"Why Are You Afraid?" (Mark 4:35-41)

"Why Are You Afraid?" (Mark 4:35-41) Preached 6/24/18 at Saint Peter's United Church of Christ (Carmel, IN)

Audio File

Jesus Stills a Storm

35 On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” 36 And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. 37 A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. 38 But he 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?” 39 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. 40 He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 41 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?”

A few years ago, while I still worked at the National Headquarters of the Presbyterian Church, I had the amazing opportunity to visit the Holy Land. It was a transformational experience for me - meeting our missionaries in the field, seeing how our assistance had really made a difference in the lives of people in the area, and learning more about the political struggles plaguing the region since literally the beginning of recorded history. It was transformational in another way also: the images I held in my mind of some of the most important historical sites in the Bible didn’t turn out to be what I had expected at all, fundamentally changing how I felt and thought about many aspects of the Christian story and, if I’m being honest, even sowed a few doubts.

I expected a “Little Town of Bethlehem,” complete with mangers and donkeys so I was surprised to find a bustling urban city, its infrastructure having seen its better days, a likely consequence of limited public funding being in a part of the country where Israel and Palestine argue about territorial lines. I expected to see a peaceful and tranquil spot on the Jordan River where Jesus was baptized and, instead, discovered a lively tourist attraction, adorned with plaques celebrating funders like Glenn Beck and a gift shop where one could buy a hologrammed Jesus placemat … you know I picked up one of those. I expected to see conflict in public spaces, well prepped for the Israeli checkpoints restricting Palestinian movement. What I didn’t expect was conflict within the historic churches we toured, with Catholic and Orthodox priests literally getting into a pushing fight about what hours each sect was holding worship. As it relates to our story today, I was shocked to discover that the Sea of Galilee wasn’t a sea at all. It’s a lake, and a rather unremarkable one. Sure, it’s pretty and all, but walking along its shore reminded me of a nice day around Geist, not the epic body of water where Jesus stilled the storm. If the “sea” was in the United States, it would be our 78th largest lake, a little smaller than Lake Cumberland in Kentucky. Indiana has more shoreline on Lake Michigan than the entire shoreline of the Sea of Galilee. It’s width is similar to the 10km endurance swimming event in the Olympic games. I certainly couldn’t swim across it, but there are people who can.

So, why am I ruining this image of the Sea of Galilee for you? I do so because it is important in understanding the significance of this story for us today. The miracle stories of the Bible involving mother nature are some of the most awe-striking, but they are also some of toughest to visualize and believe. We are not special in this concern, the doubts this story generate for us are likely the same doubts the Markan community would have had when they heard this story almost 2,000 years ago.

Today’s story, we’re told by Mark, is at the end of Jesus’ day. He has spent the day teaching beside the sea inspiring his audience with some of the most oft-quoted stories of the Gospel, including the mustard seed parable we learned about last week and the mandate to not hide our lamps under bushels. The Disciples are literally being lectured by Jesus on the beach, sign me up for that class. Keeping them on their toes, as the day draws to a close, Jesus surprises the Disciples by suggesting they cross to the other side. While on what we’ve learned is a relatively short trip, Jesus falls asleep, the ship is met by a sudden violent storm, and the Disciples panic, waking Jesus up in melodramatic fashion. “Don’t you care that we are perishing?” Jesus wakes up, orders the storm to be still, restores the peace, and nonchalantly asks, “Why are you afraid, have you still no faith?” The disciples are left in awe, still not accepting the greatness of Christ in their midst.

Why were the Disciples afraid? We might forgive even the toughest of people for being afraid of a roaring and violent sea storm, I would be, and I’d certainly be questioning the wisdom of the person who put me in the position to witness such an event. But this can’t possibly be that kind of storm based on the facts we know about the Galilee. This was just a big summer thunderstorm, what are you so afraid of? It isn’t just big storms that are scary though. Not all storms have life and death implications, but some do. We don’t know what is going to happen in a storm - will there be damage? How severe will it be? Do I need to protect my family? Is the power going to go out? Am I going to be as comfortable at the end of this storm as I am right now. My dog understands this too. Gizmo is the most fearless twelve pound animal you’ll ever meet, growling at animals 5 times her size with a fierce bark that, without the advantage of seeing her, would scare away a robber in an instant. The first echo of thunder though, the structure of her life isn’t 100% clear and she jumps right into my lap, which I sort of love. Remember, all storms aren’t life and death, but some are. What are the current storms in your life? Do you know the storm’s severity?

To understand what might have been happening in the minds of the Disciples during this storm, we have to rewind a chapter, before the day spent learning from Jesus on the beaches of a beautiful lake. In chapter 3, the author of Mark records, “Jesus appointed twelve, whom he also named apostles, to be with him, and to be sent out to proclaim the message and to have the authority to cast out demons.” More directly, Jesus tells us followers that they are empowered to do everything he can do. The next bit of text eases us in to that calling. Planting figurative seeds in good soil, easy enough. Letting our light shine through the darkness? Not always easy, but okay, I’m down. Maintaining the tiny bit of faith represented by a mustard seed? I can give you that. Weathering a storm of unknown scariness and calamity, walking into a world of unknowns? Wait a second … I’m not sure I signed up for this. The Disciples weren’t so sure they were willing to live into this part of the call, and often times, neither are we. Storms are scary, regardless of the size. Mark isn’t asking us to be awed at the size of the storm, he is asking us to embrace our own ability to still them. Remember, Jesus tells us we are empowered to do everything we can do.

If I can do what Jesus can do, then why am I so afraid?

I’m afraid because at this very moment, kids are being held in cages by the most freedom-loving government in the history of the world and I don’t know what to do.

I’m afraid because people I love are losing the fight against mental illness and addiction and I don’t know how to respond helpfully.

I’m afraid because I’m underemployed, unemployed, hungry, or homeless and I don’t see a good way out.

I’m afraid because at a church not too different than this one in Cincinnati, children yearn for the educational and spiritual opportunities we have at St. Peter’s.

We are afraid because we can’t still these storms. Except that we can.

Let’s not forget that we are empowered to proclaim the message and cast out demons. We are empowered to do what Jesus can do. An epic storm may engulf us, or it could just be a small rainshower. Either way, it can be scary. But, scary or not, it is our call as Christians to take steps to still the storm. On our own it is tough, but in community with one another the storms begin to pass over because our faith - not just in Jesus, but in the Jesus embodied in us.

So what can we do when the storm hits? How do we make it safe for others - friends and strangers? We write our congress people about our thoughts on unjust policies. We make donations to organizations equipped to help disastrous situations. We start conversations about difficult topics, digitally and in person, making it more comfortable for people to talk about the pain happening inside of them, we link people to support services we are aware of and, yes, we even make a trip to help a church in Cincinnati, teaching our children about love, what injustice looks like, and how we can make positive changes together.

Our passage this morning ended with a profound question, “Who is this that even the wind and sea obey him?” It is awe-striking to picture God in this way, but it is even more incredible to see ourselves in this way. You are called to still the storm. ____ can still the storm, ____ can still the storm, our youth can still the storm. We all can still the storm. Often, the storms in our lives seem like the fabled stories we imagine about the Disciples crossing the Galilee. It is my prayer that our faith in an ever-present God, coupled with an acceptance of our own call to proclaim the message and cast out demons helps us to realize that we, each of us, have the power to still the storm. Given that power, we must be courageous enough to use it. Amen.