In the Boat

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.