This morning’s gospel reading tells about the time when Jesus and his disciples were in a boat crossing the sea. A violent storm came up suddenly.
The disciples thought they were in great danger, but Jesus was sound asleep on a cushion in the back of the boat. The disciples, terrified, wake Jesus and say, “Don’t you care if we are perishing.”
I’ve had some anxious moments in a boat. One of the more fearful incidents happened on a Sunday afternoon when my brother-in-law and I were sailing on Barnegat Bay. Suddenly a thick fog bank rolled over us, and our vision was reduced to the point where we could hardly see the front of our vessel. We weren’t worried about where we were or how to get home. We had a compass and we knew the waters well. What scared us was the screaming engines of other boaters out on the water. Those boats were moving fast, too fast. We assumed that they had started their Sunday cocktail hour early and should not have been out on the water. We knew that if we couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see us. It was very dangerous. Nervously we headed for the nearest shoreline and hugged the coast for safety.
Now if I had seen Jesus sleeping in the stern of our sailboat I don’t think that I would have awakened him with the question, “Don’t you care that we are perishing?” I think I would have let out a great sigh of relief. Better to have Jesus in the boat with us asleep than not to have Jesus at all.
But then again, Jesus was in the boat with us. Jesus is always in the boat with us. He does not desert us, especially in danger.
In the name of the ever-present and blessed Savior, I greet you with God’s grace, God’s mercy, and God’s peace.
But Jesus was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and the disciples woke him up and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?"
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come?” the Psalmist asked. He answers, “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.” (Ps. 121:1-4)
A God who neither slumbers nor sleeps that’s how we want God to be. We want a God who stays awake, a God who watches over us 24-7. Therefore we call God omnipresent. He is always available everywhere. Therefore we call God omniscient. He sees everything. We want a God who is like a good shepherd, someone who is vigilant.
We want a God who answers prayer, especially when the storms of life frighten us. We want a God who’s at our beck and call, especially when we’re alone or in the dark.
Then there is Jesus, who we see as the personification of God, asleep on the cushion in the stern of the boat. That’s unsettling. The disciples were upset. They wake him up and ask him, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” What’s the matter with you, Jesus? How can you sleep when our lives are threatened?
There are times when we experience God in the same way as the disciples did. There are times when we think that God is asleep at the switch. At times we feel that way when we look at the world. When children die because of parental abuse we ask why God lets such things happen. When hundreds of thousands die because of civil war, or starvation, or aids we ask, “How can God allow this to happen? Sometimes we think that God is not keeping an eye on things, or even worse, that God has abandoned his world.
Those thoughts and feelings are even more unsettling when we are going through private or personal pain. There are times when we are beyond consolation. Some time our pain is too deep, our grief is too profound, and we feel godforsaken.
And like the disciples we can get upset or even angry. “Do you not care if we are perishing?” There was a church member who faithfully played the piano in church every Sunday. When her daughter became ill, she said, “If my daughter doesn’t recover, I will never play the piano again in church.” He daughter died and she kept her promise. Never again did she play a note for God’s people.
We can understand her anger and her hurt. Her reaction might have been extreme. Did she think that God had singled out her daughter? Did she think that she was exempt from the pain and heartaches of life? Did she think that God should be at her beck and call? Did she think she was hurting God by being so angry? I don’t know, but people are funny that way.
It’s happened to me on numerous occasions. And, sometimes I’ve been hurt. John and Mary, who had been members of the church for a long time, come to my office and say, “Pastor, we’re looking for another church. We’re just not being fed here at this church. Oh, it’s not your sermons. They’re great. It’s just like we’re not satisfied here.”
I’m hurt that they are leaving. And, I wonder how the church has not met their needs. But then I ask myself, “Is that our purpose in being a church?”
I realize that these issues aren’t mutually exclusive. We can seek to meet our own needs and seek to meet the others as well. We can seek God’s love and grace, and worship God as well. But we need to get our priorities in order.
There is a curious phrase at the beginning of the gospel passage we read this morning. “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 Jesus with them in the boat, just as he was.” They took Jesus with them in the boat, just as he was. What does it mean that they took Jesus just as he was?
I really don’t know. But I do know that often we try to remake Jesus into what we expect him to be.
There’s the old hymn we sometimes sing, “Just as I am though tossed about with many a conflict, many a doubt, fightings within, without, O Lamb of God, I come.” If we can go to Jesus just as we are, can’t we let Jesus come to us just as he is. Jesus comes to us as the Lamb of God. Jesus comes to us as the crucified one. Jesus comes to us as the Risen Savior. Jesus comes to us as Lord.
And, Jesus comes with us in our boat, just as he is, and sometimes he sleeps.
On this Father’s Day I am reminded of something I saw my father do many years ago.
When I was a little boy I was afraid of thunderstorms. Perhaps my fear was aggravated by my sister who told me that the thunder was God speaking. Or perhaps my fear was aggravated because my older brother told me that thunder was God’s way of telling us that he was angry.
Whatever it was I was terrified of thunder and lightning. When there was a thunderstorm, I would hide under the table, or under my bed with my eyes closed tightly and my hands over my ears. One day, during the middle of the day a violent thunderstorm visited us. It was a weekday my father was home for lunch. After lunch he would often take a nap before he went back to work. The thunder rolled and lightning flashed and my father decided to take a nap. He went to the divan in the living room and went to sleep and he snored.
I was incredulous. How could he sleep in the midst of a storm? And as I thought about it I realized that if my father, being as old and wise as he was, could sleep right through a storm, it couldn’t be all that bad, and my fears eased up.
It’s not so bad having Jesus fast asleep in the back of our boat. Thank God he is in the boat with us. Amen.