"An Incredible Moment in a Storm"

I grew up with the Bible, and while I've never done the "Read the Bible in a year!" kind of thing, I will say I'm extremely familiar with it. Famous passages, obscure verses, mighty giants in the New Testament and unpopular prophets in the Old ... you name it, I most likely know about it.

I haven't had many experiences of picking up a particular passage and finding that, for the first time in 36 years, I see it in a completely different light. I know those moments can happen -- they just don't often happen to me. And to be perfectly honest, I've never been much of a "Bible reader," despite my close familiarity with it. I don't often just sit down with it and start perusing the pages. In the past, during particularly rough patches on my journey's path, I would sit down with the Psalms, finding solace in David's words, echoing my own thoughts and silent pleadings. But to say, "I think I'll read Titus today" ... not really.

For Christmas, I received a devotional called Moments with the Savior: A Devotional Life of Christ by Ken Gire. I've never been much of a "devotional" patron either, but the giving -- and receiving -- of this gift has been one of those truly God-inspired (or, rather, God-directed) moments. If there was ever a time of life where I needed to pour over these pages, it's now. And for the first time in a myriad of years, I read a particular passage so differently, so profoundly, so uniquely that I'm not sure I'll ever look at it the same way again.

Jesus Calms the Storm (Mark 4:35-41)

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, "Let us go over to the other side." Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?"

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.

He said to his disciples, "Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?"

They were terrified and asked each other, "Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!"

Once again I find myself on a rough and brambled path, where the phrase "hard times" doesn't even begin to describe it. The holes are fathoms deep; the way murky-clouded; the rocks knife-sharp. And when we thought we had it under control, when we thought we could handle what came our way, it was then that "a furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped." For the first time, verse 37, in that recent quiet evening moment of reading, had nothing to do with a physical, wooden boat or a physical, whirling storm. In that moment, verse 37 described my life, my journey's path. Nearly swamped.

A few verses earlier, Jesus said, "Let us go over to the other side." Again, in that moment, the verse took on an entirely new meaning for me. It was I who wanted -- who needed -- to change, to go over to the other side, to be new. I cannot handle these squalls, these storms. They're too much. I fool myself into thinking that I can control these things. "If Don can just make this much ..." or "If our budget could just get to this point ..." or "If we can just sell off these belongings ..." But that's the catch: "if WE ... if WE ... if WE." WE cannot do anything, or control anything. Perhaps that's why the squall is so fierce, for if it was just a sprinkling of rain we could easily open our umbrella, on our own. But in a storm, we can do nothing. "Let us go over to the other side" ... that's where I need to be. On that other shore, for this current one is storm-battered and life-taking.

Then Jesus said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" And in that moment of evening's quiet, as I held that book in my hands, Jesus was not speaking to the wind or the waves. He was speaking to me. The storm will continue to rage; the waves will continue to crash and break. But it is I who need to be quiet, and be still. I am churning my own waters with my fears, I am bellowing the wind with my own panic. "Quiet! Be still!" His eyes were turned toward me.

"Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?"

I never looked at those questions in that light before -- they came after the miracle, yet still needed to be asked. The disciples witnessed miracles, heard His words ... yet they too were still trapped in fear's grip. And once again, in that quiet evening moment, Jesus' questions were not directed at the disciples; they were aimed at me. Do I still have no faith? Am I still so afraid?

How I hate to answer those questions.

Snippets of the prayer at the end of this reading leaped off the page:

"Help me when the sudden storms of life come crashing over me with their fierce winds and frothing waves ...
And help [me] to see that no matter how devastating the storm that sweeps over [me], you DO care if [I] drown ...
Help [me] to see that you allow storms in [my life] to strengthen [me] -- not to shipwreck [me] ...
And when uncertain seas unsettle [my] faith, turn [my] attention to you so that the tempest in [my soul] might be quieted and made still ..."

Is this what the author of Mark's gospel intended? Perhaps not -- probably not. I have no idea how things will look after this storm passes, or if, for its a mighty one. But again, maybe that's the point -- I would be too blind if it merely sprinkled a few drops of rain. I need a fierce squall, something so far outside of my feeble attempt at control that I have no choice but to relinquish my weak and pathetic hold on the rudder.