The Storm

John 6

This story is about navigation. I’m sure it will be familiar to you, because it can be found in all four of the Gospels. You’ll find some differences in the accounts, but don’t worry about that. 

Just to recap: after the first of two miracles when he fed a multitude, Jesus commanded his apostles to row back across the Sea of Galilee. It was night, and pitch dark. After traveling some distance from shore, they experienced a storm, a fierce storm, an other-worldly storm, a storm like nothing they’d ever seen. Drenched and shaking with fear, they saw Jesus, a ghostly figure, walking toward them, seeming to pass them on the sea. They cried out to him and he stilled the storm and climbed in the boat.

Matthew’s account also included Peter’s request to join Jesus outside the boat, and Luke’s had Jesus asleep in the boat. The other accounts are virtually the same.

Like many stories from scripture, our familiarity with this one tends to diminish its miraculous nature. I mean, we’ve heard it so many times. And yes, we know that it was a strong storm. And yes, we know that Jesus saved the men in the boat by calming the wind and waves. 

But let me tell you that this storm was terrifying beyond description. How do I know? I know because I was in the boat. You will find me in this story, in the boat, along with the others. 

In fact, I was one of the most experienced navigators among the twelve. More of my life had been spent on the sea than off of it. I knew its waters, winds and depths like no one else. And when it became clear that much of the ministry of Jesus would take place in and around the Sea of Galilee, I felt right at home. If nothing else, I thought, I could contribute with my navigational skills. Jesus and the others could depend on me; or so I thought.

But that night was different. Yes, it was dark, very dark. In your time, electric lights can be seen for great distances, especially across the water. But of course, all we had were candles and oil lamps. And so, when we started out, we could not see our destination. All was blackness. We were literally swallowed up in it.

The words that you read about this storm in the Gospel narratives cannot possibly convey how terrible it actually was to live through it. And no, none of us, myself included, had any idea that Jesus would come and rescue us. We were at the mercy of something unnatural, even evil, something that was literally trying to kill us all.

Some in our group had wanted to postpone our journey, waiting until first light in the morning. But we fishermen bravely assured them that we knew what we were doing. We even laughed at them a bit, making fun of their fears, calling them babies to be so afraid of the water. And it was true, many of our fishing trips had been at night. There was nothing to fear.

The boat had traveled quite a distance when we began to notice the wind. It was picking up, coming directly at us. Looking back, we could no longer see the shore we’d left, and our destination, Capernaum, had not yet come into view.

And yes, we were aware that storms can suddenly appear on this body of water. Personally, I had experienced quite a few. And I must admit that some of my experiences in them were hair-raising to say the least. But still, my brother fishermen and I felt that we were entirely capable of navigating in most any storm.

But this was not “most any storm.” After the slight uptick in the wind, the full force of it hit us, appearing to come at our boat from all sides. Though we couldn’t see the storm against the blackness around us, we certainly could feel it as if we were in the center of a whirlwind.

All attempts at holding our course were lost. With no stars or landmarks to guide us, we were at the mercy of this freakish, once-in-a-lifetime storm. The boat was no longer moving forward but was, instead, slowly spinning, waves crashing into it from all directions. And the boat was filling up.

Have you ever heard the sound of a wooden boat in a storm? It is unnerving. The sound of the shrieking wind, amplified by the spray of the waves, was bad enough. But the boat, as if somehow alive, was complaining under the storm’s onslaught with deafening creaks and groans as timbers rubbed against one another, literally shaking the boat as we strained at the oars. It felt as if at any moment, the boat might splinter, disintegrating, and leaving us to flounder naked in the heavy swells.

The Storm on the Sea of Galilee by Rembrandt, 1632.

You know the rest of the story. As I said, you can read versions of it in all four Gospels.

But the Gospel accounts cannot possibly convey our sense of terror. We were lost, and in more than one sense. Clearly, all navigation was useless, as we had no idea where we were or even in which direction we were moving. But more than that, we were increasingly feeling a sense of doom that we might never see Capernaum again. Our very lives were in danger of being swallowed up by the wind and the waves.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t believe many people ever feel the level of terror that we felt that night.

The ghostly figure approaching us added to the terror. He seemed otherworldly, faintly glowing in the overwhelming darkness. It was as if he was illuminated by his own internal source of light. And the fact that he was actually walking across the roiling swells added to our terror. Surely, this must be a spirit! Was it for good or for evil?

But of course, as you know, it was not a spirit, it was Jesus, and he was for good. Our good. And as you also know, he calmed the storm. We were saved and safe!

And we all know how this story ended, don’t we? Well, maybe you do, but I must admit that for me, this story never ended. No, not at all. You see, it’s not easy to live through an experience of terror, saved by nothing less than a miracle, and then just move on. For me, that has been impossible. For me, this experience has not left my conscious thoughts, and I have to say that my reflections on it deepen with the passage of time. In short, this experience still lives inside of me and I cannot rid myself of it.

What did it mean? I have asked myself that question a thousand times. I mean, I consider myself to be a brave person, and confident of my skills. At the beginning of this journey across the sea, I told my brothers that they could depend on me, that I knew what I was doing. I even made fun of my brothers who questioned the wisdom of our journey. And yet only about an hour later I was living in terror for my life. My confidence had deserted me and panic had taken over.

I had thought that I could navigate in any situation. I had thought that I would never panic. I had thought that I would never allow fear to hold me so tightly in its grip. So much of my confidence was lost in the wind and the waves and the dark.

And in reflection, I began to consider other storms. No, not ones on the Sea of Galilee. No, these were storms of life. Storms of relationships gone bad, and of terrible failures. And I began to see that my life navigational skills, the ones that I had trusted to navigate me through the experiences of life, had deserted me, often at the worst possible times.

But the most terrible storm was yet to come. You see, Jesus told us that he would be shamefully arrested and brutally killed. He told us more than once. Mostly, we purposely didn’t hear him, thinking only of our own glory in his kingdom. And when we did hear him, we disagreed, correcting him. We couldn’t allow him to face such a fate. We told him that he was wrong. We would protect him.

And then it happened, just as Jesus had said. And did we protect him? Stand up for him? Did we even stand with him? I think you know the answer to that. My shame took me back to the time on the Sea of Galilee, when I boasted that my navigational skills were up to any challenge.

The arrest, conviction and crucifixion of Jesus terrified us every bit as much as the storm on the Sea of Galilee. We were every bit as lost, and speaking for myself, panic again took over. I ran and hid myself. Partly in fear and partly in shame.

That day, the day that you call Good Friday, was the lowest point of my life. Again, I had faced a storm and again, I had failed to navigate it. And again, I had allowed terror to take over. 

Then, I remembered the words of Jesus when he came to our floundering boat. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “I am here.”

But this time, Jesus wasn’t here. He was dead, buried in a tomb with a stone sealed to keep it shut.

And so, I lived with my fears and shame in hiding for another long day. And then Sunday came. Yes, the sun-rise on Sunday brought news that Jesus was alive again! 

Again, you know the story, how the grave could not hold him, that the Father had raised Jesus, literally raised him from the dead! He was alive!

And he is alive still. 

Since that time, I have faced many more storms. And when I have, I have remembered how Jesus came to us, across the water, in the midst of the worst storm ever on the Sea of Galilee. And more, I have remembered that in the darkest storm of my life, in the worst storm in all of history, when it appeared that the Light of the World had been killed, our Lord was raised from the dead. And he came to us and said again, “Don’t be afraid, I am here.”

And what about you? Has a storm of life shaken you? Have you been terrified in the face of something that is beyond your skills to navigate it? Have you run away from it in fear and shame? Have you totally lost your bearings?

I have come to believe that each of us will face terrible storms in this life, storms that will take us beyond our personal navigational skills. All I can offer you is this: when that storm hits you, in the wind and the waves and the dark, look for Jesus. He may be coming to you in the dark, across the waves of your storm. He may be literally coming to you when you were humbled by the awesome power of death. Nothing, no power on earth, can keep him away, and when he comes, he will tell you, “Don’t be afraid, I am here.”