Mark 4: 35-41
Roger Lynn
May 24, 2020
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We just didn’t get it. We never quite understood what it all meant. I often wondered why in the world Jesus chose us to be his disciples, when we had such a hard time comprehending anything he tried to share with us. We watched him heal people. We listened to him teach and tell stories. He would patiently explain things to us – often more than once. We spent lots of time just being around him. And still we found ourselves surprised by him, over and over again. For one thing, it was all so overwhelming. We knew, just by listening to him and watching the way he lived his life, that Jesus was someone extraordinary. I always felt fortunate just to be near him. But I also felt more than a little intimidated, and very confused. The things he said and did just seemed to run so much against the grain of everything we had grown up believing. Letting go of the control of your life and trusting in God completely is a difficult lesson to learn, and one which we found ourselves re-learning many times.
I remember once when we were out in the boat with Jesus, crossing over to the other side of the lake. We had made such a trip many times before, and we’d run into our share of storms. I’ve never really been able to explain exactly why that particular storm frightened us so much. I only know that it did. We were battling against the wind and the waves, trying to keep from being swamped. We almost lost the sail, and we began to fear that we might even lose our lives. The panic and fear which gripped us began to wash over all of us like a drenching wave. And it was then that someone noticed Jesus laying in the back of the boat – asleep. At first we couldn’t believe it. For just a moment we all simply stopped and stared. How could he possibly be sleeping through the storm? Then we suddenly found our fear filling us with a sense of outrage. We woke him up and we screamed at him. “You don’t care about us,” we cried. “If you really cared about us, you would get up and do something.” I do not really know what we expected him to do. It is true that we had seen him do plenty of amazing things, but in that moment we weren’t thinking about any of those other occasions. We only knew that in the here and the now we were afraid and Jesus didn’t appear to be doing anything.
Looking back on it now, I find myself embarrassed by our reaction. I don’t understand why he kept putting up with us, but I’m certainly glad he did. Time and time again he would take care of us, or correct us, or explain something for the tenth time, with that patient look in his eyes which seemed to say, “O.K. Let’s try this one more time.” Well, he got up, stretched out his arms and told the storm to be still. One moment we were screaming into the wind and the next moment the silence of the storm’s absence came crashing in around us. We were safe!
But were we really? I remember staring at Jesus in wide-eyed wonder and not a little fear, and then looking around at the rest of the crew in the boat. None of us had to say it, because it was obvious we were all thinking the same thing – relief and awe mixed with a new sense of fear. We had just been saved from the storm, but who was this who was even more powerful than the storm? He just stood there in the silence for a moment, with almost a sadness in his eyes. Finally he said, “Why are you still afraid?” I never have been quite sure whether he meant our fear of the storm or our fear of him, but either way it was a question worth asking. Why were we still afraid?
It took a lot more time, and a lot more storms, before I really began to really trust him, and even now I occasionally find myself struggling with my fear. Sometimes the storms have been the kind filled with wind and rain and waves. And sometimes they have been the kind which come in the midst of living in relationship with people in the world. Often it has felt as if they might overwhelm me and I would drown. But never have they been too much for Jesus to deal with. Even asleep in the back of the boat, when I forget that he’s there, the storms which threaten me are no match for his presence in my life. I find myself humbled by the number of times he has had to say to me, “Don’t be afraid.” But I think maybe I’m finally beginning to listen, at least once in a while. The God to whom Jesus points me is greater than anything life can throw at us, so what do we have to be afraid of? Trust is a difficult lesson to learn, and I will probably spend my whole life learning it. Fortunately, Jesus is a patient teacher.
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