Usually when I read this story, I think to myself how nice it is that Jesus's very breath controls the storms. After experiencing some truly stormy weather in the south, I appreciate how great and powerful that is even more now. I love that reminder, I love this story and I don't get tired of reading it. But yesterday when I came across those familiar words, I set down my coffee and using both hands, lifted up my Bible close to my face. I read the words out loud, slowly. Questions started filling my mind. What? Why would he respond that way? Is he irritated that they asked for his help? Is he empowering us to stop our own storms? Doesn't he always want us to come to him when we're afraid? When the waters rising and the storm is raging? Do not people drown on boats? What are the disciples doubting, exactly?
It seems so normal, so human, to be afraid when death is approaching. When you're in danger. When the water's pouring in the boat. To cry out to him, "I'm drowning! Help me!" Doesn't David do this all throughout the psalms? Can't I do this too? His reaction to the disciples in this story makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't match up with what I've decided about Jesus. Because all too often, I go running to him in sheer panic, tears streaming down my face as I ask for his help. This story makes me wonder how many times a day, when anxiety overtakes me, he asks me where is your faith? And is, perhaps, disappointed or hurt by my doubt.
I usually feel pretty justified in my anxiety. Why shouldn't I? If it's not one thing around here, it's another. From cancer to terrorism, and everything in between, there's a lot to worry about. But obviously Jesus wasn't telling the disciples they weren't justified in their fears. He doesn't even mention that. And actually, Luke writes that the disciples were in real danger, as the sea filled their boat.
I thought about that story the rest of my day, wondering what he meant. Why he said that, if he was mad or not. I flipped through different versions of the Bible, reading the same verses, thinking maybe I'm just misunderstanding him. I asked Matt about it, trying to pick his Bible-educated brain to find my answer. I was eager to find an explanation for this passage. I didn't want to think that Jesus would be disappointed in me, in my fear, if I called for his help.
I thought about it again this morning as I cleaned up dishes from breakfast. That's my favorite place where we meet, God and me. My mind is cleared from distractions as I monotonously sud up bowls and plates while we talk. I get answers from him over the sink and it helps me not to grow bitter about how often I find myself there, slipping on rubber gloves. Sometimes I (poorly) sing hymns and sometimes I rant and rave to him. Either way, I experience his presence.
While scrubbing baking pans and batter-covered mixing bowls, I got my answer from him. I repeated the passage to myself again, having it memorized by now. It looks a little different than most of the passages in the Bible about fear and anxiety, but it also looks exactly the same. He's telling us not to fear, but to take his peace and trust. He wants us to believe that he is taking care of us, that he has a plan and he loves us. As I dried the dishes, I thought back on a few times I'd run to him, panicked and afraid. I remembered the several times he's seated me next to fellow believers on flights while traveling alone, easing my anxiety about flying. I thought about how he seamlessly handled every detail as we packed up in a frantic attempt to be with family during a crisis. I remembered his physical presence the night my friend's lifeless body was found. Countless situations crossed my mind where I was overwhelmed with anxiety and God protected me. And comforted me. It occurred to me that although he pointed out the disciples doubt, he stopped the storm first. Of course I can come to him when I'm afraid, when has he ever abandoned me in my troubles?
He doesn't tell us "fear not" 365 times in the Bible because there's a lack of fearful things, he says it because we have an abundance of him. His peace, his plan, his provision. Most importantly, his presence. Anxiety is the ultimate faith-snatcher. It leaves you alone and overwhelmed, shutting out truth. So why then, does he seemingly scold them when they run to him?
I thought about that story the rest of my day, wondering what he meant. Why he said that, if he was mad or not. I flipped through different versions of the Bible, reading the same verses, thinking maybe I'm just misunderstanding him. I asked Matt about it, trying to pick his Bible-educated brain to find my answer. I was eager to find an explanation for this passage. I didn't want to think that Jesus would be disappointed in me, in my fear, if I called for his help.
I thought about it again this morning as I cleaned up dishes from breakfast. That's my favorite place where we meet, God and me. My mind is cleared from distractions as I monotonously sud up bowls and plates while we talk. I get answers from him over the sink and it helps me not to grow bitter about how often I find myself there, slipping on rubber gloves. Sometimes I (poorly) sing hymns and sometimes I rant and rave to him. Either way, I experience his presence.
While scrubbing baking pans and batter-covered mixing bowls, I got my answer from him. I repeated the passage to myself again, having it memorized by now. It looks a little different than most of the passages in the Bible about fear and anxiety, but it also looks exactly the same. He's telling us not to fear, but to take his peace and trust. He wants us to believe that he is taking care of us, that he has a plan and he loves us. As I dried the dishes, I thought back on a few times I'd run to him, panicked and afraid. I remembered the several times he's seated me next to fellow believers on flights while traveling alone, easing my anxiety about flying. I thought about how he seamlessly handled every detail as we packed up in a frantic attempt to be with family during a crisis. I remembered his physical presence the night my friend's lifeless body was found. Countless situations crossed my mind where I was overwhelmed with anxiety and God protected me. And comforted me. It occurred to me that although he pointed out the disciples doubt, he stopped the storm first. Of course I can come to him when I'm afraid, when has he ever abandoned me in my troubles?
It's not okay to be afraid or to give myself over to anxiety so quickly in a moment of doubt. Yet not running to him with my anxieties is also a moment of doubt. But I have to expect that when I do, he'll hold my hand, look into my fear-stricken eyes and ask me why I'm not trusting him. Perhaps his question to the disciples wasn't an accusation, but a reminder.
Not understanding exactly what's going on in this story doesn't change what is true about Jesus. I know his character and I know it never changes. He loves us, he's with us during the terrifying times and he wants us to have faith in him. Not faith that it will always turn out right or that we will always be perfectly safe, but faith that he is who he says he is and will do what he says he'll do. Faith to read Scripture that confuses me and still close my Bible and believe in him.
I might always struggle with anxiety. With idiolizing my safety. But in an attempt to be freed from it, I need to remind myself, as it creeps in, where is my faith? It's in him. Him. Whose voice commands the storms. Who's on the boat with us. Who brought us on the boat in the first place. Who conquered pain, suffering and death, the things we fear the very most.
Not understanding exactly what's going on in this story doesn't change what is true about Jesus. I know his character and I know it never changes. He loves us, he's with us during the terrifying times and he wants us to have faith in him. Not faith that it will always turn out right or that we will always be perfectly safe, but faith that he is who he says he is and will do what he says he'll do. Faith to read Scripture that confuses me and still close my Bible and believe in him.
I might always struggle with anxiety. With idiolizing my safety. But in an attempt to be freed from it, I need to remind myself, as it creeps in, where is my faith? It's in him. Him. Whose voice commands the storms. Who's on the boat with us. Who brought us on the boat in the first place. Who conquered pain, suffering and death, the things we fear the very most.
Carly! It's official--the student has become the teacher. This post is so powerful! I love the whole thing, but the final paragraph in particular. Recently I was perusing the dozens of Beth Moore bible studies, and did choose one, but I'm discovering that I didn't really need to look beyond my own back yard (yes, that's a real saying :) -- YOU have a gift, and I am blessed by what you write. Thank you my love.
ReplyDelete