On that day, when evening had come, Jesus said to his
disciples, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind,
they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with
him.
A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat,
so that the boat was already being swamped. But Jesus was in the stern, asleep
on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care
that we are perishing?”
He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea,
“Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm.
He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no
faith?”
And they were filled with great awe and said to one another,
“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
***
Would you rather, know God cares, or not die? Is living
worthwhile if you feel alone and helpless? Conversely, does being cared for
matter if your dead? I don't think the disciple who questions Jesus has time to
ponder; all he can do is react and reactive he is.
In the night darkness a furious squall had arisen and the
boat was beginning to fill to nearly full. I imagine all hands on deck, buckets
circling like wheels - down to hull, up and over pitching seawater back to the
murky chaos from which it came, the empty bucket plunging down toward the deck
again, and from the corner of the disciple’s eye, he is eying Jesus. Jesus -
asleep in the stern, a miracle in itself, like a infant unawakened by an
ambulance, like an act of pure peace against the siren’s noise and resistance
to the existence of a painful world, or in the disciple’s plight, placid calm
in the wake of a diluvian demon. Maybe it is awe, maybe it is fear, maybe it is
projection - maybe the disciple wishes it was he who could be sleeping through
the storm without a care in the world but right now his every care is before
him measured in buckets of saltwater. He calculates Jesus’ contribution to the
bucket brigade vs. his own brief desertion to wake Jesus and in the end the
calculations don't matter and what does is his conviction, his fear, and the
hurt underlying it all. That this man who led them into the wilderness of the
desert and then of the sea, this man whom they had followed and trusted, could
care less if there they perished. That is pain. His sleep a rejection of all
they had done for him, and all he had said.
Despite the toss of the boat, with surefooted anger the
disciple walks steady, and over the howl of the wind and its thawp in the
sails, the disciple yells mockingly, “Teacher!” and then the truth comes out
with a shake of the voice, as it does so often when we are angry, and scared
and hurt, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” It could be seen as a call
to arms, but perhaps too, perhaps more, it is call to be reassured, to know
that the one for whom they are risking their risking their life stands beside
them in the storm. But Jesus doesn’t do it that way, always teaching, even in
his sleep.
He wakes like an angry teen, hormones out of whack and
time-clock adjusted to a different light, as if the disciple has just flipped
on the florescent bulb before the birds even started chirping. As if the siren
sound of the squall is an unclean spirit, Jesus rebukes the thawping wind, and
says to the sea, “Peace be still,” as if he is merely shutting off his alarm,
rolling over and pulling the covers up over his head. But his parent, the
disciple, is still standing in the frame of the open door, unrelenting, “Why
are you so frightened?” Jesus exasperates, and with a slight whine pushes his
parent’s buttons by asking the poignant, “What will be so lost by a good sleep
and sweet dreams, that is accomplished by buckets and buckets of seawater?”
“Have you still no faith, faith in the peace that dives under the covers of
waves and on that single cushion, sleeps amidst the squall of a noisy and
painful world?” But filled with awe all the parent disciple can think is, “Who
then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” “Who then is this, who
can can do bucketloads of work with mere motion.” The work, the lifting of
buckets, the measure of a man. But perhaps, there is that which is more
important than perishing, peace. Perhaps if the disciple listened to the quiver
of his own voice, its betrayal of the brigade, the rat race, and keeping up
with the Joneses, he would know that it is care he longs for most. The times
when held his son so close that not an ambulance could wake him. Perhaps faith
is not in the lining up of men to achieve peace bucket by bucket, for there
will always be storms and sea, but instead faith is knowing the Son’s loving
care so deeply, that to wake him is unnecessary, and instead faith looks like
lying down next to the Son in the midst of the storm because ultimately that
peace is what you would rather.
I didn’t sleep last night, I tossed and turned, I set and
re-set my alarm, wrote my morning list, bucket down sermon to scoop up, bucket
down car to prepare for Mission Trip, bucket down trash to take out, bucket
down - plants to water, bucket down Pastor’s Report to finalize at the office,
and if I am honest there is a siren of heartbreak and I am in the ambulance,
seasick in the tumult. It doesn't get much noisier than that, a bucket brigade
we all know, some of us more than once, a testimony to the roughness of seas
and the seasoned strength of seafarers. These too shall pass - like any storm,
but its not the passing I desire, its the peace which passeth understanding.
That from my place, a deserter in the doorframe, I might not flip on the
florescent, but instead, come toward him on the stern with the faith that I am
cared for and there is peace and shelter from the storm.
What squall has you scared? Is it illness, a death,
finances, our church finances, your relationships, the state of the world, the
longevity of our Open Door and Backpack programs, your occupation, upcoming
surgery and healing from surgery, the mission trip on which your about to
embark, addiction and enablement, your children, your spouse, your extended
family?
What buckets do you need to set down? The bucket of complete
healing, longevity, or perfect health, the bucket of the distraction of being
busy, the bucket of indirect communication, the endless daily news bucket, the
daily grind bucket, the self-help parenting or couples book buckets, the way
the house looks bucket, or the trash which should go out bucket, or the one
person you hope to get sit by on the mission trip bucket and the bucket of the
one your really hoping to not.
What brigade has you sworn to human tenants? Our
country, our town and the way its always been, this denomination, this church,
the idea of church as four walls and a steeple, the idea of God as only
Christian and we God’s only people?
Whom have you been eyeing with jealousy because they seem to
have to reassurance and peace you desire? The Facebook posts of newborns and
engagements rings, and graduations, and new jobs, or stable jobs, or boats, and
families together for fireworks, and bathing suits that never looked on you, or
the house that is always completely put together, or the popular girl or boy,
or some far off place that you long to go but you cant because its the middle
of the night and there is storm on deck.
What would compel you, in the midst of the storm, to walk toward
the stern and instead of yelling, stop in the door frame? What fear arises? Is
it perishing, is it how the the outside world will see you or how you will see
yourself, is it not living the dreams for which you’ve hoped, is it believing
that you must turn on the light before the birds are even chirping otherwise
someone else or something else will suffer. Is your fear that your voice just
might quiver and the pain you feel betray you, that you don't feel cared for,
that you are rightfully angry, and scared.
What will take for you to see the miracle that peace is
paramount, even to perishing? What will it take for you, for us, to have faith
we are so deeply cared for, we need not wake the Son, but instead curl up
beside him, sleep well, and have the sweetest of dreams in the midst of the
squall. I would rather. I would rather sleep in peace but it means not worrying
about my to-do list, and giving up trying in-vain to bail myself out of
heartbreak and instead paying attention to the quiver in my own voice. I’m
diving back under the covers. I have faith I can sleep.
