Grace and peace to you from God the Father, and our Lord Jesus Christ.
We know a thing or two about storms and rough seas right now, don’t we? We are still riding in some turbulent waters from this pandemic, even as the storm, at least for us in our area, seems to be blowing itself out. In our gospel today, Mark notes that when the disciples took Jesus out, just as he was, to sea, there were other boats with them. There were many boats facing that storm. We get a look into just one of those boats in the story. We get to see this disciples’ reaction, to sense their fear, panic, their feeling helpless and hopeless, sure they would not make it through, that they would perish. I wonder about the other boats. The sea of Galilee is apparently well known for its storms. They spring up out of nowhere and can be really quite dreadful. It might be said that experienced fishermen, such as many of the disciple, would know whether or not they’re in trouble. Even so, the same storm can have a very effect depending on where you’re situated—or what boat you’re in. Early on in the pandemic, my colleague groups, synod meetings and such, would meet periodically so that we could talk together about strategies, or maybe coping mechanisms—sharing ideas to navigate the new territory we were finding ourselves in. One of the questions that became regular as a check in and to get conversations started came from this idea that there are many boats in this storm. We’d start by asking each other: what boat are you in today? And we’d have three options presented to us, three pictures, actually. The first a kayak—journeying pleasantly in a serene lake. The second a mid-sized boat, maybe a fishing boat, caught in some rough water and electric sky. Or maybe it was a raft in the rapids, with a boatful of people furiously paddling their way. The third option was this huge, rusty looking old maritime vessel—lop-sided—clearly going nowhere because it was beached up on the sand. What boat are you in? We’re all in the same storm, but not all in the same boat. Some people would pick the kayak early on, because they suddenly found themselves locked out of their normal routine, and at home with a kind of forced rest or sabbath. I never picked that one…for me the kids at home was more like the second, very busy boat. But there is something about the storm that changes our perspective and lets us see the world in a new light. In Mark’s gospel, Jesus is coming from parable after parable about sowing seeds. He is laying the groundwork of describing how people will react to the Kingdom of God being revealed. He is showing that the gospel and the kingdom will surely be coming and will grow and spread in surprising and even undermining ways. The storm the disciples face is a place to reveal something new—to see behind the curtain in a sense—or to see a thing from a new perspective, from God’s perspective. We call that apocalyptic. Now apocalypse, when we’re talking about the Bible, means something very different than when we say apocalypse in English. Apocalypse (it’s Greek), means to uncover, or to reveal. So Paul has an apocalypse on the way to Damascus (Jesus reveals himself as the one Saul is persecuting), an Apocalypse happens at Jesus’ baptism when the Spirit descends like a dove and the voice from heaven reveals, “this is my son.” And the storm scene in this gospel acts as an apocalypse, where Jesus is revealed as the one whom the storms and the sea obey (as in Job): 8“Or who shut in the sea with doors when it burst out from the womb?-- 9when I made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band, 10and prescribed bounds for it, and set bars and doors, 11and said, ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stopped’?” Of course the disciples, slow learners as they are, only make it as far as questioning in confusion “who is this?” They’ll get it by the end of the gospel. Storms like this are often a time when we are given opportunity for a perspective change. They also are times when we react the three ways that people do in Mark’s gospel—questioning confusion, repentance and joyful acceptance of the gospel message, or rejection of the kingdom Jesus brings. During this pandemic, and many times throughout, the curtain has been pulled back on some of the ways we take our world for granted. We saw some pieces of society or of our church, with a different set of eyes and had to work through what that means for us. We will surely be learning for years to come as we analyze and pray about what we saw as church during a time of distancing, of division in society, and of trying to get back on our feet. I believe there have been many times when God has sought to show us some things a little more clearly as we had time to think and restart. And I know that we, like those disciples, will have a healthy mix of confusion, repentance, and denial about those things. Probably all at one, mixed together in each of us. I still think God is doing something big in the church, something that we are part of right here. Through changing trends in worship attendance, shortage of pastors, cultural shifts that make the ways things always were less effective, then by way of a global pandemic that stopped us all in our tracks to reassess and examine ourselves—the storm has been set. But I wonder about that “peace be still” moment. In Mark’s gospel, Jesus’ calming the storm was not just another miracle. It was a revelation, an apocalypse. The storm became the way to see that the kingdom of God was coming, and to see that it is Jesus through whom it comes. The “peace be still” moment may not come as a reset to the way things were. What if it doesn’t calm the chaos of the world outside? The “peace be still” moment rather may be a change on the chaos in ourselves. What if it becomes a way to see with new eyes the world around us, to see what God is up to there, and where we are being called to join the kingdom? Where might we be in a storm searching for the way forward into the kingdom? Where might the winds and waves be now at work to upend and rock our systems, to make way for the new kingdom that Jesus is working in us to establish? These storms are not easy to face. The disciples knew the danger and were scared. But we know the end of the story… Through death comes life. Jesus is risen. Through Jesus comes God’s kingdom. And he works in us. Life, love, peace…these are the promises that hold us through all the storms. They allow us to sing, in any situation, “it is well with my soul.” “God has won, Christ prevailed, it is well with my soul.” We’re all in a storm, maybe lots of storms, but not all in the same boat. How do we see people in other boats and show them what we’ve learned about the Jesus in ours? Jesus who loves us. Jesus who came to heal the world, to cast out demons, to calm the storms in us. Jesus who is always in our boat, always there to show us again who he is—the LORD of heaven and earth. Lord Jesus pilot us, preserve us, instruct us, and protect us. And we can sing “It is well with my soul.” Comments are closed.
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AuthorRev. Chris Sesvold is currently the pastor at Halfway Creek Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Holmen, WI. Archives
October 2021
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