On that day, when evening had come, [Jesus said to the 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 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?” 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?”
Mark 4:35-41
My sermon from the 5th Sunday after Pentecost (June 23, 2024) on Mark 4:35-41.
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So last October, my family and I welcomed a new dog, Pepper, into the household. She’s colored black and white, with the blue eyes of a Siberian Husky and the attitude of an Australian Cattle Dog. Pepper loves herding the 5 year old around the house and barking at the chipmunks she sees through our back windows. It’s been awhile since I’ve lived with a dog so it’s taken a little time to integrate Pepper into my life. But there are those living in my home who are still struggling with a roommate they didn’t ask for. Our two cats, Finn and Flotus, used to have full ownership over the house. But once this playful puppy moved in, their life became pretty small. They’re primarily staying on one side of the house, spending their days sitting high on a bookshelf or outside in their enclosed patio. When they take the time to nap in front of sunny windows, their rest is never restful. Their ears are always on alert, waiting to hear the click-clack-click of Pepper’s claws on the vinyl floor. These two little furballs spend their days in a constant stage of exhausting vigilance because a puppy-sized storm is always on the horizon.
Finn and Flotus’ restless sleep pattern seems like something we can relate to since many of us know what it’s like to live in a constant stage of vigilance. Yet it’s a way of living that is different from simply trying to always be prepared or letting others twist our anxieties and our fears for their own personal, spiritual, or political gains. It’s more like what we experience when we take a child to a busy playground. We might spend that time talking to a friend, making a phone call, or even attempting to do some work. But our focus is always split because we’re trying to keep an eye on where our kid is. It’s the mental, physical, and spiritual energy we use to protect ourselves from that person we’re living with who might explode at any moment and to keep tabs on the elderly parent or spouse who needs all the care we can give. It’s a vigilance that, even during our most holy moments, can be utterly exhausting. Yet it’s often the cost that comes with the fact we care. We care about those who matter to us. We care about our loved ones’ health, happiness, and future. We stay vigilant, even when we are asleep, ready to respond to whatever storm might come. It’s a hard way to live but it is also one of the surest ways to show others that we care.
Now the sea of Galilee isn’t really a sea; it’s more of a large lake – roughly 13 miles long and 8 miles wide. It has, for centuries, served as the economic lifeblood of the entire area. Its water is essential when it comes to irrigating the crops and vineyards dotting the countryside and within its waters were tons of fish that Peter, John, and others regularly caught. The sea is also rather shallow and is surrounded by hills. This creates a situation where large storms can brew up very quickly. The waves and wind generated by these storms would easily swamp the small fishing boats that Jesus and his friends used. And even though the weather seemed fine when Jesus, the disciples, and the crowd left to visit the other side, everyone knew how quickly things could sour. Everyone would need to stay vigilant since a new gust of wind or a small wave could signal trouble for the fleet of ships staffed by not only fishermen but also folks who were old, young, and in need of healing. Everyone knew the kind of danger they could be in. And yet the One who sent them into the boats was soon fast asleep. Jesus – the One who could cast out demons, cure the sick, and who showed how God’s kingdom always upsets the status quo – was acting a little strange since he didn’t seem ready to respond to whatever might come. And when the wind picked up, the waves grew large, and water poured into the boat – Jesus, at the stern of the boat, was literally asleep at the wheel. It’s during the middle of the storm when Jesus’ rest looks incredibly restful since he refused to be moved. And the fact that he doesn’t stir made the disciples wonder if they didn’t know Jesus like they thought they did. They watched him do incredible things and yet he didn’t seem to be, at that moment, paying attention to what was happening around him. He wasn’t being vigilant and so it seemed, to them, as if Jesus didn’t care.
So the disciples, while their boat is filling with water, called Jesus out for not being who they expected him to be. The disciples didn’t ask for help. They didn’t ask to be saved. They didn’t ask him to calm the storm. All they did was ask him why he didn’t care. It’s a question that is, I think, one of the most human and faithful questions we can ask. When our heart breaks, when our strength fails, when our need to be vigilant has drained our soul dry – asking if our Jesus is asleep at the wheel is probably the most normal thing we can do. What we want and what we expect is a Jesus who will act; a Jesus who shows up; a Jesus who cares. What we desire and what we need is a God who notices our pain, our sorrow, our suffering, and who steps in to say that this isn’t what life is supposed to be. We want a Jesus whose ears are always turned up; a Jesus who is ready to respond; a Jesus who makes our faith real. And yet when Jesus did wake up, the power he showed wasn’t the power they expected. He didn’t just stop the storm; he stopped the waves and the wind. The calm he brought was a calm no one wanted since the current and their sails were now worthless. They were now completely at rest with no easy way to go back to what they were or forward to what they might be. All they had in that moment was themselves and Jesus – which is also exactly what they had when the storm raged around them just a few moments before. The disciples had been through a whirlwind of emotions, feelings, and experiences that required them to be vigilant, to respond, to question, and to worry. Their thoughts, their wondering, and even their faith went up and down like waves swamping boats in a storm. Yet through it all, Jesus was right there – with them. Jesus, before they got into the boat, didn’t tell those who followed them that their life would be without storms. He didn’t claim that we might be overwhelmed by the wind and waves of life that suddenly come. But what Jesus did promise was that, because of our baptism and through the gift of grace, he would carry us through. When our focus is split, when our minds are preoccupied, when our attention is divided by the mentally and physically draining care we are called to give – we are not living through this moment on our own. Jesus is also right there with us – a restful presence even though we cannot rest since a storm might be brewing on the horizon. Yet even when that storm comes, the Jesus who claims you is the same Jesus who will be with you – so that the tomorrow that comes is filled with peace, hope, and light.
Amen.