Calming the Storm
The
Pastor Roy B. Grubbs
Father’s Day
Mark
4:35-41
“That may be
true,” said the universe, “however that has never created in me a sense of
obligation to you.”
How
many, like Crane, have called out to the universe or to God in pain and despair,
and have received no reply? Is there
anyone “out there” who cares about us “down here”?
Or are we mostly left to our own devices?
Late
one afternoon, Jesus took the disciples out onto the
The
thing is, the
So,
there they are out in their little boat on a big, stormy sea, and where is
Jesus? Asleep in the stern.
They’re bailing, the boat is sinking, and he’s catching up on his
beauty rest.
His
apparent indifference to their peril leads them to ask the central question in
this passage, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re going down?
Don’t you care if we perish?” I
had a child in
There
was nothing funny about that storm on the lake, though.
And there’s nothing funny about those times in our lives when we feel
like we may be going down. When the
winds of life are howling, when there is no help in sight, the cry comes from
deep inside, “God, can’t you see that I’m dying here?
Don’t you care?” It’s a
question we all put to God sooner or later.
Don’t you care that I have been diagnosed with cancer?
Don’t you care that my child is on drugs?
Don’t you care that I work hard day after day and still I fall farther
and farther behind? Or do you feel
no sense of obligation toward me?
Someone
has rewritten an old saying, intending it primarily for husbands and wives.
But it also fits our relationship to God:
Sticks and stones are hard on bones,
Aimed with an angry art.
Words can sting like anything,
But silence breaks the heart.
Silence
can hurt. It also can be an answer
in itself. But, if we are patient
and listen very closely, something will come.
So, just when all seems lost, when the boat is set to sink and the end is
near, Jesus speaks. He shakes the
sleep from his eyes, surveys the situation, and addresses the wind and the waves
with three powerful words, “Quiet! Settle
down!” (Or in the traditional
rendition, “Peace! Be still!”)
And
there is calm. As Eugene Peterson
translates it, “”The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as
glass.”
I
remember back a few years ago to a time when the church I was pastoring was
going through some rough waters. After
one particularly difficult meeting, I was despairing about whether this church
could ever pull itself together. Late
at night, I heard a voice. A calm,
reassuring voice.
The
voice said two things to me: First, that there was a good future in store for
that church. We would not only
survive that crisis, but we would thrive. Second
was the message that what was most important was not what I thought or anybody
else thought about how to get there, but how we found that future---God’s
future---together. When the storms
of life are raging, what is most critical in all is to find the presence of God
standing by us, and to find that presence in the fellow travelers who are
sharing the ride.
Maybe
that is why one of the most enduring images of the church is that of a boat.
We’re on this sea together. But
we sail not by a power of our own making. It is Christ’s power, because it’s
his church. And what we know about
sailing, we learn from him.
Typical
of Mark, our story ends not with a ringing affirmation or words of assurance,
but with a question. The disciples,
witnesses to this awesome power, ask, “Who then is this, that even the winds
and waves obey him?” Who is
this man we’re with?
Over
the last few months, we have looked at many sides of this question, talking
about Jesus the teacher, healer, savior, friend, Lord.
But nothing we say can fully capture him.
He is so much more than we can nail down.
And he means so many things to so many different people.
Who
is he? I’ve given a great deal of
thought to that question over my years of study and ministry. I’ve read lots
of books and written many sermons. But
my best answers about Jesus have come in moments of high anxiety and fear, when
I’ve been in the same boat as the disciples, so to speak.
Times when I’ve prayed because I’ve had to pray.
Times when I’ve turned to Jesus, because there was no one else in the
boat. Times when, not really
expecting an answer to my prayer, I got one.
Times when, in the midst of the storm, Jesus has spoken words of peace,
and the troubled waters of my soul have calmed.
Some
commentators have noted that Jesus is the one who got the disciples into trouble
in the first place. It was his
idea to set out on the sea that night. Following
Jesus will sometimes do that to you—it won’t always be smooth sailing.
Jesus always seemed to stir things up more than he calmed things down.
Maybe he still does.
But
that’s ok, too. Some of our
greatest adventures with Jesus will be in the storms, in the dead of night, even
when we are lost. What matters most is that he is in the boat with us.
When we keep faith with where he leads us, whether the waters are smooth
or choppy, there is a voice that speaks peace.
The peace that only he can give.
The
universe may not know we exist. But
God does. And God doesn’t feel so
much obligated to us as deeply concerned for us.
Not just passively wishing us well. But
God gets involved, asserting power over the forces we cannot control.
Bringing peace that passes all human understanding.
Acting on our behalf.
We are not alone. God is with us. Take that faith with you in your little boat, and sail on. Amen