The first icon I ever bought was a print of Jesus and St. Peter walking on the water. Jesus Christ looks calm and strong, of course - Peter is slipping beneath the waves, and he looks terrified. A few apostles watch from their boat and the waves roll up higher than the boat itself, and they don’t look too comfortable either.
I bought the icon print because I liked the shade of blue of the waves. I hadn’t even visited an Orthodox church before. I was attending an Anglican Church, and decorating the largest apartment I had lived in in my adult life, and the print was a birthday gift from my parents.
I always identified with St. Peter. He’s brash, loud, and stubborn. He is all-or-nothing in a way I find relatable. He is devoted in a way that I think is admirable, and I know that my loyalty and willingness to defend my friends is one of my better qualities - I also know that, like Peter, it is as easy to earn my wrath as my love; my judgment as my compassion. I have always grieved for Peter as the cock crows and he remembers our Lord’s prophecy that he would deny Him three times before the night is over.
And never have I found Peter more relatable than that moment when he is standing on water, and the waves creep into his peripheral vision. He was so brave and trusting just moments before, as he clambered out of the boat and tested his footing on the waves. How far had he traveled in that heady rush of adrenaline and faith? How far from the boat was he when that intrusive little voice broke through the rush of excitement and pulled his focus from his Lord to the towering waves around him? He is watching his Teacher, his Rabbi, do the impossible, and he himself is doing the impossible - until he isn’t, and he begins to sink.
Actually, THAT is when I find St. Peter MOST relatable. One moment, confidently striding across the sea - the next, sinking into the dark and violent waves. Faith has never been easy for me, and more often felt like sinking than walking. “Lord save me!” is maybe the most frequently uttered prayer in my spiritual life.
So I hung the print on my wall and looked at it every day, and soon, started attending an Orthodox Church.
The icons were not the first thing to draw me to the church. I am not a particularly visual person - I was much more about the prayers and the hymns. It even took me a while to start venerating the icons, instead of giving a polite nod as I entered the church, as though the saints were acquaintances I was passing in the grocery store. I grew used to the stern faces surrounding me every Sunday, but I didn’t think that much about them until one day, when I was cleaning my house.
I was dusting the pictures hanging on my wall, when I came to Jesus and St. Peter. I took my damp rag and wiped it over the plexiglass covering the print, and found myself captivated by the picture in a way I never was before.
I noticed that Jesus is not grabbing Peter’s hand - he is grabbing his wrist. He isn’t taking Peter’s hand the way one friend grabs another’s hand to help them up from the ground. Peter was reaching out, but lending none of his strength to the project of pulling himself above the waves. St. Peter is doing all he can - and all he can do is not that much. Those beautiful blue waves were lapping up at him - and I was overwhelmed with love. I felt - not just admiring or sympathizing with St. Peter - but close to him.
I had loved Jesus my entire life. The Protestants who raised me showed me Christ. But they had never really introduced me to the saints. And suddenly, looking at Christ’s hand clasped around Peter’s helpless wrist, I didn’t just identify with St. Peter anymore - I loved him. I felt his mingled despair and relief, and I knew that Christ had similarly pulled me from the depths of despair and doubt more times than I could count.
Without thinking about it, certainly without intending to do so - I leaned over and kissed the place where Christ’s hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist.
I began to venerate the icons in church, and not long afterward, I bought another icon, and set up my first icon corner. It was an icon of the Resurrection, Christ leaning down to haul Adam and Eve out of Hades. He is grabbing their wrists, and the instruments of the fall and sin and death are falling away.
Twelve years and several houses later, Jesus Christ and St. Peter hang in my front hall. I am still frequently distracted by the terrifying waves around me, and I still find faith to be terrifying, and usually more like sinking than walking. I still pray, “Lord save me!” more than any other prayer, and I still find comfort in thinking of Christ grabbing my wrist to haul me to safety. I still relate to St. Peter - and I love him, and pray that despite my fickle love and my failings of focus, I will follow his example and keep stepping out to Christ.
Kathryn McCord lives in Central Kentucky with her husband and their three cats. Both long-time converts to the Orthodox faith, they attend St. Michael the Archangel Antiochian Orthodox Church in Louisville, KY. Kathryn writes the Orthodox Feminist Newsletter where she talks about being a contemporary woman in the changing landscape of American Orthodoxy. Find her on Substack and Instagram at The Orthodox Feminist.
