Rev. Dr. Joel D. Biermann
Mark 4:35-41
August 20, 2017
What’s got you worried this morning? Maybe there’s not much on your mind, and the most worrisome thing bothering you is whether or not the Cardinals are going to be able to pull it together and muster enough wins to make the play-offs. Or maybe, you’re concerned about some uncertainty that comes with the start of a new school year—how’s the schedule going to work, will there be success, or will there be heartache? Maybe you’ve got bigger, more immediate worries on your mind this morning: what’s the doctor going to say at that appointment later this week? Is your job as secure as you think it is? Are you going to have enough to cover that expense you weren’t expecting? Is your marriage going to survive? Are your kids going to keep going to church...or come back? Are your grandkids going to be able to live strong Christian lives without pressure or even persecution from the rest of the culture? What’s got you concerned this morning? Maybe you know better than to worry, you’re not supposed to do that after all, but there are some things that make it hard not to be at least a little concerned, aren’t there?
For the twelve in our text, the great concern, the all-out worry, facing them required no reflection or deliberation at all. The need was obvious and immediate. They were in the middle of the lake, in the middle of a gale, and their boat was sinking. They were worried about the wind and the water. They were worried about all the forces of nature that seemed to be turned personally against them and bent on their destruction. I suspect that most sane people would sympathize with the twelve disciples and agree that they had a legitimate concern. This was not some manufactured worry or artificial threat. Their problem was quite pressing and altogether real. They were about to drown. They were going to die.
So, what is the response of the terrified disciples? Quite reasonably, they turn to the one in charge to see what he can do about the situation. And the one in charge is, of course, Jesus. He’s the one man in the boat who is not worried—he’s the man in the boat who is actually sound asleep in the stern, his head resting on a pillow. And it’s here that the story gets interesting. Well, actually, it’s already pretty interesting if you stop and think about it; it’s even a bit bizarre. The wind is howling, the waves are crashing, the little is boat rapidly being swamped, and Jesus is sleeping through it all. It’s almost like he was doing it on purpose…like he was trying to prove a point, or something. Or, it could be that he was simply exhausted and sleeping like a dead man. He did keep rather a full schedule, after all, and it had been a very full day of teaching. But, now in the throes of their panic and fear of imminent death, the disciples rouse Jesus back to the realm of those who are living…but who are in the process of dying, and ask the painful, panicked question: “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”
It’s important to keep in mind, here, the great disadvantage of the disciples. They had only spent a few months with Jesus at this point. They did not yet fully understand exactly who he was. They knew he was a great teacher, an unparalleled rabbi, and maybe something more—maybe even the Messiah, but there was still much that they did not know. So, without realizing it, the frantic question that they asked Jesus from the depths of their terror was actually rather an audacious and ironic question. One of the many quite remarkable elements of this short story is what Jesus did not say in response to this anxious, yet nevertheless accusatory, rebuke on the part of the disciples: “Don’t you care that we are perishing?” Jesus might well have risen from his pillow, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stretched, and then righteously rebuffed his twelve ignorant, impudent disciples: “Don’t I care? Don’t I care that you are perishing? What do you think I’m doing, here, with you in this boat? Don’t I care that you are perishing? What do you think I’m doing, here, with you in this body? What do you think I’m doing here on this earth, in your broken world? Of course, I care that you’re perishing; I’m here fulfilling the Father’s mission redemption because I care.” The question of the disciples was an affront to God’s mercy and God’s plan. But, all of this was lost on the twelve. They had no idea. They didn’t get it…and they also did not get the rebuke that they justifiably deserved. Instead, Jesus turned his attention to the problem at hand and rebuked the gale and commanded the sea. Like he was speaking to a servant or a hired hand, Jesus gave orders to wind and waves and both obeyed. Just like that, they obeyed.
The wind and waves stopped. The danger was gone. And all was well in Galilee. And all is well for us. The point of the story seems clear and neat and predictable. Jesus has taught the twelve an important lesson that will help them as they move forward in their lives of discipleship. They have been taught that when Jesus is in your boat, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It seems like this is a reasonable conclusion and summary of what this story is all about. The story teaches the twelve to trust Jesus and not to worry. It’s the obvious lesson, isn’t it? And with very little effort, we are then able to transport the same relevant lesson forward 2,000 years into the world of 2017. And we conclude that this story teaches us a timeless truth: that when Jesus is in your boat, you’ve got nothing to worry about. What this story is all about, we think, is that we should not worry because Jesus makes things better. And so, with our comfortable, and standard, conclusions firmly re-established, it seems that we’re done with the text, and the sermon can wrap up neatly with an “amen,” and be done. So…go in peace; serve the Lord. Amen.
But…that’s not how the story ends, is it? Perhaps we’d like this to be the lesson and then be done with it, but the story does not conclude with a “faith-lesson” learned and grateful smiles and happy slaps on the back all around. There’s more to the story. It turns out that Jesus is not quite done rebuking after all. After taking care of the wind and the waves, he’s still got a few stern words left for these disciples as well. “Why are you afraid?” Or, more pointedly and in the spirit of the Greek text: “Why are you guys such wimps!? Don’t you have any faith?” Once again—and as always, it seems—the disciples have fallen short of all hopes and expectations. Jesus did expect much from these twelve men. These were the men who one day would have to stand before kings and rulers and judges and tribunals and make bold confessions of their faith and declare the truth of the gospel. These were the men who would soon face adversity, ridicule, violence, and death for the sake of Jesus’ message. Knowing what was in store for these men, Jesus knew that groveling cowardice and timid fear could have no place. Firm trust would need to manifest itself in a steely resolve to do what needed to be done. The disciples would need to face every threat with the certainty of God’s complete provision. They would need to be men of faith, men who trusted. But, this night on the Sea of Galilee, the disciples aren’t there yet, not even close. So, their rabbi reprimands them for their failure. And even if Jesus said it gently and with a smile, it was still a rebuke. They had failed. It might seem harsh for Jesus to correct them for forgetting their faith and being afraid to die; considering the circumstances, their reaction seems about right. But the point is that Jesus expects more from them. Even at this stage, much more is expected of them than what they have so far managed.
Jesus corrects their failure of faith, and the disciples were chastened. But in truth, Jesus didn’t need to say anything at all to undo every single one of them completely. In fact, what Jesus said probably barely registered at all. They were already undone by what Jesus had done. The stark reality of the deafening silence and deathly stillness all around them was already more than they could handle. In an instant, the lake had gone from tempest to tranquil from turbulent to a flat sheet of watery glass stretching to the shore. The twelve were stunned. They had seen Jesus do miracles, of course. They’d seen him drive out demons and heal sick people, and that was pretty cool—quite a rush, actually. But, Jesus giving orders to the fury of nature and getting immediate servile obedience…well, that was another thing altogether. It was in a league by itself. The twelve may have been asking one another the question, but they already knew the incredible, breathtaking answer. Who is this who has that kind of authority over the force of the wind and the formless chaos of the sea? They knew the answer, but could hardly believe it. There was only ONE being in the universe with that kind of authority.
The disciples stood there, soaked, breathless, trembling, hearts still pounding, and eyes wide staring at their rabbi and trying to fathom exactly what they were seeing. It was still just Jesus who stood before them, the man who only moments before had been sleeping soundly without a concern or worry in the back of their boat. It was just Jesus but, at that moment, something clicked, and they knew that it could not be just a man that stood there. It had to be the LORD, adonai, Yahweh, God Almighty himself. No other being could command the creation with such absolute authority. God, the Creator, was with them in their boat. Their minds were blown. Or, as the text puts it, “they feared a great fear.” Indeed, to say the least. What else was there to do?
And that’s the end of the story. The conclusion of the account is simple and profound: Jesus is lord; Jesus is God. Which means, of course, that when Jesus is in your boat with you, then you have everything to worry about—well, no, actually only one enormously big thing to worry about: you’re in the presence of God. For a sinner, like each of the twelve and like me and like you, being in the presence of a holy and just God is never a good thing. That’s why the twelve were far more terrified in the gentle calm than they had been in the teeth of the storm. And yet, even here, there is grace: Jesus stands there with them and with us as true God…yet, still a man. We do not face God in his naked holiness, majesty, and just wrath. We have God, here, wrapped in a human body. We have Jesus as God in the flesh, a man like us—the one who does care that you are perishing—the one who proved the height, and the breadth, and the depth of his care on the arms of a Roman cross. It took a while, actually it took the coming of the Holy Spirit, but eventually led by that Spirit, the disciples did figure it out. Jesus was God and man, he was Lord and savior—both at once for them. In the light of that Spirit-given knowledge, fear was finally pushed out and they were remade. Cowardice was replaced with trust.
Jesus is Lord. He is God. That truth changes everything—even timid and terrified disciples. Jesus is Lord. Those who know it and confess it are humble and grateful. Jesus is Lord. Those who know it—who know him and confess him and trust him are bold and confident. And, so it is for you, disciple of Jesus the Lord, so it is for you. Amen.