Test Driving Theology

When I read the story of Jesus calming the storm, I can’t help but think about those disciples in that boat. Remember, this was not a luxury cruise ship with shuffleboard and a breakfast buffet. They were on a small boat…it would hold maybe 8 or 10 of them.  Most of them were fishermen, sure, so they were no strangers to boats…they knew how to sail….how to navigate…but this was also…no ordinary storm. This was one of those storms where the sky turns green, the wind howls, and you start mentally making a list of all the life choices you wish you’d done differently.  

And where is Jesus in all this? Asleep. Head on a cushion. Out cold in the back of the boat. This is one of my favorite details in the Gospels. Because, honestly, who does that? I can’t even fall asleep if there is a squirrel running across my roof. But there is Jesus, snoozing his way through a hurricane.

The disciples, meanwhile, are convinced that this is it. They think they’re going to die.  They wake him up and yell, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” Which is one of the most honest prayers ever recorded. It is not pretty. It is not polished. But in that moment, it is exactly what they feel.

Jesus wakes up, stands up, gives his disciples a look, and then says to the wind and waves, “Peace! Be still!” And instantly, the storm dies down, and the lake becomes as calm as the church parking lot on Friday morning. The disciples, who were terrified of the storm, are now terrified of Jesus. They ask, “Who is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

I love this story because it is so human. We all have storms in our lives, and we all want to be in control. I once heard someone say that our need to be in control is like driving in the snow. We know the car is sliding, we know the brakes won’t do much, but we keep gripping the steering wheel tighter because it makes us feel like we are doing something.

The disciples are in the same boat, literally. They are clinging to whatever they feel like they can control.  They are rowing and bailing water like crazy.  And they are shouting instructions at each other. And none of it is working. Finally, when they have nothing left, when they are out of ideas; I envision them all turning as one and looking at Jesus…who is taking a nap in the back.

How often do we do the same thing? We try everything in our power, and then…finally…we pray. We treat prayer like the emergency life raft: “Break glass in case of disaster.” But the apostle Paul, in our reading from Romans…he paints a different picture. He says, “The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.” TheWord, meaning the presence of God…the Greek word is “The logos.”  The Word is near you.  Let me read that again: “The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.”  God, Paul is saying, is never your last resort. God is always closer than your next breath.  

The problem is, in the middle of the storm, it is really hard to remember that. Years ago, I was paddling across a lake in the Boundary Waters; a lake called, “Ogishkemuncie.” It was one of those beautiful mornings where the sun is shining, the loons are calling, and everything feels right in the world. We were miles from civilization when a storm rolled in out of nowhere. One moment we were in the middle of the lake, paddling towards our next portage. The next, we were paddling against a wind so strong it felt like the lake was trying to spit us back out.

At one point, my friend yelled, “Keep paddling!” and I yelled back, “I am!” And then, for reasons I cannot explain, I started singing “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” which was not helpful but did get a laugh out of him. Eventually, we realized that we couldn’t overpower the storm.  We weren’t going to muscle our way through this one.  So we turned the canoe 90 degrees, and instead of fighting the wind and the waves, we just rode them to the shore…soaked and exhausted, but safe. And you know what I remember most? It was that moment when we stopped paddling like crazy people and just turned the canoe to work with the wind instead of against it.

Faith is a little like that. It is not pretending there is no storm. It is not trying (and failing) to overpower it. Faith is trusting that Jesus is in the boat with us, even if he seems quiet. Faith is believing that he can do something about the storm, even when we cannot see how.

And this is where our first scripture reading, the one from Romans 10 comes in. Paul writes, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” Everyone. That includes the disciples in the boat. That includes us when we are gripping the steering wheel too tightly. And then Paul asks the question: “How are they to call on one in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard?”

In other words, when we have seen Jesus calm storms in our own lives, we are called to tell that story. We are called to speak. “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news,” Paul says. 

• Notice that he doesn’t say “how beautiful are the perfectly prepared theological arguments.” 
• He does not say “how beautiful are those who live perfect lives.”  
• And he does not say “how beautiful are the folks who have everything figured out.” 

No, he says “how beautiful are the ones who tell their story.”

Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can say to someone in the middle of their storm is simply, “I’ve been there. Jesus was with me. He will be with you too.”

Now, here is what I love about the story of Jesus calming the storm: This campfire story is not just about a historical event. It is about who Jesus is right here…right now.  The one who said “Peace! Be still!” to the wind and waves is the same one who speaks peace into the chaos of our lives today.

• If you are facing a storm of grief, he is in that boat with you. 
• If you are facing a storm of uncertainty, he is right there. 
• If you are simply exhausted by the constant noise of life, he is the one who says, “Peace…be still.”  Peace…be still. 

And sometimes, he also invites us to be the calm voice in someone else’s storm. That is what happens when we live out Romans 10. We become the ones who show up, who pray, who speak hope out loud. We become those with “beautiful feet” that share our story; that bring good news.

Years ago, a good friend of mine told me a story about his son…who as a young child was terribly afraid of thunderstorms. Every time one rolled in, he would crawl into his parents’ bed and say, “I just need to be where you are.” He never asked them to make the storm stop. He never asked them to explain the weather. He just wanted to be near them.

That is faith.

We do not have to understand the storm. We do not have to control it. We just need to be close to Jesus, the one who is not panicked by the wind and the waves, the one who says to us, “Peace. Be still.”

And then, when the storm passes, we tell the story. We sit around the campfire of our faith, and we say, “You should have seen it. I thought I was done for. But Jesus was there, and I am still here. Thanks be to God.”

Friends, storms will come and go. Some will be small and annoying, like an unexpected rain shower when you’re trying to have a picnic. Others will feel big enough to sink the boat. But in every storm, Jesus is with you. He is not anxious. He is not surprised. And he is still speaking peace.

So do not be afraid to wake him up with an honest prayer. Do not be afraid to tell your story when the storm is over. And do not be surprised if one day you hear his voice saying, “Peace. Be still,” and realize the calm has already begun.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.