So with three words, "Peace, be still," Jesus puts whatever is raging around his followers to rest. When oceans rise and the thunder roars, they turn to him to see them through the squall and ensure smooth sailing. That's the point of the story, right? That's why there are songs and paintings and sermons around three simple words: "Peace, be still." Right?
Except Jesus is at the back of the boat asleep. Except he accuses the disciples of having little faith after they wake him. They obviously trust in his power enough to go to him when the sea is too much. Even today, when the storms of life are raging, we stand by Jesus. Isn't that faith?
So why does Jesus ask, "Have you still no faith?"
Jesus had it's time to go to the other side. The other side can be a scary place, or at least we think so. The "other side" of the tracks, the "other side" of the aisle, the "other side" of the sea. There's always a boundary we're taught not to cross. We're taught the boundary is there for a reason: for our protection, for our privilege, for our purity. It's a wall, a fence, a law, an attitude, or a turbulent sea.
In Mark, the sea is a metaphor for demonic and chaotic forces that stand against the Kingdom of God that is even now at hand. Though this sea, filled with devils, threatens to undo them, Jesus wants to cross it because the Gospel is never for those on just one side of the sea.
In Mark's telling, in their attempt to cross to the other side to bring hope and healing and good news, the evil forces within the sea, lying in wait under the boundary like a troll under a bridge, stir the waters into a horrible whirlwind of a storm. It's enough to terrify even the most veteran sailors. And, you know, it's never easy to bring the Good News to the other side.
A long time ago mother taught me how to do laundry. She showed me how to sort my clothes and how to use the machine. But still my laundry would pile up, and I'd start in:
"Mom, I need my clothes washed." "Okay, go wash them."
I did the smell test on a few shirts. So I thought I could go a few more days. Then:
"Mom, I don't have any clean clothes for school." "Okay, well the laundry machine is free."
But see, I didn't want to do my laundry. I wanted Mom to do my laundry. Maybe I didn't trust I really knew what I was doing and would ruin the machine or shrink my clothes. Maybe I just didn't want to have to do it myself when there was someone else perfectly capable of doing a good job of it.
"But you're my mother. You're supposed to do my laundry for me." "No, I'm your mother. I'm supposed to teach you how to do your laundry because I won't always be here to do it for you."
The disciples, taught by Jesus, are kinda like me. They don't rebuke the wind themselves; they don't even try? "Jesus is in the back of the boat. He'll save us."
The disciples know Jesus can cast out demons. They have faith in him. They've seen it time and time again. They just don't know that THEY can, or they aren't willing to. We are like that sometimes. We trust Jesus with our lives, we trust in his words, and we trust in his power, but we don't trust in his power in us.
But Jesus calls the disciples to follow him, which means he believes they have what it takes to be like him. He gives them power to proclaim the good news, to cast out demons, and to heal every kind of disease and sickness. But they are still afraid.
Another time, when Jesus comes to the disciples over the water, he tells them do not be afraid. Peter, bless his heart, tries to trust in the power of Christ to him and he walks out onto the water. He trusts that if Jesus says he can do it, then he can do it. But then he begins to doubt. So he begins to sink. "Ye of little faith," says Jesus. "Why did you doubt?"
But the thing is, Peter doesn't doubt Jesus' power to stand on the swirling sea. He doubts his own.
Ye of little faith. Maybe it should be WE of little faith
We are given the power to cast out demons, but we stand trembling in their midst instead of rebuking them. We stand on the shore, fearing the storm that's sure to brew if we try to cross to the other side with the love of God because "those" people on "that" side are not worthy or deserving of the love of Christ, or so we're led to believe. Maybe it's just best to stay on this side and not reach out at all.
We of little faith, why are we so afraid?
Every day, I see another panic-filled story about the decline and death of the church or the world. We're terrified we aren't going to survive the storm. We look around for Jesus and wonder if the world will fall apart while he's napping. Doesn't he know that church membership is down? Doesn't he know the economy is teetering? Doesn't he care that violence is erupting all over? Doesn't he know we're taking on water? Doesn't he know our prisons are too full and children's stomachs are too empty. Doesn't he know the hatred we sow when we see differences in people and hear differences of opinion?
Y'all...he knows. He knows exactly the toll of the storm. But I'm not sure we do. We're too busy trying to calm ourselves to calm the wind and the waves that batter people's lives. We don't believe we have the power to stand above the forces of prejudice, hatred, bigotry, violence, abuse, and terror. So we do not stand. We do not rebuke. Instead, we huddle down in the bottom of our boats and watch the squall through stained glass.
What else can we do? "We're just disciples in a boat," we say. We follow. We worship, and we sing and pray. And if a storm comes up that keeps us from going to the other side, well, then it's up to Jesus to calm that storm if that's where he wants us to go."
But Jesus doesn't call his disciples to merely follow. He asks them to have faith in the power he promises and the work he commissions THEM to do for the Kingdom of God. To have faith that the power of God is always at work, not just in Christ, but in us.
Is there discrimination? Cast it out. Is there division? Heal it. Are there painful words? Rebuke them. Are there broken hearts? Bind them.
There's a comic strip called B.C. Y'all probably know it. It chronicles the humorous everyday lives of two cavemen and their friends. A few years ago, there was a strip in which two cavemen are sitting together under the night sky, when one says, "Sometimes I want to ask God why God lets so many bad things happen in the world."
The other asks, "Why don't you?"
The first responds: "Because I'm afraid God would ask me the same question."
Amen.