Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL Year B, Proper 7,
at Holy Cross Episcopal Church in Trussville, Alabama
Beloved sisters and brothers, let us look to the Lord.
May only God’s word be spoken,
May God’s word be heard.
In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.
In preparing for this week, some conversations were brought to
mind about the nature of God. How sometimes we lean too exclusively toward the
transcendence of God – God as mighty and distant and all powerful, and
concerned only with judging us. Then at other times we tend to lean too much on
the immanence of God. Believing that God is present in a personal way. You
know, God as your buddy, your life coach, the one who hooks you up with that
sweet parking space. A god more like the parody religious icon of “Buddy Christ”
in the film Dogma.
In the midst of this, it might seem that if God
walked into the room, the question may no longer be whether anyone would
recognize God. The question instead might be whether anyone would stand up.
Maybe we, sometimes, make God so personal that
we no longer touch the mystery of God’s holiness. Perhaps, instead, we create a
God that is some kind of eccentric, benevolent, wealthy uncle. But if we think
that God is so removed and unknowable and arbitrary and disengaged, we miss the
reality of how God reveals God’s self in the absolute ordinary.
Today’s Gospel seems to point to the fact that
God is immanent: God is actually in the boat and in the storm. But also points
to the fact that God is transcendent. God commands the wind and the waves, and…
they… stop.
So here we have a great windstorm arising,
waves beating into the boat, boat being swamped.
As an aside, being fearful while in a storm at
sea is not exactly an irrational fear, especially when compared to something
like pogonophobia. In fact it would probably affect attendance here at Holy
Cross if there was an outbreak of pogonophobia, (turning and smiling at our bearded rector) which is a fear of beards. So
it’s easy to imagine what might have happened if the disciples had awakened
Jesus from his exhausted slumber out of a mortal fear of their own beards, then
we would be having quite a different conversation.
That being said, I have to admit, this “Jesus
asleep in the boat” story has always seemed a bit unfair because they were on
the Sea of Galilee which is known for its violent storms. This happens because
of differences in temperatures between the seacoast and the mountains beyond;
storms come up quickly and can be life-threatening to anyone on its waters. The
fact of a storm is not all that unusual, but apparently the ferocity of this
particular storm was.
Doesn’t take much imagination for me — if I
were in some rickety first century boat in the middle of a terrifying storm,
with water rising about my ankles, most everyone else on the boat panicking,
and then there’s Jesus… in the back of the boat taking a nap on a pillow — to think
that I’d be a little irritated. Though we know that the disciples can bring
plenty of grief on themselves, I don’t think that we can blame them on this
one. I don’t think that you can blame them for thinking, “Jesus, why don’t you
care that we are, like, you know, dying here?!”
If they were freaking out it was not due to
neuroses or an anxiety disorder: their boat was about to sink. As human beings
we are wired for certain responses when we feel threatened. Adrenalin is
released in our brains, our heart rate increases, our pupils dilate, and we
become hyperaware of what’s going on around us.
So, here we are with the disciples who have accompanied
Jesus in this boat. Granted, some have fished for a living and will be
accustomed to storms at sea, but of course we still can’t transcend our animal
brain chemistry. Oh, and don’t want to neglect to mention, that they are also not
accustomed to having a passenger who might have the power to protect
them from harm.
Also, at this point in Mark, Jesus’ identity is
still unclear and the disciple’s faith tenuous on a good day. This event, then,
has the opportunity to become a moment of clarity in the midst of the chaos of
the storm: clarity as to Jesus’ true identity and power, and clarity as to the
desperate need of the disciples – and you and me – for the calming, healing
power that only Jesus can provide.
So, in their fear and desperation, the
disciples wake Jesus and raise what sounds to me, and I don’t know any way to
describe it other than, an accusatory plea, “Teacher, do you not care that we
are perishing?”
This is not an unusual cry to hear, then or
now, whether or not it’s from people of faith. The hard truth, as we know it, is
that fearsome things are very real: isolation, pain, illness, meaninglessness,
rejection, losing one’s job, money problems, failure, illness, and death. They
often leave us crying out to God, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” As
we grow in faith, as we do work together in community, we come to understand
that even though such fearsome things are very real, they do not have the last
word. And only when we have articulated those feelings – and the anger beneath
them – can we be still and listen for a word from God.
Jesus speaks such a word when he rebukes the
wind and the waves saying, “Peace! Be still!” After that, the scripture tells
us, “the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm”.
Of course this is not the first or only
instance of the power of God’s word, here embodied in Jesus, to do great
things.
- God
spoke and brought into being all creation out of formless void.
- God spoke again, and God’s word became flesh
in Jesus Christ.
- In between, God’s word called a nation into
being and inspired prophets who guided that nation.
It can also be easy to forget that God’s all
powerful word is still being spoken amid the noise and chaos of our lives and
world. And like Jesus’ word of peace spoken over the raging storm, God’s word
still destroys the forces that threaten to do us harm and still calms our
deepest fears. As Martin Luther wrote, “ ‘one little word’, the word, ‘above
all earthy powers’, can ‘fell’ whatever darkness threatens to undo us.”
The word spoken by Jesus in this reading from
the Gospel of Mark, is a word of peace and stillness. It is a word that I need
to hear, perhaps each of us needs to hear, every day. There are always storms
large and small, in our lives, in our work, wherever we find ourselves, that
call for a word of peace. Like the disciples, we are challenged in the midst of
those storms to rediscover our faith in the promise of God’s powerful word. The
question that Jesus poses to the disciples, is the question he continues to
pose to us in our moments of despair, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no
faith?” The disciples are rendered speechless in the face of Jesus’ work. They
respond with awe and with the glimmer of understanding of the nature and power
of Jesus.
Finally, I leave us with Paul, who expresses so
eloquently not only the paradox of grace in vulnerability but also the
disciple’s vocation:
“We are treated as
impostors, and yet are true;
as unknown, and yet are
well known;
as dying, and see—we
are alive;
as punished, and yet
not killed;
as sorrowful, yet
always rejoicing;
as poor, yet making
many rich;
as having nothing, and
yet possessing everything.”
Thanks be to God!
Amen. Alleluia.
