The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost: Jesus Calms the Storm

by Rev. Carole Horton-Howe

Mark 4:35-41

When evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 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?”


Fr. Bill is on vacation today. I don’t want you to miss him too much, so I’ll start with a little story that I think he’d approve of:

While fishing off the Florida coast, a tourist capsized his boat. He could swim, but his fear of alligators kept him clinging to the overturned craft. Spotting a local on the beach, the tourist shouted: “Are there any gators around here?!”

“No,” the man hollered back, “they haven’t been around for years!” Feeling safe, the tourist started swimming leisurely toward the shore. About halfway there he asked the local guy: “How did you get rid of the gators?”

“We didn’t do anything,” the local said. “The sharks got ’em."

Now that’s fear.  And fear is what we’re talking about today.

There’s a little bit of Jeopardy to the gospel today. You know in Jeopardy you’re given the answer and then you have to come up with the question. Today we have the answer from Jesus to the question “do you not care about us” that the disciples in great fear ask of him.  

There’s a story that Fr. James Martin shares about a young pilgrim visiting the Holy Land for the first time. He tells his friends that the most moving part of the journey was see the Ancient Galilee Boat. Of all the sites that he visited – Gethsemane, the Church of the Nativity, or the Mount of the Beatitudes – it was Yigal Allon Museum on a kibbutz to see the well-preserved remains of a fishing boat. Seeing this boat gave the young pilgrim more insight into Jesus’ teaching and his own faith than anything else.

In 1986 there was a drought that lowered the level of the Sea of Galilee exposing the remains of a fishing boat dating from the time of Jesus. It was carefully removed from the mud and now sits in a museum, gently supported by metal struts. The dark wood vessel shows evidence of many repairs. There are 12 different types of wood, some of which were salvaged from other boats leading experts to believe it had a long work life with an owner of limited financial means. Its interior size, 27 feet by 7 feet, suggests that this is the type of boat referred to in this gospel – just enough room for 13 people with Jesus able to find a place to sleep.

Most of us have heard this gospel story before. When we get accustomed to gospel stories they become predictable. But just for a moment, place yourself on one of the narrow wood benches of the boat in the dark being thrown up and down, back and forth with the disciples. And it all goes quiet. You might find Jesus’ power is stunning you as it did them.

It’s not the miracle of the sudden calm that frightens them – but what it meant.  Controlling nature was God’s work.  The creation stories that they knew well told of God dividing the waters, separating dry land from seas, exerting power over the chaos of nature. So their fear of drowning suddenly became awe of God’s power so near to them, sitting in the same boat with them. They’re asking “who is this guy?’ but the answer is clear.

It’s important to note that Jesus never says there’s nothing to be afraid of. The Galilean storm was something very much to be afraid of just as the winds and waves in our lives are frightening to us. The hard truth is that frightening things are very real.  We’ve just been through months and months of fear because of a horrible virus.  Even with relief from that immediate threat, there are frightening things for us, for our families, for those we love and care about. I know there are things that you fear. 

But as we grow in faith we come to understand that even though frightening things are very real, they do not have the last word. They do not have ultimate power over us.

Time and again in scripture the word is “do not be afraid.”  It’s actually the first and the last word of the gospel.  It is the words that angels speak to the terrified shepherds and the words spoken at the tomb when the women discover that it’s empty. “Do not be afraid.” Not because there are no frightening things in our lives, not because there are no storms or fierce winds or high waves but because God is stronger than anything and everything that shows up in our lives.

Fear comes when our lives change in such a way that we lose certainty and we lose routine. We crave certainty, the knowledge that there are things in our lives we can always count on. Our family is safe and with us, our home is secure, our job is okay. In the absence of certainty, we fill in the blanks. Like our tourist friend, we fear there is an alligator in the water coming for us.

And most of us crave routine. “We’ve always done it that way” is not just the unofficial Episcopal church motto. It gives us a feeling of security in all aspects of our lives.  We take comfort going through our lives in a routine way. Without certainty and routine we risk feeling threatened and afraid. That’s when we start asking God questions. “Don’t you care? I’m really suffering here or my child is, or my spouse is. Don’t you care what’s happening to me? I’m in crisis here! Everything I was sure of is disappearing. Don’t you care?” 

The answer is in that little fishing boat.

Jesus says, “Let’s go across to the other side.”  Let’s go across. This is our Jeopardy answer.  Jesus does not say “I’m going across, you all catch up when you can.”  He doesn’t say “You’re on your own. Maybe I’ll see you later.”  He says let’s go across together. I’m in this boat with you. I’m in this boat with you through whatever happens out on the lake. I’m in charge and I’m here.

We frequently see Jesus in liminal or in between places in scripture, where life and death are very near to one another – the graveyard with the demoniac, at the bedside of Jairus’ daughter, with Mary and Martha at the tomb of Lazarus, at the stoning of the woman accused of adultery.  And of course on the cross at the end of his earthly life making sure his mother is cared for and asking God to forgive those who put him there. We have every reason to believe that we will be present with us in our in between spaces.

God does care about us. So much so that he sent Jesus to live with us, to call us his brothers and sisters, to teach us to love each other, to heal us and then finally to suffer, die and come to life for us.

Jesus doesn’t bring the calm. Jesus is not separate from the calm. Jesus IS the calm. No matter what stormy sea we are on, when we, in our fear and anger lash out, his answer is always the same. “Let’s go together.”  Trust me. Believe in me. I am the calm.

Amen.