A word of comfort to us, that, be the
storm of trouble ever so loud, ever so strong, Jesus Christ can lay it with a
word’s speaking.
─Matthew
Henry
It’d been a
busy day, but now, finally, they were leaving the multitude behind and sailing
off in a small cadre of boats. They were heading to the other side of the Sea
of Galilee to hopefully get a little quiet time with their Master and perhaps
some sound sleep. But not even half way into their journey “a great windstorm
arose, and the waves beat into the boat so it was already filling.” Jesus was,
of all things, asleep on a pillow in the stern of the boat.
This may be
a familiar record to some; it’s from The Gospel of Mark, Chapter 4, verses
35-41 (it’s also found in Matthew and Luke). Apparently, even today, it is not
unusual for the Sea of Galilee to all of the sudden have storms sweep over its
surface due to its somewhat funky geography, it is 700 feet below sea level and
is surrounded by mountains that reach as high as 4,000 feet above sea
level. When warm air from the lake rises
to meet the cold air from the mountains it can sometimes produce sudden
windstorms. Here is just such an
occasion. The disciples, in our vernacular, are freaking out, while Jesus,
however, is unmoved and blissfully sleeping.
Look Again
Being too
familiar with this record risks becoming jaded to it or blind to the reality of
the situation. I’ve had the opportunity to white-water raft several times in my
life. We go with a seasoned guide and always wear our life jackets. Still,
there are times when hitting the rapids just right blasts a white wall of water
right into my face and body. At the same time I am, of course, being soaked by
cold water, being jostled by the turbulent river and smacking into my fellow
raft mates as we all struggle to stay in the raft. And sometimes I fall out;
that can be especially frightening.
Through it
all, the experience is exhilarating but at some points, terror does overtake
the exhilaration, especially as the wall of water interrupts my ability to
breathe or blinds my sight. The disciples in the boat were experiencing the
same terror, but theirs wasn’t the kind of terror that would quickly dwindle as
the rapid fell to their rear; their terror was a continual onslaught of strong
winds and waves beating into their boat and into their faces. If a wall of
water smacked into one of their faces as he was trying to breathe, he could
very well begin choking. If the water hit his eyes hard enough he could be
rendered momentarily blind, just long enough to flip over the edge of the boat into
the raging sea, most likely to a watery grave.
This was no summertime raft trip down the Deschutes or Rogue rivers.
This was literally life and death.
No wonder
they were so fearful; I would be as well, and most likely so would you.
Finally they
awoke Jesus.
Then
He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the
winds ceased and there was a great calm
(v. 39, emphasis added).
Mega
There’s more
to the record, but you’ll just have to read it for yourself. As many times as
I’ve read this record, I’ve never stopped to ponder the words: great calm. The word “great” comes from the Greek where
we get our word mega. Mega, obviously means “great”, but a thesaurus will
provide such synonyms as “mammoth”, “jumbo”, or “super”. The word “calm” comes
from an unfamiliar Greek word that can also mean “tranquility” or “stillness”.
Putting
ourselves back into the shoes of the disciples, we will undoubtedly notice the deafening
cacophony of howling winds and roiling seas; and quite possibly the screams of terrified
men. We’ll also feel the biting spray blowing like tiny darts flung off the
tops of curling waves while our clothes whip against our bodies in slapping
stings, leaving angry welts.
Piercing
through this din is the voice of Jesus; somehow I don’t think his voice was
high and squeaky with fear, but was deep and resonating—authority emanating
from every fiber of His being. Suddenly what was chaotic cacophony is instantly
super tranquil. All that is heard is the heaving chests of breathless men.
The
juxtaposition astounds my imagination: chaos to calm, rage to tranquility,
terror to peace, all in an instant, and all at the voice of Jesus.
And as an
exclamation point to this record, as soon as the boat finally makes land, they
are immediately accosted by a violent man that is hopelessly tormented and
untamable (see vv. 5:1-5). But when he encounters Jesus, his storms are equally
calmed and he finishes the evening “sitting and clothed and in his right mind”
(v. 15).
You see the
similarities? The man went from raging insanity to being in his right mind; the
storm went from chaos to calm. What is it that Jesus can do in the depths of
our souls? It reminds of the lyrics from a song I can’t recall the name of that
I think is from MercyMe; the line is something like this:
He
calmed the raging sea/He can calm the rage in me.
Invitation is Yours
There’s no
great formula for entering into this calm, or more aptly put, for having this
calm enter into us. We simply invite Jesus into our heart as Savior and Lord.
If you’ve already done that, then lift your burden, your rage, up to the Him in
prayer. It need be no more difficult than crying out in sincerity, “Jesus, I’m
scared because _________________, please help me!” Or “I’m so angry and hurt because__________________,
please calm this anger!” He may touch you with an unmistakable warmth or with
chills, but He will touch you and lead you “beside the still waters” (Psalm 23:2).
Again, if He
calmed the power of nature’s fury and the power of demonic fury (the man
suffering from insanity), then He can certainly calm the storms in our souls as
well.
