Hope in the Storm - Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Author: Pastor Scott Schul
June 23, 2024
Memories can be funny things. Some, even those that are quite recent, can
be fleeting, like what you had to eat a week ago Thursday. But others become firmly imprinted on our minds,
hearts, and souls, like scenes in a movie, no matter how long ago they
happened. This is especially true with memories
of difficult and challenging moments in our lives. Little details that seem insignificant somehow
stick with us. We even see this in pivotal
Bible stories. Small, seemingly random
details in those stories illustrate how that incident, that memory, that
experience burned its way permanently into the Church’s collective memory.
For example, at Christ’s
crucifixion consider the sensory-rich account of the charcoal fire where Peter
denied knowing Jesus. That’s something
Peter would never forget. Another
example is the detailed description of how Jesus’s burial garments were
carefully laid out in his empty tomb.
We have an example in today’s Gospel
too. It probably would’ve been enough to
just say that there was a storm on the Sea of Galilee, the disciples were
scared, and Jesus caused the waves and storms to still. But Mark added a fascinating detail about how
Jesus slept in the stern of the boat on a cushion. That level of detail reminds us that this wasn’t
a fable or a parable. This really
happened to real people and an equally real Jesus. It was a story they could never forget, and it’s one the people in that boat that day want us to hear and
remember as well.
But what was so significant about
that storm for the disciples, and why should it matter to us? I’ll try to answer those questions by sharing
a story I can’t forget. It didn’t
involve winds, waves, or rain. It was a metaphorical storm, but one that carried just as much fear and trauma as anything the
disciples experienced that night on the Sea of Galilee.
It was April 2012. I can remember everything I was doing that
day when we got the call that our daughter had collapsed at school and was
being rushed to the emergency room. The
school couldn’t offer much detail except that it appeared almost like she’d had
a stroke. By the time we got to the
hospital, the diagnosis had become much clearer. Annika had experienced a traumatic brain
injury from blows to the head in gym class the day before that left her
seriously concussed.
I remember seeing her in a
wheelchair and the glazed look on her face as she struggled to remember who her
parents were. I remember how her voice
and personality had reverted to that of a child, as her brain sought comfort in
a time before all of its circuits were scrambled. In the ensuring weeks and months, the storms
grew even fiercer as she experienced crippling headaches, sudden bursts of
terrifying anxiety, severe memory loss, and an inability to even balance
herself. And every time we thought she might
finally be getting better, she’d bump her head on something and the whole cycle
would begin anew.
I was as scared as I have ever been
in my life. I will never forget the
first Sunday at my old parish when I announced what had happened. I started crying as I told my congregation about
my daughter’s condition. I felt so
helpless, just like I’m sure those disciples felt that night. It seemed my daughter’s entire future was
shattered, and I grieved for her and for us because as those storms raged, it
seemed as if all hope was lost.
Have you experienced a storm like
that, a time when you felt utterly and completely hopeless? It’s a terrible place to be, but I’m certain
everyone hearing this sermon has a story like this. What do you do when it seems like all hope is
lost? I’ll tell you what I did. I can’t say I’m very proud of it, but I take
a little comfort from the fact that my reaction was similar to what the
disciples did in that boat. I got
angry. I was so angry with Jesus. Where was he? Why wasn’t he doing something about this?
My anger reached its boiling point
while I was on one of our Grace medical mission trips in Nicaragua. Again, the details remain crystal clear. All the Grace men on that trip were in one
big bunk room. It was a sultry Central
American evening and everyone was asleep and snoring after a long workday. Except for me. I was having it out with Jesus yet again,
because my daughter had suffered another relapse, and being thousands of miles
away, I felt even more helpless than usual. In my head I screamed and raged. I bargained. I negotiated. And then I raged some more. “Where are you? How can you just stand by while this girl’s
future goes up in flames? Don’t you care
what’s happening to her and to us?”
When my anger finally wore me out
and I was still, I finally got a response. I still remember the words. “OK. I’ve heard you. Now stand down. I’ve got this.” Somehow, in that moment, I felt, for the
first time in a very long time, a sense of hope. Jesus, there on his cushion, had woken up and
assured me that he had never forgotten us or abandoned us. He was reminding me that he saw farther beyond
the horizon than I ever could, and that in his eyes, there was a future. There was hope. It brought a peace to me that I hadn’t felt
in a long time. It was like a surge of
new life.
To be clear, Jesus didn’t promise
that my daughter would get better, but he did assure me that we’d get through
this… just like those disciples did. But
why? Had we done something to earn this assurance? Was there a certain
prayer or ritual of ours that forced Jesus into this? No. I
didn’t do anything meritorious. Neither
did the disciples that day. They, just
like me, were scared and hopeless. Jesus
didn’t respond because he had to, but because he wanted to. And he wanted to simply because of love.
But you see, here’s the problem
with Jesus. As our Gospel says, when you
take him into your boat, you take him “just as he is.” That means Jesus has his own way of doing
things and his own timing. It can be
terrifying. Infuriating. Perplexing. But experience has taught me that in the long run, Jesus’s way is always
better than anything I could ever conceive.
Friends, innumerable cable news
stations and internet sites compete to tell you about all the world’s problems. And indeed, we live in stormy times. You don’t need me to tell you that. But what you may not fully appreciate is that
the Church is the one place that’s going to tell you that no
matter how bad the storm is, there is hope... because Jesus is with us in the boat, no matter how asleep or disengaged you may think he
is. And it is that hope in Christ that
keeps us alive and striving and fighting for a better world and a better
future. Look, life isn’t easy. Some days are really, really hard. But as Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “We
must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”
My daughter got better and went on
to do things we never thought possible. That’s why I hold onto this story. Likewise, years after that storm, the disciples kept telling their story of the time Jesus delivered them and gave them hope in a moment when all
hope seemed lost. That story enabled
them to endure countless future perils that threatened to extinguish hope. And then they wrote it all down, even the
little detail about the cushion, because they knew that we would need
that story too as we carry on their work in our own perilous and sometimes
hopeless times.
So friends, in all your storms, hold
tightly to this story. Do you see
him? Jesus is in the boat. He loves you and he won’t abandon you. Cling to him. Because as long as there’s Jesus, there is always hope. Amen.
Gospel
Text: Mark 4:35-41
35When evening had come, [Jesus said to the
disciples,] “Let us go across to the other side.” 36And
leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was.
Other boats were with him. 37A great windstorm arose, and the
waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. 38But
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?” 39He
woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the
wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. 40He said to them, “Why
are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” 41And they were
filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the
wind and the sea obey him?”
Copyright Rev. Scott E. Schul, 2024 All rights reserved. May not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
BACK