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 4:41)

Imagine sitting on the stern of a primitive fishing boat in a roiling sea. In the dark. A storm begins to stir. Dark clouds are carrying on a rumbling conversation, punctuated by lightning.  Without warning, the muted discussion becomes a full-fledged argument. The clouds erupt and the wind’s low moan turns into a furious whistle as a traveling thunderstorm empties itself on thirteen men in an open fishing boat barely large enough to hold them.

            Twelve of the men are crawling about, shouting, fighting for life in the churning waves. Rain blows into their eyes as they reef the sail and tie it down. They lean into bailing water, but the waves are washing in faster than they can bail them out. Two men are pulling hard at the oars, trying desperately to make for shore.

            Others are useless. Neither sailors nor fishermen, they are uncomfortable passengers even in the best of circumstances. They crouch against the gunwales with eyes clenched tight, one hand gripping the rail and the other clutching at their stomachs. All of the men shiver with fear and uncertainty.

            All but one. The thirteenth man is asleep in the stern, his body on the rough planking, his head on a bolster. But his sleep would not last. “Teacher!” the other men cried. “Teacher! Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

            And Jesus awoke. Perhaps he stretched and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the men with a piercing glare that hinted of anger and disappointment and compassion all at once, but they dared not say another word. They had already said enough. “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

            Jesus pushed himself up, steadied himself, and mercifully released the hold of his eyes on the frightened men. Looking into the howling wind, he said,“Quiet now. Be still.” And the wind died away. The rain disappeared into a gray mist. The waves settled into a slow chop, and then calm.

            We might expect the disciples to cheer, and their mouths were open, but no sound emerged. Dumbstruck, all they could do was stare at the teacher who stood looking across the sea, listening to the gentle sighing of the boat in the water. But when he turned around, they could see the storm in his eyes, as if he had absorbed it.

The men stood speechless, all wanting Jesus to speak, all afraid that he would. And he did. “Why?” he said, with electricity in his voice rather than the sky. “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

            Twelve men trembled with a fear that had nothing to do with the storm. They were in the presence of divine power. No ordinary man could tell thunder to hush, but Jesus had commanded and all was calm. All was calm except for twelve hearts thumping hard, twelve stomachs caught up in twelve throats, twelve voices trying to say all at once “Who is this man, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

            And that, of course, is the question Mark wants us to ask, and why he has told this story. “Who is this man?” And what does he have to do with us?

Getting away

(vv. 35-36)

This account follows a series of parables beginning at 4:1, when Jesus “began to teach beside the sea” near Capernaum, on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus apparently adopted Capernaum as a home base for a time, perhaps lodging in Peter and Andrew’s home (3:20). [DD]

After a long day of teaching, some of it from a boat to put distance between him and the crowds (4:1), Jesus spent time with the twelve and “those who were around him,” discussing the meaning of his parables (v. 10).

            As evening approached, Jesus asked to get back in the boat and “go across to the other side” toward the southeastern shore, the home of the Gerasenes (v. 35). [DD] He apparently sought to get away from the pressing multitudes, so “… leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was” (v. 36a).

Their destination was Gentile territory, so perhaps Jesus thought it less likely that the Jewish crowds would follow him there. In a curious coda not found in the other gospels, Mark adds “Other boats were with him” (v. 36b), as though some people would not give up the chase. Surprisingly, he doesn’t mention them again.

Getting swamped

1. 1. 37-38

Storms can be fierce on the Sea of Galilee. It’s located deep in the Great Rift Valley, which extends from Lebanon to southern Africa. The surface of the sea is about 700 feet below sea level, and mountains on either side create a wind tunnel effect that can spawn tumultuous conditions.

While we imagine thunder and pelting rain, Mark mentions only a windstorm that stirred up crashing waves that threatened to swamp the boat and even to break it apart (v. 37).

The strangest aspect of the story is not the raging storm, but that Jesus was sleeping through it (v. 38a). Perhaps Mark wants to remind the reader of how exhausted Jesus was from a long day of teaching and being surrounded by people. More importantly, he wants to show that no matter how tired, Jesus remained master of sea and sky. His mighty works were never done without purpose, and there is a powerful purpose here.

            The sea was a common metaphor for both fear and finitude in the ancient world. No one could control the sea, predict its behavior, or survive if it turned against them. [DD]

Getting amazed

1. 1. 39-41

The raging storm did not wake Jesus, but the needs of his friends succeeded where the wind and waves had failed. Despite their impertinence, Jesus awoke to their plea and calmed the sea. As the waves grew smaller, the disciples’ understanding began to grow larger. More and more clearly, they came to understand that Jesus was Lord.

            Jesus seemed disappointed that they needed the lesson. “Why are you afraid?” he asked. “Have you still no faith?” (v. 40).

            The disciples made no effort to respond or offer excuses. They could only look at each other, overcome with amazement, and ask “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (v. 41).

In reading and reliving the disciples’ story, we can also learn. When storms assail our lives, we also can turn to Jesus with confidence that he cares, and that he can bring calm to our hearts whatever the circumstances.

            Jesus is Lord, but we never fully experience his presence until he becomes a part of our story—of our every story. It is easy to believe in Jesus when the seas are calm, but not all of life will be placid. Indeed, we come to know Jesus best when we find Him in the storms of our lives, when we learn to trust Him even when our stomach is churning like a boat on the stormy sea.

            One of the psalmists had learned how hard it can be to find God through the driving storm. “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck,” he prayed. “I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God” (Ps. 69:1-3).

            The psalmist’s words were not unlike those of the impatient disciples, who asked, “Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?” There may be times for all of us when we feel that we are sinking, when it’s all we can do to get our heads above the water and gasp for air.

What do we do when our heart is raging and we pray for help and it seems that God is sleeping?

            It may be hard to accept, but sometimes silence is the best answer God can give. We live in a world made imperfect by our own sins, and the sins of our forebears. God does not send every gale that blows against us, but God can help us bring something good out of them.

            The tempests of life can become our teachers. We cannot mature and grow in faith without having courage to enter the tempest of our own pain and deal with it, learning to believe that Jesus is with us, even when he remains silent, even when he doesn’t still the storm, not yet.

            We should never let a good storm go to waste.

            Jesus knew the disciples would have to face the turbulent winds of his crucifixion, not knowing why He remained silent and refused to free himself. Their faith had to grow in the midst of the storm, and he had to remain silent for it to happen.

Sometimes silence can be God’s most powerful message. We may not like it. We long for the calm, but we grow in the storm. And our storms do not last forever. Jesus does awake. God does speak. The turmoil will give way to calm. We can emerge from the storm bedraggled and beaten, or stronger and more confident. The difference is a matter of faith, for that is what the story is about. To the disciples, Jesus said “Don’t you have any faith yet?”

            They were still learning, and their faith did grow. They grew confident that Jesus was with them even when they could not see him, or hear him, or feel him. They learned to go into their storms with courage, and to come out of their storms with faith.

            We will all face gales of discomfort and the electric taste of conflict. We will experience loss and face transitions that take us from one part of life to another. Walking and learning with Jesus through this ancient storm can help us to face tomorrow’s tempests.