 |
| "Storm on the Sea of Galilee" Delacroix, Fr. 19th Cent. |
Captain
Jimmy was looking over the bow of our little thirty-foot sailboat at the choppy
waves on the windward side of Anacapa Island. The sky, which had been sunny and
cheerfully blue all morning, had suddenly turned a dismal grey and the wind was
picking up. As an inexperienced sailor, I wasn’t at all comfortable with the
looks of the wind and water, and I couldn’t help but think of the situation
Jesus and his disciples were in that’s described in the Gospel Lesson for
Pentecost 5, (Mark 4: 35-41).
Our
mainsail was still full, but the swells were making our boat buck like a rodeo bull,
Fortunately, Jimmy hadn’t lost any of his usual serene composure. With a thoughtful
expression on his face, typical of one who made his living as an attorney and
was not given to rash pronouncements, the skipper calmly opined, “I think we
should put on our lifejackets.” This being said, it was agreed by the three of
us that our intention to sail all the way around the Channel Islands off the
southern California coast had been thwarted by the rough sea, and we were wise
to come about and seek a safe anchorage for the night.
I
must confess to having been more than a tiny bit timid at the thought of facing
the angry Pacific (which, truth be told, wasn’t even that angry, but
looked pretty annoyed to me!) in a small craft, so I was glad Jimmy decided against
it. I was even more glad that my friend was an experienced and cautious mariner
who knew what to do when the waters got rough. He had plenty of respect for the
danger, but he also understood that being the man in charge, it was his job to
stay calm so the rest of us wouldn’t lose our stuff in the face of some
possibly treacherous circumstances.
The
story of Jesus calming the storm at sea appears in all three of the Synoptic
Gospels and each evangelist tells it pretty much the same way: Jesus and the
disciples head out on the Sea of Galilee in the early evening. Jesus falls
asleep in the boat. The sea gets rough, and the boat starts to sink. The
disciples, in a panic (which I think is rather unseemly for professional
fishermen), wake Jesus and apprise him of the situation. Jesus then commands
the storm to cease and rags on the twelve for their lack of faith.
I’m
amused by the way Mark tells this tale. He has the disciples waking Jesus by
asking, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”[i] That’s pretty human, don’t
you think? Whenever we’re upset, we get annoyed with others for not
being upset. In our arrogance we like to share our insecurities. We forget
that, just because someone has chosen to be the adult in the room, doesn’t mean
they don’t care about us or feel for our situation. No. When faced with fear or
chaos or uncertainty it’s very easy for us to lose our perspective. Even the
potential for danger can bring out the less attractive parts of our
personalities. When our sky seems to be falling, we just can’t understand why
others don’t act like they see it—even if they really do.
In
the world of our Gospel text water and storms are symbols of chaos. For folks
influenced by Hellenistic thought (which the Gospel writers certainly were—they
wrote the Gospels in Greek, after all) there was either order or chaos with not
a lot in between. Order was good, chaos was bad. But, if the boat trip across
the Sea of Galilee didn’t involve a storm, there wouldn’t be a story to
tell, would there? It’s in the moments of chaos that we turn to faith. That’s
when we learn that legitimate fear of the unknown and the calm presence of
Jesus in our lives can exist at the same time.
I
wouldn’t want to scold the disciples for being afraid of the storm. I’m sure it
was pretty scary, and I’d certainly be terrified of it myself. The challenge, I
think, is to find the faith which says, “God’s got this. God is with us. This
storm is temporary. If we're open to listening to Jesus, we will survive this.”
There
are certainly a lot of frightening things on our horizon. There’s the threat of
climate change which brings with it real storms—hurricanes, tornados, and
floods while our FEMA resources are dwindling. But love of God’s creation and
compassion for those most effected can lead us all to better stewardship of our
planet and a place of safety. There’s a very unstable and angry political
divide in the US right now, but Christ’s command to do justice, love mercy, and
walk humbly with our God is a way forward. Christianity seems to be on the
decline in the US as almost 29% of Americans say they have no religious
affiliation at all[ii].
But there were other boats in the water when Jesus and his friends set out (v. 36).
Perhaps those other vessels were more seaworthy. I keep musing to myself that
somewhere we never think about there is a nascent Christian movement which is
welcoming strangers, teaching compassion, charity, and inclusivity, and doing
all the things which attracted our early Christian ancestors to the faith in
the days of the Roman Empire. Maybe such a community exists without the
cultural baggage which is weighing down our vessel. Perhaps in God’s time
another empire (maybe Communist China?) may be toppled, not by violent
revolution but by acts of love, compassion, and selflessness. You think?
And so we sail on, my friends, with both a prudent respect for the dangers we face and a trust in the wisdom and love of our Captain who keeps us calm in
[i] The
other gospel writers soften this a bit. In Matthew 8:25 the lads say, “Save us,
Lord. We are perishing.” Luke 8:24 simply says, “Master, Master, we are
perishing.” Either these later writers didn’t want the disciples to sound so
snarky or they never wanted to suggest that Jesus might be indifferent to the
troubles of others.
[ii]
You can look this up on the Pew Research Center webpage: www.pewresearch.org.
No comments:
Post a Comment