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Jesus the peaceful One

SIMPLY JESUS: The Peaceful One

Text: Mark 4:35-41

April 2, 2006

      Let me take a survey.

      How many of you have children?

      How many of you have normal hearing?

      How many of you with normal hearing just never heard your cranky child in the night, and relied on your spouse to hear and take care of things?

      How many of you felt the “accidental” elbow in the ribs when your spouse returned to bed?

      It is one of life’s great mysteries: men can notice the slightest change in the sound of a car’s engine, but be totally oblivious to the cry of a thirsty child at 3 a.m.

      And isn’t it even more amazing that Jesus is sleeping in the midst of something much louder than a baby’s whine?

      The Bible says he was in a boat when a “great” storm arose. Not just any storm, mind you. The Amplified Bible calls it “a storm of hurricane proportion.” The wind is screaming through the mast and boards. Waves are pounding, and starting to fill the boat. You can imagine the cracks of lightning and the sonic booms of thunder. It’s pitch black.

      And what’s Jesus doing?

      Sleeping.

      You can rest assured that the disciples aren’t.

      They’re doing something very constructive.

      They’re going… “AHHHHHH!”

      They’re petrified. The last thing they can do is sleep.

      They’re the ones up with the cranky child, the cranky storm.

      You can imagine them scurrying all over the boat in the midst of the watery mess they find themselves in. They were Barney Fife clones: patching holes caulking between the boards, bailing water, looking out for rocks, looking up in hopes of a clearing sky—all the while crying to one another, “Oh, it’s just terrible, TERRIBLE.”

      After a while, their fear turns to anger—just as a parent, after being up hours with the sleepless child, could be angry with the still-sleeping spouse.

      Imagine what they’re thinking: [impersonate]

      JESUS GOT US INTO THIS MESS…AND NOW HE’S SLEEPING!

      If he hadn’t said, “Let’s take a boat ride,” we wouldn’t be here, about to become fish food.

      If he hadn’t said, “Let’s take a boat ride,” we could be in a dry house, playing 7-card Hebrew Hold’em in the back room [Jesus never knew we gambled, you see.]

      How dare he sleep.

      You know, we ought to wake him up. He has no right to drown peacefully. He ought to be as terrified as we are, before we die. He ought to wake up and go “AHHHHH!” along with us.

      Let’s wake him up:

      “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

      By the way, how many times have you said that?

      You’re a nice person. You live a good life. You go to church. You believe in God.

      And still, a storm with gale-force winds blows in out of nowhere. Unfair, painful things happen to you—perhaps out of no fault of your own. Unfair, painful things happen to you—perhaps because you listened to Jesus, got into his boat, and now it’s about to sink.

      At first you think you can deal with the storm. You bail out the water. You patch the holes. You think you can wait it out. But you look up, and the sky only grows darker.

      And you finally think, “Hey, I believe in Jesus. I’m in his boat, after all. He invited me to go sailing with him. He ought to be awake with me. He ought to know my fright, and make me feel safe and cozy. Keep people alive. Take away the pain. Right the wrongs.”

      But this doesn’t happen.

      And after a while, the same words are on your lips as they were on the disciples:

      “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

      So—WHY is Jesus sleeping? I think we find the answer in how he responded to the 12 Barney Fifes

      After he’s awakened, he stills the storm. It’s interesting how he says it—”Hush, waves, be quiet”—just like you’d say to an unruly child. The disciples couldn’t quiet the crying child. But when Jesus wakes up, with just four words, the winds die and the sea calms.

      And he turns to his drenched, gasping followers and says the most interesting thing. It’s puzzling, and it’s fascinating.

      “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

      Look closely at his response.

      “Do you STILL have no faith?”

      He was assuming that they knew him by that time.

      After all, by the time they set foot in that boat…

      …They had seen Jesus heal people with everything from fevers and leprosy to paralysis and insanity.

      …They had heard him teach: he’d opened up life to them in new ways, and had shown them fresh glimpses of God’s face.

      …They had seen him stand up to mean-spirited religious authorities, and put them in their place.

      And now, in the boat, after he calms the storm, he turns to them surprised.

“You should know me by now. You should know me well enough to know that simply being with me is enough. Whether I’m awake or asleep, you’ll be safe from the deep. I won’t let you down, I won’t let you drown.”

      You know, I wonder.

      Do you think Jesus was actually sleeping, or just pretending to sleep? After all, he must have had good hearing.

      Maybe, just maybe, he was keeping his eyes shut and praying for the 12 scared men. Praying that they would have the faith that would carry them through this storm, and future storms.

      Maybe he was praying that they would react to him with faith and trust when things weren’t clear sailing.

      Maybe he was praying that they would be calming down and huddling close to him when the squalls blew in.

      Maybe he was hoping that they wouldn’t yell at him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” Maybe he was hoping that they would whisper as they cling to him, “We trust you. We are not afraid.”

      You know, it would be an accurate portrait if someone painted the scene of Jesus waking up in the front of the boat, while the disciples are having nervous breakdowns.

      How beautiful it would have been had an artist been able to paint a picture of Jesus asleep in the front of the boat, and twelve men huddled about him, clinging to him, asleep as well.

      That is a portrait that’s never been painted.

      But do you think you could start painting it in your life?

      You pick up the paint brush when you stop and remember just how powerful and peace-producing this man in the boat with you really is.

      When I became a Christian as a teenager, I’d take the Bible with me and go into the woods behind our farm house. Sitting under a tree overlooking a small lake, I’d open the Gospels and pretend that Jesus was talking just to me as I read them.

      One summer afternoon I was reading in John’s Gospel, chapter 14:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

      Those words were new, fresh, powerful to my young ears.

      I continued reading, and came to the end of the chapter:

      “Rise, let us go hence.”

      Now, when you think Jesus is talking straight to you, you do as he said.

      So I arose.

      And in the years that followed, because I believed in Jesus, everything was wonderful and rosy. In the years that followed, my parents never died. I was always in perfect health. I never had doubts about my vocation. I did not go through two broken engagements.

      And when you arose, and because you believed in Jesus, everything was wonderful and rosy. You were never fired from a job. You were never on a battlefield, seeing unimaginable horror. You were never diagnosed with something that a pill, shot, or procedure couldn’t cure. You were never subjected to cruel peer pressure. You were never subjected to unjust rules and regulations, powerless to do anything about them. You were never tempted to isolate yourself from higher causes out of fear of the consequences.

      No, you can bear testimony this morning to the power of Jesus. You’ve been through all that and more, and you can testify: Jesus NEVER abandons those who take boat rides with him. He NEVER jumps out of the boat and walks across the water to shore.

      I don’t know what storm you might be enduring right now. I don’t know what storm might blow in tomorrow.

      But Jesus stays in the boat with you, making sure the storm passes.

      Look at him up there in the front. He might really be asleep—he’s so calm in the midst of the storm. He’s unafraid in what seems to be the face of death. Isn’t his courage alone contagious?

      Look at him up there in the front. He might be just be appearing to be asleep. He might really be praying for you. Praying that you respond like he wished those 12 men would have responded, in their storm. Maybe he’s praying that you’ll huddle close to him as the waves pound over the side of the ship. Maybe he’s praying that you’ll remember what he’s done in your life. Maybe he’s praying that you’ll say, “I trust you. I am not afraid.”

      And if you answer his prayer, then you may discover your prayer being answered. You may see the Master open an eye and smile, even as the rain hits his face. And he will say to you, huddled next to him, “My peace I give to you…Let not your heart be troubled. Don’t be afraid.”

      Wouldn’t you rather be in the boat with Jesus seemingly sleeping, than outside the boat, with you sinking?

      Sleeping or waking, Jesus loves you with a love that will not let you go. Sleeping or waking, Jesus is the ruler of the wind and wave. He WILL calm the storm in HIS time, and in HIS way.

NRSV