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A little later in the summer I
am preaching at Lakeside, Ohio. Lakeside is a Chautauqua-type
community along Lake Erie near Port Clinton and Sandusky. When
our children were young we vacationed there every summer. We
liked it and they liked it and we have some great memories.
This year when we go we will be taking several of our
grandchildren.
The shore along that part of
Lake Erie is rocky. There is no sand. So the Lakeside
Association built a huge concrete pier or dock. It juts about
200 feet out into the lake, and it is 20-30 feet wide. It is
made totally of concrete and steel. The dock has been there
for decades, even for generations.
One year there was a storm on
Lake Erie. It was a fierce, huge storm. It was so severe, it
cracked the dock. Something that seemed almost indestructible
became suddenly dangerous and unusable. For years afterward,
that storm was known as “the storm that broke the dock.”
Life has its storms, does it
not? Most of you if not all of you here know something of the
storms of life. You are sailing along in relative comfort, and
suddenly a storm hits.
Some storms are small—a
temporary financial shortfall, a short-term illness, a broken
bone that takes a few weeks to heal. These kinds of storms
blow over in a few weeks at most.
Then there are the medium
storms. An example of this would be an unexpected relocation
because of your job. When you move, there’s a certain
disconnectedness, a certain disorientation that is inevitably
the result.
Then some storms are severe.
They are life threatening, perhaps even the sudden loss of a
loved one. Some storms can break the dock.
Some storms take years from
which to recover. We have sent work teams from Christ Church
to North Carolina twice a year for four years now. Work yet
remains to be done to rebuild from a hurricane that struck
there five years ago.
Some storms make old sermons
obsolete. After 9/11 (a Tuesday) we had a prayer service here
at Christ Church the following night. I was interviewed by
Channel 11. The newscaster who was interviewing me asked a
number of questions about the service that night, and then he
asked, “What are you going to preach about this weekend?” I
answered, “I’m not yet sure.” (In fact, I had not yet
decided.) And then I added, “Why don’t you come to Christ
Church on Sunday and find out?”
Storms happen. Many of them
happen without warning. Or we have minimal warning. It’s like
those little streaming notices that move along the bottom of
your television screen to tell you that a storm is imminent.
Storms can come across your life and mine unexpectedly. You
don’t know when them come, you don’t know how long they will
last, and you don’t know the degree of damage they may cause.
Our Scripture reading today
tells the story of a storm. Jesus is in a fishing boat with
his disciples. It’s a big storm. The waves are building. Water
is spilling into the boat.
One of America’s theme parks has
a roller coaster ride called the “Super Saturator.” Apparently
on this roller coaster you get very wet. It sounds a bit like
this story. Mark tells us, “A very strong wind blew up and the
waves began to spill over into the boat so that it was about
to fill with water.” (4:37) Sounds like a super saturator to
me!
This particular Biblical story
is told in all of the first three Gospels. Jesus is asleep
somewhere in the boat. The storm hits. The disciples ask,
“Where is Jesus?” The reply comes, “He’s asleep.”
“What? How can he be asleep?
Doesn’t he know we’re dying here? Wake him up!”
They shake Jesus awake. “Jesus,
Master, don’t you care that we’re perishing here?”
Matthew says that Jesus stands
up, looks around, and then asks, “Where is your faith?” Note
that he asks this question before he stills the storm. Not the
other way around! “Where is your faith?” he asks. And then he
quiets the storm. All is still. Everything stops. The sea is
calm.
What do we learn from this
story? It is more than a miracle story. Our enlightened age
wants to ask, “Did Jesus really quiet a huge storm on the Sea
of Galilee?” That was not a valid question for the Gospel
writers. The thought did not even occur to them.
The question was, and is—what
are we supposed to learn from this story? Let that be our
question this morning.
WE DON’T MUCH LIKE STORMS
We don’t much like storms.
Remember the story of the mother with an 8-year-old son who
was in bed at night when a storm hit outside? He cried out in
fear, and asked his mommy to come. She came upstairs and
reassured him that everything would be all right. The little
boy said, “Mommy, could you sleep up here with me tonight?”
“No,” came the reply. She gently
tucked him in and kissed him good night. “I need to go
downstairs and sleep with Daddy.” Replied the boy, “The big
sissy.”
We don’t like unexpected,
life-altering storms. We don’t like storms that disrupt or
threaten us. We don’t like storms that deposit a certain level
of chaos. But they come. Scott Peck begins one of his book
with three words, “Life is difficult.”
A few months after Enron
collapsed, a former employee of that company was on television
being interviewed. She was single. She had never been married.
She had planned to retire at the end of that year. She had
been a careful steward of her resources, and carefully managed
her pension account. Now she had nothing—absolutely nothing.
“What am I going to do?” she asked. “I’m tired. I’m worn out.
I have no one else upon whom to depend.”
Our initial learning from this
story is obvious. We don’t like storms very much.
JESUS HAS POWER OVER THE STORMS
The second thing we learn is
that Jesus has power over the storms of life. He stills the
storm. The disciples are utterly amazed. “Who is this guy,
anyway? Who could do this kind of thing?”
The Gospel writers answer,
simply, “This is Jesus. Jesus can still the storms. Jesus has
the power.”
Sometimes we are counseled to
exercise self-help. “Take charge of your life! Get hold of
yourself! You can pick yourself up!” I’m not convinced. I
cannot simply “manage” the storms of my life.
Rather, we are invited to get to
know the One who has authority over the storms. Jesus is
greater than any storm life can dish out. Jesus has authority
over all storms.
Is this not what Paul believes
so deeply? One of the favorite passages of many of you is from
the last part of the 8th chapter of Romans. It has
that great ending that goes something like this, “For I am
absolutely convinced that neither life, nor death,
principalities nor powers, things to come, or things present,
nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Paul knew Jesus had authority over
the storms of life. Jesus is greater than any storm life can
dish out.
The ship in this story is a
symbol. It is a symbol for the church. It is a symbol for
life. Sometimes a ship gets into stormy waters. Sometimes life
gets into stormy waters. You may remember one of my favorite
quotations from the French philosopher and mathematician
Pascal, who said, “There is a certain joy in being in a ship
on a storm-tossed sea, when one knows that the ship will not
sink.” Does that mean there will be no troubles? Obviously
not. Does it mean you will never know pain? Not at all. Does
it mean you will not die? Certainly not. Rather, what it means
is, the ship of faith will never sink.
Jesus says, “Peace, be still.
It’s okay. I’m here, and I’m in charge.”
THE IMPORTANCE OF FAITH
The third thing we learn from
the story is that our faith is more important than stilling
the storm. Remember what Jesus said first in Matthew’s
version. He looks at the disciples and says, “Where is your
faith?”
In another place Jesus told a
parable about two houses, one built on sand and one built on a
rock. When the storm came, the one built on a rock continued
to stand. Jesus also gave Simon the name “Peter” which means,
“rock.” The rock in this instance refers to the rock of
faith.
Grandson Joshua is 2 years old.
He gets a sleepover about once a week. When he stays with us I
give him his bath at night. In the bathtub are all of his
toys. One set of toys is three little rubber pigs, to typify
the story of the Three Little Pigs. Each time he gets into the
bathtub he lines them up on the edge of the tub for me. I tell
him the story. It’s the same story each time, of course. There
are other versions, but I tell the same one. My father told it
to me, I told it to our children, and now I tell it to our
grandchildren. The bottom line is always the same. The
house built with bricks can withstand the Big Bad Wolf! A
life built with the bricks of faith can deal with storms.
Jesus was not mostly about
stilling weather-related storms. Jesus was about faith
building. He was about faith formation. He was about faith
development. That faith building is foundational to our
Christian journey.
About 20 years ago we added a
family room to the home we owned in Upper St. Clair. I hired
an old Italian contractor who had excellent references and a
fine reputation. The work began, but it seemed so slow. The
footers were dug, the forms were laid, concrete was poured.
The curing of that concrete took not just two days, but almost
two weeks. Then the workmen came back to lay the courses of
block, but they only laid two courses of block each day, then
they’d go somewhere else.
I spoke to the contractor about
the apparent slowness of the job. I’ll never forget what he
said to me; “Mr. Bauknight, unless the foundation is carefully
put in place, the rest of the job cannot be guaranteed.”
Listen to these words by a 4th
century monk.
Unless there is a still
center in the middle of a storm, unless a person in the midst
of all their activities preserves a secret room in their heart
where they can stand alone with God, unless we do this we will
lose all sense of spiritual direction, and be torn to pieces.
“Where is your faith?” Jesus
asks. “To heck with the storms right now! Where is your
faith?”
A clergy colleague had this
prayer in his newsletter one week:
My Lord God, I have no idea
where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot
know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know
myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so… Therefore, I will
trust you always although I may seem to be lost and in the
shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me and
will never leave me to face my perils alone.[i]
That’s faith. That’s what Jesus
wants for every disciple. That’s what Jesus wants for you and
for me.
Paul reminded one of his young
disciples that faith was a gift which must be constantly
rekindled. (see I Timothy 1:6) Faith is a lifelong training
process.
ONE MORE THING
There is one more thing I want
you to notice about this story. The calm that Jesus brings is
a great calm. When Jesus stills a storm, it’s more than a
minimal calm. The storm does not just slow down. The storm
does not just get quiet enough to allow the disciples to
paddle to safety. The storm does not relocate. There is a
great calm. I call it an extraordinary calm. That’s the
kind of calm that Jesus brings.
In the presence of Jesus there
is stillness of soul. The hymn writer says it well:
Be still my soul, the Lord is
on your side…
Be still my soul, the waves
and wind still know
His voice who ruled them
while he dwelt below.
In the midst of a war today that
sees no quick end… in a world where suicide bombers act every
day in some part of the world… in a world where AIDS threatens
the very continent of Africa… in a world where unrest and
instability rules many days… in a world where a storm can
interrupt my life at any moment… Jesus says, “Cultivate your
faith in me.” And then he adds, “Peace. Be still. It’s okay.
I am here. And I am still in charge.
[i]
Thanks to Doug Mullins
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