Silencing the Storm—Lectionary Reflection for Pentecost 5B (Mark 4)

Mark 4:35-41 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

³⁵ On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” ³⁶ And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. ³⁷ A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. ³⁸ But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion, and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” ³⁹ And waking up, he rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Be silent! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. ⁴⁰ He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” ⁴¹ And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

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                When Jesus crosses the Sea of Galilee/Lake of Tiberius you know you’re in for an adventure. Sometimes Jesus walks on water and at others, he sleeps through storms. Often such crossings come after a long day of teaching on Jesus’ part. Such is the case here in our reading from Mark 4. In the reading for the previous week from Mark 4, Jesus shared two of his parables, both having to do with seeds that when sown produce plants that illustrate the coming of the realm of God. We’re told that Jesus used parables to speak with the people, and then explained the meaning to his disciples on the side. Now that the day of teaching is finished, Jesus is ready to head across the lake, perhaps hoping to find a bit of peace and quiet. Apparently, he was quite tired from his day of teaching (preachers will understand this) because as soon as they get into the boat, Jesus falls asleep. Not only does he fall asleep, but he sleeps right through a storm.

                The story in Mark begins when evening has fallen. Jesus suggested they head over to the other side of the lake, so they got into one of several boats heading toward the Gentile side of the lake. Mark tells us that a great storm arose, with powerful waves beating against the boat. The storm was strong enough that even the fishermen among Jesus' disciples became frightened. As for Jesus, he continued to sleep through the storm. Oh, to be such a heavy sleeper!

                While Jesus slept, his companions grew frightened, fearing the boat might sink taking them down with it. So, they woke him up. Why should he sleep through the storm without a care in the world? They wanted him to at least share in their dilemma. I can imagine them yelling at Jesus (remember the winds are howling and the waves are beating against the boat so it had to be loud), while also shaking him, trying to wake him up. When he finally awoke, they asked him, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” While they might not have expected Jesus to do something about the storm, they at least wanted him to share their concern about their situation. There’s nothing worse than a Stoic person amid a crisis! It can be unnerving!

Now that he was finally awake, he did something about the storm. He rebuked the wind and told the storm to be at peace, to be still. With that, the wind stopped, and everything became still. The Message speaks of the lake becoming like glass. Now everything is good. There is nothing to worry about, except perhaps now they would have to row the rest of the way across the lake. But at least they weren’t going to die. Then Jesus turned to his companions and asked them why they were afraid. Didn’t they have faith? I don’t know about you, but I’m not thrilled with Jesus’ response. After all, they had no idea that Jesus had power over the wind and waves. But maybe he was just annoyed at having been woken up from his deep sleep. If he wasn’t worried, why should they? Besides, by now shouldn’t they have a better sense of who he was?

The calming of the storm doesn’t necessarily calm the fears of Jesus’ companions. They had been afraid of the storm, but now they’re not sure what to make of Jesus. It’s one thing to heal someone. It’s another thing to have the power to still a storm. Mark tells us that they “were filled with great awe.” I think this awe was tinged by fear because they asked a good question: Who is this guy that has power over the storms? The danger here is to get caught up in trying to figure out how such a thing could happen. The larger question has to do with the nature of faith, and how it gets built. The disciples had seen some amazing things, but this was beyond anything they had seen. Besides, the Gospel of Mark tends to leave us hanging as to Jesus’ identity. While the disciples have a better sense of things than those outside the circle, they aren’t sure who is either. The question is, do we understand who Jesus is? So, maybe the question that this passage raises has to do with the nature of our faith.

David Schlafer invites us to consider the question of whether faith and fear are incompatible, something the text seems to suggest, or whether they might be intertwined. Might there be a faithful form of fear that leads to wisdom? Thus, he writes: “Is the ‘trust’ we have in God an unshakeable presumption that God sees the world just as we do, and thus that we need to take no risks of which we cannot reasonably control the outcomes. Might fear as cowardice be something very different from fear as humility and awe? Might Jesus be challenging the disciples to distinguish between healthy and unhealthy fear?” [Connections, p. 107]. There is fear that paralyzes and fear that keeps from being presumptuous when it comes to faith.

With that in mind, we might think in terms of the fear many have of the other. What is interesting here is that when they get in the boat and head to the other side, they’re heading toward Gentile territory. It’s foreign territory.  Could this story raise the question, symbolically, of why we fear the other? Could the storm that causes the disciples so much fear really be concerned about who lives on the other side of the lake? Frank Honeycutt takes note of this concern, pointing to the fact that Mark has five lake crossings, which symbolically appear to link the two disparate groups, perhaps through baptism. So he writes:

Wind is a normal companion on these crossings. There will always be resistance to attempts at reconciliation, racial or otherwise. … Then and now, there are forces in the world that seek to keep nations and ethnicities apart and separate. In Christ, allegiance to flag, race, and sexuality all take a baptismal back seat. “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of them are one in Christ Jesus” (Gal. 3:27-28). The power and radical message of this oft-quoted verse should not be diminished by its familiarity. Jesus invited his disciples, flawed guys (like any of us) who would make up the early church, to board a boat at night and travel on an unclear mission to the other side—to the “other,” the foreigner, the stranger, the enemy. There will be storms, wind, and plenty of resistance to your journeys.” [Miracles for Skeptics, pp. 100-101]. 

Honeycutt also reminds us that when it comes to Jesus and storms, the chaos of these storms tends to flush “out an ancient fear of sinister forces beyond anyone’s control.”  As for Jesus, he slept through the storm because he had confidence in God [Miracles for Skeptics, pp. 103-105]. So, as we face the storms of life, where do we place our trust?  

                As we ask the question of who we place our trust in, we are confronted by the companions’ question: “Who is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?” As we ponder that question, we can consider the question posed by Jesus to his followers in the Gospel of Matthew. When asked that question, Peter made what, at least in my tradition, is called the Good Confession. “You are the Messiah (Christ), the Son of the Living God” (Matthew 16:16). In Mark’s version, Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah but not the son of the living God (Mk 8:29).  An event like this, as reported by Mark, is designed to elicit a confession of faith. Of course, the passage invites us to dive deeper theologically below the surface to discern who heals the sick and stills the storms.

                If we want to take this deeper, reading it allegorically, we can ask how Jesus might calm the storms of our lives. That leads to the question of whether we will step into faith rather than fear. Thomas Stegman, SJ notes concerning the fear/awe expressed by the companions: “In the biblical tradition, such fear is the beginning of wisdom. The ambiguity of the opening words of the final verse can function as a summons from Jesus today, one that calls us forth from paralyzing fear to liberating, awe-filled trust in him and the power of his word to save” [Feasting on the Gospels: Mark, p. 145]. As the two prior parables remind us, when it comes to the realm of God, things start small but grow with time. The same is true for us as we live the life of faith. Peter will get it, finally, but it will take time. As for us, perhaps what we need to do is follow Jesus’ example, rest in God’s presence, and get some sleep. Perhaps that calmness can serve as a witness to others who live in fear, that they might trust the one who stills the storms of life and find peace in their own lives. 

Koenig, Peter. Calming of the Storm, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58522 [retrieved June 17, 2024]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.