From Mark 4:35-41.
Mark 4:35 says, “That day, when evening came…” Now, it was the same day Jesus had been teaching along the Sea of Galilee, and the crowds, you’ll remember, had become so numerous that Jesus had to get into a little boat and push out from the shore.
The terrain here formed a sort of natural amphitheater, dropping a couple hundred feet right there by the shore. So we can envision the crowds in a sort of stadium-style seating, and Jesus on a floating stage. And he was teaching them in parables, and I have to imagine that the water must have been quite calm that day, to maintain a small boat in a still place by the shore, and for such a crowd to be able to hear him teaching over even the faintest sound of a gentle breeze and the waves breaking on the shore.
But it says here that when evening came, Jesus suggested they take that same small boat and leave the crowds behind, and travel some 8 or 10 miles across the middle of the north part of the Sea of Galilee, he says, “to the other side.”
It seems a little odd that they would set out to sea in the evening. But since the weather had been good, the disciples climbed into this boat. Now it appears that they may not have all fit in that boat so some of them, and perhaps some small portion of the crowds, also got into a few other boats, and they all set out into the evening on the calm waters of the sea.
It was quiet and uneventful, so Jesus, tired as he may have been from a full day of teaching, went to the rearmost part of the ship—the place where the captain’s quarters would be—and he found a cushion and fell asleep.
But verse 37 says that a furious storm blew in. And what had been a calm evening, suddenly changed. The winds it says began to blow—not a single gust or a breeze, but a driving wind that began to toss the sea and the ships violently. The waves, which had been calm when they set out, were suddenly so high that they were breaking, we’re told, over the bow of the boat.
The ship was nearly swamped—with the water accumulating faster than it could be bailed out. The disciples and the crew became overwhelmed, and thinking they were going to die, I imagine they stopped for a moment and looked around in desperation for help and remembered that Jesus must be here somewhere, but he was certainly not helping.
I can picture them shouting over the noise of the wind and waves at one another, the rain driving in their faces, their coats drenched… when someone remembers having seen Jesus head to the stern. And the disciples rushed to find him, probably not sure what he could or would do, but exasperated at the reality that Jesus, who had gotten them into this mess, was not helping them get out of it.
It’s interesting the choice of the word furious to describe the storm. Its use is a form of anthropomorphism, applying the nature and character of a person to something which is not. And the word carries this whole range of meaning that is so much more than furious, or what I would read as angry.
The word is powerful. In control. It means great, in mass or weight or measure. It implies intensity and volume and rank and esteem. And this same word is used to characterize the goodness of God, which is of the greatest degree.
So here is this storm, which seizes power, and takes control. It is so great that no man could overcome it. Intense. It was a storm like they had never seen before.
And it may be how you’re feeling today. You’re searching for a reprieve from the craziness of your life, but sitting here this moment, your to-do list screams in your ear. There is some great demand on your energy—your emotional energy—that like a wind that won’t stop blowing, threatens to knock you over.
Some waves of grief or failure or some great mass or weight of responsibility pounds into your life like the waves that broke over the bow of that little boat. And you’re not up to your knees, or your elbows, you’re in so deep that the pummeling waves threated to swamp you, to sink you, to overcome you.
And gasping for a breath, for silence, for some moment of rest, you cry out like the disciples, “Jesus, don’t you care if I drown?”
And Jesus gets up sort of slower than I think they would have liked. Perhaps he stretched and yawned, and looked around at the chaos. And Mark 4:39 says he rebuked the storm. He put it in its place. He says to the storm: You rage and you threaten and you make all this noise but you are nothing. Be still… actually, he says, Be quiet. Silence!
Its two words he uses: the first is hush, and the second is like putting a muzzle on a dog.
You see, Jesus doesn’t just speak over the wind and the waves, he actually silences them. He made the seas, he made the wind and the waves, and he can quiet them.
Jeremiah 31:35 says that it was the Lord who stirred up the seas, and here we see that this Jesus, our Lord, has the power to quiet them.
And again, in Psalm 65:5-8, we find in a Psalm of David, singing praise to God, where David says:
You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds,
God our Savior,
the hope of all the ends of the earth
and of the farthest seas,
6 who formed the mountains by your power,
having armed yourself with strength,
7 who stilled the roaring of the seas,
the roaring of their waves,
and the turmoil of the nations.
8 The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
where morning dawns, where evening fades,
you call forth songs of joy.
Jesus’ action—his authority over the wind and the seas—proves his identity to be God. And standing there in the stillness of the night once again, the only fear left in the disciples is one of awe and reverence at their Lord. A moment ago they had feared the seas, but now they stand trembling before the Lord himself.
You see, they had feared the power and wrath of God in the storm, but now they feared the power and grace of Christ in the stillness, in the quiet.
