Reflections on Pentecost 4, Year B

Water is fickle stuff. We’re all born in it, living the first nine months of our lives in amniotic fluid and having our nativities heralded with the alarming cry of “My water just broke!” As adults, it makes up 60% of our bodies. We need to drink it, and we need the plants and animals we eat to drink it, too. It gets us clean when we’re dirty. It’s wonderful for transportation, and it’s also cool to swim in and boat on and generally recreate around. Plus, there’s stuff in water that we can eat such as fish or a rich variety of tasty crustaceans and mollusks (should such fare appeal to your pallet).

But the darn stuff is also deadly dangerous. We drown in it. It escapes its banks and floods our homes and wrecks our stuff. Ships go down in it. Ever see that movie The Perfect Storm or hear that great old Gordon Lightfoot song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald?” Water can be pretty scary at times. To the ancients (and you know how smart those guys were!) it was a symbol of chaos and uncertainty. It gives us life, but it also kills us.

I’m thinking that’s why in our gospel lesson for Pentecost Four (Mark 4:35-41) we have this tale of a storm at sea juxtaposed right after Jesus’ baffling parables about the Kingdom of God. The nature of God and God’s activity confuses the living daylights out of us. Just when we think we have a grasp on it, it turns into something else—just like water to our ancient ancestors. The Sea of Galilee looks calm and peaceful enough when the boys in our story get into the boat. In fact, there are a bunch of other guys out there boating, too. But out of nowhere the wind kicks up and the peaceful water cruise becomes a potential death trip.

I have to say that one of the things I love about this story is its spontaneity. Jesus has been preaching all through chapter four of Mark’s gospel, so I guess it’s only natural that he wants to take a little breather. He’s just finished a sermon and, out of nowhere it seems, he tells the guys to get into the boat and cross over to the other side of the sea. Oddly, no one has an issue with this. They don’t ask where they’re going or what they’ll be doing. They just go. Jesus then stretches out in the stern for a little nap (And, by the way, preaching really can be a very exhausting activity. I’m just saying). When a sudden storm blows up, he’s still catching his z’s. It doesn’t seem to bother him that the vessel is filling up with water!

It’s freaking out the disciples, however. This surprises me since they’re supposed to be fishermen and guys used to being on the water and handling these types of situations. Maybe this is Mark’s way of telling us that this is a really bad storm—the type that even experienced sailors dread. They wake Jesus in a panic demanding, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

For some reason, that particular verse always gets to me. Do you not care? Maybe this is the big temptation we always face in the chaotic storms of our lives—to think that it’s all about us, that we’re all alone in it, and that we’ve been abandoned by God and by all those well-meaning folks who say they care but who really can’t appreciate the horrible depth of our situation.

Jesus makes pretty quick work of all of this. He rebukes the storm and it dissipates—as all storms dissipate. He then asks two questions; “Why are you afraid?” and “Have you still no faith?” The Bible does not tell us what happens from there. It seems that this ends the conversation between Jesus and his panicking shipmates. The guys go on and talk among themselves in awe and wonder. Maybe Jesus went back to sleep. Who knows?

I like to speculate—which is probably a dangerous thing for a preacher—on what Jesus might have said to these boys. I imagine him saying something like this: “Well, guys, I would care that you were perishing if you actually were. But you’ve been safe all along. This storm was going to blow over because all storms blow over. Oh, and by the way, my Heavenly Father makes the wind and the rain and the storms, and He would not send us on this mission just to watch us perish. No. There’s stuff we need to do on the other shore, and it’s important that we get there. Of course there will be storms. You guys are fisherman and you should know that. The weather is totally out of your control. But I’m counting on you to face whatever comes with faith and devotion to the job you signed on for. Now wake me when we get to shore, will you?”

My take-away from this story is two-fold. First, this world will always be a mystery, but God is still in control. We can never be 100% prepared, and to think that we are—that it’s all about us—is actually a form of self-idolatry. It will only lead to neurotic frustration. We are always living by faith. Secondly, faith is quite different from blind, wishful thinking. When the storms and chaos rain down on us, we can’t just close our eyes and hope it all goes away. Rather, we seek Christ. Secure in the knowledge that all storms end and anything is bearable if you understand that it is not forever, we look for God’s will and direction and go on accordingly.

Take courage in the chaos, my friends. It’s temporary. And thanks for stopping by.