on the Sea of Galilee, showing a level of curiosity that mirrored Jesus’ own compassion during his ministry. After hearing about the beheading of John the Baptist, Jesus heads to the shore of the lake, where a crowd has gathered. Faced with their sorrow and grief, he heals the sick, teaches them, and listens to their stories. Rather than dismiss them when they’re hungry, he instructs his disciples to feed them. He gives thanks to the Creator, breaks the bread and fish, and shares it, providing more than enough for everyone present. The true essence lies not just in the spectacle, but in the bread itself, with everyone receiving from the same hands—his hands—blessing, breaking, and sharing.

Later, Jesus sends his disciples ahead, disperses the crowd, and retreats to a quiet place for prayer. Then a storm strikes, tossing the disciples about in their boat. They spot a figure walking across the churning waters and fear they are seeing a ghost. Yet Jesus calls out to them, reassuringly: “Take heart; it is I. Don’t be afraid.” I can’t help but think that wouldn’t have immediately calmed my nerves. But one person on the boat needs to test this reality—Simon, whom Jesus calls Peter. He replies, “If it’s really you, let me come to you.” Jesus simply says, “Come.” And so, Peter steps out.

When the wind and waves continue to buffet him, and Peter starts to lose confidence, distracted from Jesus. The very rock upon which the Church would be built begins to sink. “Lord, save me,” he cries. Immediately, Jesus reaches out and takes his hand. I can almost picture the moment with a chuckle as Jesus gently teases him, “Oh, you of little faith!” His compassion shines through, just as it did when he was grieved by John’s death, teaching and healing the crowd, and feeding the hungry.

In that moment, Jesus takes Peter back to the boat, and the storm calms. The disciples then realise that Jesus is indeed the Son of God. At the core of everything is God’s love and the promise of His presence. God’s intervention is always at work, but we must remember that, like with Elijah, God often speaks not in the dramatic or the spectacular, but in the quiet moments when we listen closely. Not through earthquakes, winds, or fires, but in the stillness that makes us aware of the Lord’s presence.

The hands of Jesus will reappear in our narrative. The same hands that heal and teach will be bound and flogged; the hands that are lifted on the cross will later be shown to the disciples, bearing scars, yet those very hands will break bread and fish, raised in blessing. The Lord has endured the greatest suffering that love can bring, yet he has still brought about restoration, wholeness, and peace. That hand is reaching out for you and for me, urging us to extend the same compassion to others.

Hands convey so much. They guide us. When someone is unsteady—physically, mentally, or emotionally—a partner is there to help. Hands steady, reassure, welcome, bless, and pray. Paul reminds us that salvation comes to those who call on the name of the Lord. Peter didn’t develop Paul’s theology from reading Romans; rather, he expressed a faith that had already taken root in his cry for help. Faith doesn’t begin with certainty or accomplishment. It starts with reaching out to the One whose hand is already extending toward us.

Elijah learned that it’s not about the grand display but the quiet, reassuring presence that reminds us we are never alone—even when we become distracted and look away. Sometimes, all we can do is echo Peter’s words: “Lord, save me.” We may not need a new miracle, and the circumstances may not change, but the comfort lies in knowing we’re not alone as we face whatever comes our way. “I will not leave you orphaned,” the Lord assures us.

When the Lord asks us to follow His example, it’s a clear sign that He means it. Love has the power to transform everything—even if it doesn’t change our circumstances. Through love, we can do so much. As members of the Body of Christ, we are called to show love and support to those who are uncertain. Hold them close. Love them fiercely. Be present with them. This is not just about rescue; it’s about salvation—exactly what the incarnate Word came to teach us.

In moments of doubt, we raise our own unsteady hands—perhaps holding them together in prayer—and allow ourselves to be still. In that stillness, the Lord speaks to us: “What are you doing here?” We remember Paul’s words: “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” And to our friends, Paul reminds us that while our feet are beautiful, the compassion we receive from God is meant to be shared with others. So, extend your hands. Steady. Prayerful. Helpful. And always hold onto this promise: “Take heart. It is I,” says the Lord. “Do not be afraid.”