Mark 4:35-41
June 21, 2015
Year B
First and Harmony Presbyterian Churches
The Rev. Dr. Robert Wm Lowry
*Preached
the Sunday after a mass shooting at Mother Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston,
SC.
The
weekend after the Iraq war began, I stepped into the pulpit at First
Presbyterian Church in Ann Arbor and began my sermon with these words, “Since
we last gathered in this place, our world has changed dramatically.”
Today
I can only stand here and say that since we last gathered in this place, our
world is tragically the same.
In
a turn of events that is becoming all too familiar, a disaffected young man
took out the rage of his inner struggles on innocent lives.
In
a turn of events that is becoming all too familiar, the targets of his rage
were chosen because of the color of their skin.
In
a turn of events that is becoming all too familiar, our political, cultural,
and media voices have spent more time trying to explain away the actions of
this disturbed young man than they have spent talking about the spiritual and
societal cancer that is at the root of this and all too many events like these;
racism.
Racism
is but one manifestation of our culture’s persistent devaluation of human life and
dignity, but it is perhaps the one that has grown deepest into our bones. Racism is, as one commentator said many years
ago, America’s original sin.
It
is the sin that stains our culture and colors our lives. Our cultural history of segmenting off one
portion of the children of God as inherently less than has made it tragically
easy to segment off others based on the cultural fears, prejudices, and whims
of the moment.
On
Wednesday night as the news broke about the shootings at Mother Emmanuel AME
church in Charleston, I found myself cycling through a laundry list of reactions.
I
was horrified that this could happen in a church.
I
was heartbroken that so many innocent lives were lost.
I
was angry that this young man had taken his ignorance to a lethal level.
I
was livid that commentators on the left took this as a chance to preach about
gun violence as though a law can dictate what happens in a callous heart and
commentators on the right twisted themselves in knots to ignore that this was
an act of domestic racial terror and instead tried to paint this as an attack
on Christians rather than what it was; cowardly racial hate.
I
was disappointed that my President and each and every man and woman of both
parties who wants to be President parsed their words and hedged their
statements until what they said made sense only to the narrow band of
like-minded people to whom they were momentarily pandering.
I
cycled through a laundry list of reactions until finally I got around to what
was, and is, really bothering me.
Our
world is being thrown about on a stormy sea and as often as not it feels like
our savior is asleep in the boat.
The
context for this narrative from Mark is the parable of the sower. The farmer throws seed on the ground. Some lands on fertile soil, some on rocky
ground. The parable is rather clearly
about whether we, in heart, soul, and living, will be hospitable soil for the
gospel of Jesus Christ to take root in the world and grow.
Punctuated
by Mark’s rapid fire narrative, while the words of the parable hang in the air
the disciples find themselves on a boat confronted by a fearful moment and a
fateful choice; in their moment of need will they put their faith in God in
Christ or will they allow themselves to be held captive by their fears.
Readings
of this text which have endured the test of time and the changing winds of
interpretive whims, cast this story in just such a light. The disciples are faced with a moment of
decision; will they choose faith or fear?
Will their lives be fertile ground in which the Gospel can find purchase
and grow or will they be overcome by the weight of their fears?
Despite
the abbreviated length of this narrative, Mark does what Mark so often does, he
throws a wrinkle into the question.
The
implication that the disciples are faced with a choice between faith and fear
is compounded by the fact that at their urging, and probably because of the
volume of their pleading, Jesus wakes up from his sleeping and calms the storm.
Now,
remember here that the men in the boat with Jesus were not inexperienced land
lubbers. Most are experienced fishermen who had probably seen it all and lived
to tell the tale of rough seas before.
This storm was so fierce that even the saltiest dog of the crowd was
begging Jesus to do something to calm things down.
Jesus
wakes from his sleep and at his word the storm stopped, the waves calmed, the
winds abated, and the peril disappeared.
It
is then, and only then, that Jesus poses the question to them, “Why are you
afraid? Have you no faith?”
When
they are confronted by this defining question of faith and fear it comes not
when the danger is still underfoot, but when the waters are calm and all is
well again.
The
text tells us that it is at this moment, when the seas are calm and when Jesus
poses this question of faith or fear, that the disciples ask one another, “Who
is this that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
I
remember learning this story in Sunday school growing up and the lesson that
attended it then; like the disciples, we are called to stand in awe and wonder
at the power of God. What voice do the
wind and sea obey?
Jesus.
Just
Jesus.
Not
Jesus plus.
Not
Jesus and a little luck.
Not
Jesus and some help from us.
Just
Jesus.
At
the word of Jesus, the wind and the sea obey.
Any
traditional reading of this text affirms that conclusion and calls us to the
faith of the disciples. And, friends, I
hope and pray that when that day comes you and I will have that faith.
I
truly do.
I
hope we have that faith.
I
hope we have that courage.
I
hope we have the spiritual capacity to stand in the wake of our fear and see
with eyes of wonder the peace that God has made in the world.
I
pray that when that time comes, we will have the faith of those disciples and
we might be fertile ground for faith to grow.
When
that time comes.
When that time comes.
For
my part, I just wish that time would get here.
Because at this moment, in this time, our boat is still taking on water
and the perilous winds of the world are raging.
I
hope we have the courage of the disciples when that day comes, but what do we
do now?
How
do we stand in our boat with the storms of the present raging around us?
This
story gives us insight into what I hope we will all do when the time comes that
the storms of the day are calmed, but what about now? Because as much as I like to think that faith
will find its way into my heart when that day comes, right here right now in
the midst of the storms of this world…
I
am afraid.
I would
like to say that I have the steely faith of the Breton fishermen of legend who
calmly pray, “O God, be good to me, for thy sea is so vast and my boat is so
small.”
The
truth is that I am afraid of the waves, I am afraid of the winds, I am afraid
that my little boat is going to capsize before Jesus wakes up and makes it all
stop.
I
am afraid of the storm on the sea and I wager to say that I am not the only
one.
How
then, with this story hanging in the air, can we possibly be fearful and yet
hope to be faithful?
The
answer comes from Jesus’ question.
Hear
it again in this story.
They woke him up and said,
“Teacher, don’t you care that we’re drowning?” He got up and gave orders to the
wind, and he said to the lake, “Silence! Be still!” The wind settled
down and there was a great calm. 40 Jesus asked
them, “Why are you afraid?”
Why
are you afraid?
Not,
do
not be afraid, but why are you afraid?
Fear
is not the enemy in this story.
Fear
isn’t even the point of this story.
Jesus
never tells the disciples that there is nothing to be afraid of. A massive storm on the Sea of Galilee is
absolutely something to be afraid of!
The fear in this story is very real and Jesus recognizes it.
For
too many years I read Jesus’ words as a rebuke as though he was sternly
scolding the disciples who woke him from his slumber like Mr. Wilson chasing
Dennis the Menace across the yard! In
truth, I think this scene is more like a parent sitting in the dark holding a
child just awake from a nightmare. This
is a moment of Jesus’ genuine concern for the disciples, not exasperated
impatience for being awakened with no reason.
The
issue is not that the fear is unreal or unimportant. The issue is that the fear is not all that
there is.
When
Jesus says, “Why are you afraid?” his voice must
be one of compassionate concern. For it
to be anything else would be to deny the promise of the gospel. It is the voice befitting the one who came
into the world to say and to show for once and for all that brokenness,
sinfulness, hate, and, yes, fear are fleeting and have no more staying power
than the steam from a kettle. The only thing that endures is the hope that
is born into the world in Christ Jesus.
It
is that hope that carries us through when the very real fears and trials of this
world take hold of us while the storm is still raging and we cannot escape the
feeling that Jesus is asleep in the boat.
And
it is that hope that reminds us that even when we cannot escape the feeling
that Jesus is asleep in the boat, he is IN THE BOAT!
He
isn’t waiting on the distant shore for us to get ourselves across the sea or
out of this mess.
He
is in the boat! If there is any place
for us to put our faith in the midst of the very real fears of our day, it is
in that truth and that hope.
He knows
the waves that crash over us, because he is in the boat!
He
knows the winds that howl around us, because he is in the boat!
He
knows the churning seas that threaten to pull us down to the deepest darkest
depths, because he is in the boat!
He
knows the pain of a broken world, because he is in the boat!
He
knows the fear that grips our lives, because he is in the boat!
He
knows the pain of a community reeling from loss, because he is in the boat!
Yes,
in Charleston,
or
Baltimore,
or
Cleveland,
or
Ferguson,
or
Clarksville,
or
Nepal,
or
Syria,
or
Israel,
or
the quiet of our own homes,
or
the silence of our own hearts…
wherever
the human spirit grieves,
wherever
fear seeks to take hold,
wherever
the waters come crashing over the side and the tumult threatens to overwhelm
us, he is in the boat!
If
you hear nothing else I say on this or any other day, please, please hear this…
by
God, through the Spirit, in this moment, in this place, in our lives, through
this storm, without fail, the proof of God’s amazing love is and will always be
this…
…he is in this boat!
Alleluia!
Alleluia! Amen.
