The 5th Sunday after Pentecost | 23 June 2024 | A Sermon on Mark 4.35-41 | by Richard O. Johnson |
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?” (Mark 4.35-41 NRSV)
Our gospel lesson this morning is a very familiar story of Jesus, one that most of us have heard or read countless times. We usually read it as a wonderful example of Jesus’ power to calm the turbulence and the storms of our lives, and of course that is a terribly important lesson for us. But sometimes when a passage is so familiar, it is helpful to try some new perspectives, to see the old and familiar in a new and different way. This morning I’d like to point out three things that you may not have noticed before and ask you to reflect on this story from perhaps some different directions.
The Sea of Galilee
First, let’s talk about the sea. For Mark, the Sea of Galilee is much more than just a backdrop. The setting of this story has significance in and of itself. Consider, for example, the function of the sea as a boundary. That is not something strange to us; we are accustomed today to using natural features as boundaries—rivers, mountains, lakes, seas, all these physical features are commonly used to separate one nation or state or city from another. It was the same in the ancient world. If we read the text of Mark closely, we will find that once Jesus and the disciples have gone across the Sea of Galilee, they are in another country—Gentile territory. They are in a foreign place, dealing with people who are different.
In many ways, the Christian faith is about crossing boundaries, and that is never an easy thing. Indeed, trying to cross boundaries can be a stormy experience, a tempestuous experience. These boundaries are of as many different kinds as you can imagine. They are boundaries of race and nationality, boundaries of class and style, of philosophy and values. They are all the different ways that we human beings divide ourselves one from another.
Each week in the creed we confess that we believe in the “holy catholic church.” That phrase has many meanings, but one basic one is that in Christ’s Church, we are all one. The walls that divide us are broken down. There is no male or female, Jew or Gentile, but all are one in Christ Jesus. The boundaries are crossed, and we recognize all people as precious, as brothers and sisters because of Jesus Christ.
Yet though we confess it, we often have trouble living it. We are suspicious of people who are different from us. We have trouble accepting them, trouble understanding them. When the pioneers came across the plains to settle California, they often were quite frightened of the native Americans they encountered along the way—the Indians, they called them. We grew up believing in that threat; we saw it in dozens of Western movies. Yet today scholars point out that often the danger was more perceived than real; in many cases, the Anglo emigrants’ fear arose out of misunderstanding. Accounts of wagon trains are filled, for example, with comments that the Indians were beggars and thieves, who would approach the wagon trains and demand food. What the emigrants didn’t understand was that in the native culture, asking for food from a stranger was a way of showing that you meant no harm, that you desired peace. The natives meant one thing, while the emigrants understood it as something quite different.
Isn’t that often the way with us? We have trouble crossing boundaries because we lack understanding, and we see things only from our own point of view. And so, the storms come, the waves toss, and we think we cannot make it.
The second lesson this day is about this same subject, though it may not be clear from just these verses. In this letter to the Corinthians, Paul is dealing with a situation of hostility and misunderstanding. We’re not quite sure of the details, but there are some clear barriers between him and the Corinthians, and he is trying to cross the boundary and find reconciliation and peace. You can sense it at the end of this lesson: “Our heart is wide open to you. There is no restriction in our affections, but only in yours. … Open wide your hearts also.”
Isn’t that the very best way to cross successfully the boundaries we erect between us, to open our hearts to each other, to open them wide? Only then can the storm of the crossing be quelled, and peace prevail.
The boat
We’ve talked of the sea, but now let’s think about the boat. For the early church, the boat had a very precise meaning. It was a symbol of the church itself. In the church I served for nearly thirty years, the green parament on the altar during this “ordinary time” had a picture of a boat—and that’s why! It signified the church. And for the earliest Christians, the boat in this story signified that as well.
Now starting with that premise, let’s consider who it is that is in this boat. Jesus is there, to be sure; but he’s mostly passive. He is not steering the boat; that is left to the disciples. But what I want you to notice is how weak and faltering are these disciples in this boat, and how little they understand. St. Jerome in his commentary on this passage notes that the sea, the storm, the wind, all recognize Jesus and respond to his command—but the disciples don’t! Indeed, as the story ends, we find them staring at Jesus and asking themselves, “Who is this guy, anyway?” They are not paragons of faith or understanding! They have doubts, they have fears, they simply don’t seem to be very good role models for us.
And thank God for that! Because that is still the way the church is today. We who sail in this boat, we are often people of little faith. We are fearful disciples. We have trouble recognizing just who Jesus is. I read something recently about prayer that has got me thinking. The writer said that we often get upset when our prayers aren’t answered, when God doesn’t do what we ask of him. But it’s sort of a mutual problem, because we generally don’t do what God asks of us, either! We are like the disciples in that regard—fearful, unheeding, unwilling to do what Jesus asks, unable to trust him.
But perhaps that is what this story is about, at least in part. The church is filled with disciples who don’t quite get it, with followers who forget to follow. It is filled with people like you and me! Yet what does Jesus do? He doesn’t say, “Toss them overboard and get me some competent sailors!” He doesn’t say, “That’s it, folks, pull this boat up to the dock, I’m out of here.” No, he simply asks the question: “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And he stays with us. He doesn’t leave us to fend for ourselves, but he calmly speaks his words of encouragement and he trusts that we will, in fact, grow in faith. And he stays with us, here in this boat. I don’t know about you, but to me that’s incredibly reassuring. The Lord is with us, he stays with us, even when we act like people of no faith.
Just as he was
We’ve thought about the sea, and the boat. Now I want you to notice one more thing—this time not a physical part of the story, but a comment that is made. Mark tells us the disciples took Jesus with them in the boat “just as he was.” What do you suppose that means? “Just as he was”—the phrase drives the commentators to distraction because they don’t know what it means exactly. They usually explain it as meaning that they just hopped in the boat, without going home for luggage or stopping to buy dinner. But that explanation is a little too mundane for me.
I think, rather, that this phrase points us to something we’d rather ignore. In the earlier part of the chapter, Jesus has been telling parables, and the disciples have been their usual dense selves, asking him what on earth he means. They don’t get it. And I can relate to that; perhaps you can, too. There are lots of times I find myself thinking, as I read the Bible, “But why? Why must it be that way? Why must I live that way? What difference does it make?”
But the disciples took Jesus “just as he was.” Are we willing to take Jesus that way? Are we willing to climb into the boat on his terms, to accept his direction, to go where he wants to go? Or do we want to be the captain of the ship, and just leave him sleeping in the stern unless some unexpected storm comes up?
Everett Howard was a missionary; he spent most of his life in missionary service. He hadn’t planned on that vocation, but he gradually came to the conviction that it was what God wanted him to do. But he was still unsettled. He went into his church and locked the doors, and he began to write. “This is going to be my life,” he wrote. Then he filled the paper with promises about what he was going to do for God. He promised to be a missionary, to read his Bible, to give his tithe—everything he could think of. He signed his name on the bottom and laid his paper on the altar. He knew that God must be terribly proud of him. But as he sat there, he began to sense God speaking to him—a small quiet sense, in his heart. “Son,” the voice said, “you’ve got it all wrong. Just tear up the paper.” So young Everett tore it up. “Now you just take a blank piece of paper and sign your name on the bottom of it, and let me fill it in.”
Signing that blank page—that’s hard! Taking Jesus just as he is, and not as we want him to be—that’s hard! It often means going along with what he says when we don’t understand. It sometimes means stepping out in faith, maybe crossing boundaries, not knowing where we are going, or why, or how, but trusting him to be there with us. For St. Paul, taking Jesus just as he was meant afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments . . . but it also meant purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God. When Jesus invites you to take him as he is, you can be pretty sure that it will be difficult, sometimes stormy. But you can also be confident that it will be wonderful.
And so, in this old and familiar story, I hope you have learned something new. I hope you have heard the invitation to take Jesus as he is, knowing that to do so may mean difficult crossings and tempestuous storms; knowing also that we human beings are always faltering in our faith, but that Jesus sticks with us despite all that. The journey is a remarkable one. Won’t you come along? In the name of the Father, and of the +Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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©The Rev. Richard O. Johnson (retired)
Webster, NY
roj@nccn.net
