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| photo by chicagophoenix, on Flickr |
Job 38:1–11
Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind:
"Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Gird up your loins like a man,
I will question you, and you shall declare to me.
"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements — surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone
when the morning stars sang together
and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?
"Or who shut in the sea with doors
when it burst out from the womb? —
when I made the clouds its garment,
and thick darkness its swaddling band,
and prescribed bounds for it,
and set bars and doors,
and said, 'Thus far shall you come, and no farther,
and here shall your proud waves be stopped'?
Mark 4:35–41
On that day, when evening had come, [Jesus] said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?" And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?"
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Our readings today are full of questions. Job has questioned God about his fate. God responds with a series of questions about God’s sovereignty over all creation. The disciples question Jesus in the midst of the storm. Jesus questions them back about their fear and their faith. I’m glad that we have so many questions in our readings, because I have lots of questions, too.
I am standing here in Decorah, Iowa, but my heart is firmly planted in Charleston, South Carolina, where earlier this week, nine members of Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, a historically black church, were gunned down by a 21 year old terrorist. I have no answers today. I have no palatable word of comfort for a world struck by violence, racism, anger, despair.
Like Job, like God, like the disciples, like Jesus, today, all I have are questions. But I pray that these questions might help each of us uncover some glimmers of truth about our world, about our God, and about ourselves, and in doing so, push us toward hope.
Question #1: Who taught you to fear? (Who told you that you were naked?)
Before the disciples in today’s gospel climbed into the boat, before Jesus started his ministry, before his birth and before the prophets, before the great and not-so-great kings of Israel and Judah, before father Abraham or Moses, God appeared in the garden, as he did every day, to walk and talk with Adam and Eve, the children of his creation. And on one morning in particular, he came to the garden and found his beloved children cowering behind a bush, fearful and ashamed of their nakedness. God's first question to them "Where are you?" was followed up quickly by the question, "Who told you that you were naked?"
This is the symbol of our original brokenness: that we have been taught of our nakedness - our vulnerability - and have thus been taught to fear what God had so perfectly created.
We have all been taught to fear.
Some things are absolutely worth fearing: Riptides, oncoming traffic, tornados, wild animals, high cliffs, hot ovens, climate change. Other things are scary but improbable: Airplane crashes, the sun burning itself out, natural disasters foreign to our area of the world, our houses spontaneously catching fire.
But friends, we have also been taught to fear difference, to fear one another, to turn fear into hate. Nelson Mandela is credited with saying, "No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate."
Who was it that first taught you to cross to the other side of the road when passing men of a different race on a dark street? Who was it that taught you that faith and society alike will crumble if we let men love men and women love women? Who was it that taught you to feel personally threatened when a member of the other political party took office? Who was it that taught you to fear the future of Christ and Christianity and Christendom at the hands of Muslim immigrants, or the ongoing separation of church and state, or the rise of the "nones?"
Fear is a great motivator. It compels us to wear seatbelts, to pay attention to our diet and exercise, and to avoid rattlesnakes. But fear can also motivate us to hate. It can motivate us toward violence. It can motivate us to take up arms instead of taking up our crosses.
This first question - Who taught you to fear? - is a question that reveals our brokenness, our sinfulness, our need for God's grace.
Question #2: Why are you afraid?
Jesus, his disciples, and a small fleet of boats set out to cross the sea. While they were traveling, a storm blew in, rocking the boats, flooding them with water, blowing them off-course. The thunder roars, the lightning flashes, certain death is at hand, and Jesus has the audacity to ask the disciples, "Why are you afraid?” As if he didn’t know.
Maybe it seems just as redundant to ask myself that same question, because the answers seem obvious.
Why am I afraid?
I am afraid because even a house of worship - a sanctuary - is not safe from violent acts of terrorism.
I am afraid because violence in our world continues to be glamorized and and rationalized and dismissed; especially violence against people of color.
I am afraid because I live in a first-world, wealthy nation that still cannot figure out a way forward on issues vital to our health and security - things like gun control and hate crimes and race relations and access to mental health services.
I am afraid because even as God created each one of us in his image, with great capacity to serve, to love, and to do good in this world, I also know that each and every one of us has great capacity to also do great evil in this world; that not one of us is nearly as different from the Charleston shooter as we might like to believe we are.
What I wish I could to preach to you this morning is the message that the God who created us is the God who loves us and saves us from dark and despair and the waters that threaten to swallow us. I want to preach the good news that there is nothing to fear, that this IS the acceptable time, that this IS the day of salvation...
But how do you preach that message to the Emmanuel AME congregation? How do you say to them, "there is nothing to fear," when you know perfectly well that there is something to fear, that there are church-going gunmen whose heads and hearts are filled with such demons and darkness that they would sit through an hour of Bible Study before opening fire on an unsuspecting group of our brothers and sisters in Christ?
Question #3: Do you not care that we are perishing?
The winds blow furiously, the waves crash, the disciples fear for their lives. They look to Jesus and ask, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" It seems a reasonable question. Certainly, we, with all of our broken world, can turn our eyes to heaven and ask God, "Lord, do you not care about our broken world?" It's not a bad question.
But sometimes we are called to ask a different question.
There's one detail in today's gospel reading that most of us have probably never noticed or cared about. It’s right at the beginning of today’s lesson. Jesus leaves the crowds, calls together the disciples, and gets into a boat. And then Mark tells us, "Other boats were with him."
Other boats. Other boats were sailing across the sea. Other boats were being pummeled by the storm. Other boatfuls of people were fearing for their lives.
The disciples weren't wrong in being concerned about themselves and asking, "Do you not care that we are perishing?" But maybe they would have done better to ask the question, "Do you not care that they are perishing?"
Like the disciples, we sometimes are slow to cry out to God for healing or justice unless it is our boats that are flooding. But our calling is to care about all the boats, not just our own. This is why we have to care about Charleston. This is why we have to fight against systems of racism in our nation and society. There are other boats. And those boats are perishing.
Question #4: Have you still no faith?
So here we are. Storms rage. Boats flood. Hopes sink. Violence prevails. Hate thrives. Fear paralyzes.
What is the way forward?
The way forward is faith. Renewed faith. Faith that moves mountains.
Even as their lives are threatened by the storms, Jesus asks the disciples, "Have you still no faith?" What he's really asking is, "Do you not yet understand what faith is all about?"
The disciples have spent the entirety of Mark's 4th chapter thus far learning that the seeds of faith and the seeds of God's kingdom have been planted among them. They have been told to let their light shine before others; they have been assured that the kingdom of God is going to grow through them and beyond them, whether they like it or not; they have been taught that this kingdom is the very power of life to rise up out of death. And yet here, in the boat, these very disciples are still stuck assuming that the deepest meaning of faith is their own comfort and security. They still believe that faith is all about their own lives and their own boat and their own fears and their own seasickness.
Jesus asks, "Have you still no faith?" because if any one of us claims to have encountered the unfathomable grace and love of God, if any one of us has felt our heart strangely warmed, if any one of us has been drawn by the Spirit to cling to the promises of God from the very depths of our being, then we cannot count our faith as true if it does not set fire to our hearts and limbs, driving us out, beyond ourselves, beyond our own boats, even while the rain pounds and the wind swirls.
Have we still no faith?
Question #5: Who is this, that even the wind and waves obey him?
Brothers and sisters, there is yet one question in today's gospel that comes with a simple answer. The disciples ask, "Who is this, that even the wind and waves obey him?" Who is this who can calm the storm? Who is this who speaks peace into chaos?
Who is this? It is the Lord, Jesus Christ. God-in-the-flesh; God-in-the-boat; our Savior.
The storms may rage outside, but we continue place our trust in Christ. We do not know when the storms will pass, we do not know when the groanings of creation will cease. But we do know that Christ is our hope and our faith and our restlessness for the coming of God's kingdom.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come, Lord Jesus, and push us out us out of our boat, that we might weather the storms alongside those who are the most vulnerable.
Come, Lord Jesus, and stir us up, that we might have no more patience for oppression and injustice in our midst.
Come, Lord Jesus, and help us to listen louder than we speak.
Come, Lord Jesus, and give us a faith that betrays our trembling hearts to do courageous acts of love and mercy in the world.
Come, Lord Jesus, we pray. Still the storms. Bring us justice. Give us peace.
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