View full service HERE. Sermon begins at 34 minutes.
Pentecost 4B
June 20, 2021
Mark 4:35-41
INTRODUCTION
So, how many of you have ever faced a trial or hardship in your life? Anyone? Then this Sunday’s readings are for you! We begin with the classic story of overcoming suffering: Job. In case you aren’t familiar with Job’s story, Job is a righteous man who falls victim to a dirty trick by the devil, who tries to convince God that Job isn’t so righteous. Job endures many trials – death of his whole family and livestock, sores and boils, big stuff – and his friends try to comfort him by explaining the pain, but to no avail. Job gets frustrated, but remains faithful. Finally, God speaks – that’s what we will hear today – and God doesn’t try to explain anything. Instead, God gives Job reason to trust Him.
The Apostle Paul will likewise recount some of the sufferings the Corinthian community has endured, finally assuring them that God is always working for our salvation.
And finally, the story of the stilling of the storm in Mark. You may remember me telling you way back before Lent that Mark’s Gospel is all about how Jesus is breaking down barriers and crossing thresholds, and today’s story is definitely that. Jesus begins by saying, “Let’s go to the other side,” in this case, away from the relatively safe land of Israelite country, to the Gentile territory across the lake. And in that liminal space between, they encounter a storm – as we so often do in liminal spaces! Yet here, too, Jesus proves he can be trusted.
And that’s really the overarching theme of today’s texts: that God is trustworthy, whatever trials we may be facing. As you listen, think about what storms you are facing right now, or what in-between spaces you are living in, and hear God’s Word reminding you to trust, and commanding your heart to have peace and be still. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
This week, New York state set off fireworks all across the state in celebration of reaching the 70% threshold – 70% of eligible people are vaccinated, meaning we are pretty darn close to herd immunity. Almost all restrictions were lifted. And there was much rejoicing.
And… there was also not much rejoicing. After over a year of caution and isolation, and the trauma of so much loss, coming out of hiding is not easy or immediate or comfortable for many. As I have spoken with some of my colleagues this week, we have all agreed: it was easier to be in full lock-down. Then, though it was fearful and difficult, we at least knew exactly what we needed to do. Now, no matter what decisions are made, someone feels uneasy about it. Our leadership is constantly questioning and requestioning every decision as we strive to be faithful, compassionate, and safe in leading our congregation. We are all too aware that while some are ready to leave the graveclothes behind and jump with both feet into this new life the vaccine has given us, others (especially those with young children who cannot yet be vaccinated, or who are immunocompromised) are still cautiously peeking round the door, uncertain whether they are quite ready to head whole hog into the next phase. Still others feel physically safe, but, having spent the past year being in proximity to so few people, are feeling some social anxiety – as my friend put it, “I’m anxious about people-ing again.” And still others may be feeling all of those things at the very same time!
For us to live in community together, friends, we need to recognize that we are all at different points in this journey. We got on the pandemic train at one point last year, and we are being dropped off at different points. We can’t assume we know best what others should be doing and why. Instead, we must strive to have compassion for one another, wherever we may be along this track.
For moments like this, I just love this story in Mark about Jesus stilling the storm. I sometimes ask people if there are certain Bible stories that they especially resonate with as they walk through this life of faith, and for me, this is one, especially when I find myself in a liminal place – between the familiarity of my docking point and the unfamiliarity of my destination. Because what Jesus and his disciples’ experience on the sea of Galilee is so reflective of those liminal, in-between spaces in life. Let’s see how.
First, there is the storm. Liminal places can often feel stormy. For me right now, that storm feels like constantly questioning all my decisions, and holding everyone’s pandemic-related concerns. It’s the monkey-brain and overthinking that goes along with making important decisions. Liminal storms often feel like not knowing how to handle simultaneously feeling the extremes of emotion – for example, excited and anxious. Sometimes storms look like the fighting and tension that often happens when a major life change comes about – a move, a new job, a death, a shift in the family system. Oh, how we long, in these moments, to go back to shore, or to quickly get across, or do anything but stay in the uncertainty of the chaotic waters in-between! In the disciples’ case, that emotional storm is also a physical one, as waves come crashing down on them. It is almost better that way, isn’t it, to have this physical thing to which to tie the fears and anxiety.
And so they call out, “Hey Jesus, what are you doing?? Don’t you care that we are perishing?” This, too, is such a familiar cry! Blinded by the waves crashing down and the rocking floor beneath us, we cannot always sense Jesus with us. And in our desperation, the prayer isn’t, “Show yourself, Jesus,” it is, “Don’t you even care??” We feel lost and alone in the storm.
But of course, we aren’t alone. Jesus is there. In his non-anxious way, he stares down what troubles us – whether the waves of the storm, or more likely, the storminess of our hearts and the doubts that blind us – and he rebukes them: “Peace! Be still!”
This is my favorite moment of the whole story. And it is certainly meant to be climactic. Throughout Scripture, water often represents chaos. In Genesis, we read that God’s Spirit moved over the waters, the chaos, the lack of order in the universe, and God began to bring order and meaning to it. In the flood story, the chaotic waters overcome the evil of the world, but God reigns above. The Psalms often draw upon that image of God ruling the waters, and we see it very strongly and beautifully described in Job: “Who shut in the sea with doors when it burst forth from the womb?” God asks. Who tamed these wild waters? God, and God alone. No wonder the disciples are amazed: even the wind and the sea obey Jesus, and they know that God alone has the power to tame the wind and sea!
But the reason it is meaningful to me is this: if God can tame the stormy and chaotic waters of the world, God can also tame the storms and chaos of my heart. “Peace, be still!” Jesus commands the sea, and so also these words can command my heart. I have used these words as my prayer, asking Jesus to use them on my own storminess. I find great comfort in knowing that, whatever storms may rattle my being, Jesus has the power to calm them with a very word, if I would but have ears to hear. “Peace. Be still!”
But the next part is also particularly meaningful for us these days. “There was a dead calm,” Mark tells us. To me, that doesn’t feel like a peaceful image. It feels like an eerie, still cautious image, as if they can’t quite believe they are safe. Jesus names it: “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And Mark adds that the disciples were filled with great awe, a word which is often translated as terror. You see, they were not yet to the peace. Peace did not come immediately. Even though the storm was gone, they still had residual feelings of awe and fear.
Which brings me back to where we are, nearing but not yet to the end of a pandemic. Just because the storm of the past 16 months has quieted does not mean that our feelings about it suddenly disappear. Many still feel cautious and anxious. And all of us will be processing its emotional impact for years to come.
And that is okay. Relief in a liminal place doesn’t come immediately. It takes time. We are wise to recognize and name that it is okay not to be okay yet. And it is also okay if you are okay! But wherever you find yourself in the in-between-ness of these days, know that Jesus is with you in it. He’s right in your boat with you, ready to rebuke the storms. And he is trustworthy. The God who first brought order to the chaotic waters, and who, in our baptism, turned those waters into a source of life, continually brings life and order, peace, and stillness to our chaos. We stand in awe and disbelief… even as we cling to our living and powerful God, who will not let us perish.
Let us pray… God of the wind and the sea, the in-between places we find ourselves in can feel stormy and uncertain. Speak peace and stillness to the storminess of our hearts, and help us to trust you always. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment