Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, June 20, 2021

/

Don’t be afraid; God is with you

Mark 4:35–41

On that day, as evening drew on, he said to them, “Let us cross to the other side.” Leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him.

A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Quiet! Be still!” The wind ceased and there was great calm.

Then he asked them, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” They were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?”

Music Meditations

Opening Prayer

From Sacred Space:

Lord, you had the gift of sleeping in any situation. You slept while the waves were beating and almost swamping the boat… And when you awoke you brought calm. To voyage with you is to voyage in in peace even in a storm.

Help me to remember that you are always with me, even when I don’t know it… Help me to trust in your presence and your care for others. [Take a moment to offer prayer for a person or people in particular need of God’s care.]

Companions for the Journey

By James Boyce, Professor Emeritus of New Testament and Greek, Luther Seminary St. Paul, MN:

“On that day.” The phrase is so brief the reader could almost ignore it.

Actually, this short transition is vastly important for setting the stage for this familiar story of the stilling of the storm. In the order of the original Greek, the text would read “and he continued to speak to them on that day…” The important effect is to remind us that this story comes right on the heels of all of Jesus’ special teaching to his disciples on the nature of the kingdom—on his characterization of that kingdom as couched in hiddenness and secrecy, and of its requiring a special gift of hearing to comprehend. So it should not surprise us if the journey of discipleship, and the course of our journeys in this Pentecost season should at times be fraught with unexpected dangers or risks.

Many readers have called attention to the way in which this story of the stilling of the storm can be read on several levels. On one level it shows Jesus power in a miracle that joins all the miracles of healing in Mark’s opening chapters. On another level it might serve as a parable of discipleship. We begin with a call or invitation that mirrors Jesus’ call of his first disciples to follow him (Mark 1:16-20)—“Let us go across to the other side”—a command to which his disciples obediently respond, significantly in the language of the story “taking him along with them in the boat” (vv. 35-36). At this point it is not difficult to imagine the scene as recalling the ark adrift on the chaos of the sea, but now presenting a band of followers under the protection of God’s Messiah, “safe and secure from all alarms.”

But events change suddenly. Out of the blue, so to speak, with no textual transition we read: “And there happens! A great windstorm and the waves began to beat against the boat so that the boat was already filling with water.” So much for implied safety of the boat.

Meanwhile “he is in the stern (the place where perhaps he should be steering?) sleeping away peacefully on a pillow! (taking his leisure oblivious to the predicament). And “they” (they are not at this point referred to as disciples) awake him and shout, “Teacher (not Master, or Messiah, or “Lord,” as in Matthew 8:25) do you not care that we are perishing?”

Their cry is the ultimate cry of fear, of doubt and abandonment, repeated often in the stories of God’s people, as for example in the psalms. Where is God in the midst of my distress? Has God abandoned his people? It is a cry repeated in so many ways in the midst of the terrors and distresses of our world today. If God is so great and powerful a creator, if God really cares about this world, then why do events in the world and in my life go so badly. The ready response: either God has no power, or God does not care for us or the creation. This is an honest appraisal of the situation in the story, and a parable of the situation of all of us when cast adrift in the storms of the world without God’s presence and care. The cry amounts to a prayer for deliverance. And it is immediately and directly answered. Jesus does not chastise or reason with their fears. He does not seek to correct their poor theology or remind them of the whole tradition of God’s deliverance and care for the people of Israel. Instead he immediately “woke up” (the word is actually “arose” and may here be a telling and parabolic clue to the end of this story?) and rebuked the winds forcefully with his double command: “Be silent! Be still!” The response of the winds is immediate. The wind ceased and there arose a “great calm” (the description of this “great calm” exactly matches and counters the “great storm” which has begun the predicament (vv. 37, 39).

But now that the rescue is accomplished and the sea is calm, there is time for some needed disciple instruction. Like with the parables that have gone before, now Jesus moves to “interpret” this yet one more “parable” for disciples whose capacities are weak without the gift of their master’s presence and care. The Lord’s care has already been demonstrated. Of this there is no need for greater elaboration at this point. The issue is that of “fear.” In Jesus’ question “Have you yet no faith,” the disciples in the story, and we as its hearers today, are called to recognition between two vastly different worlds that we might inhabit. In these two words we are called to see the gulf between two vastly different worlds that face those who are called to acknowledge the kingdom of God, the presence and rule of God in our midst. One can continue to live in the world of fear and chaos, seeing oneself orphaned or alone without the power of God, living in a world controlled by the power of Satan or the demonic. Or one can be open to hearing the message and promise of this Jesus in whom we are told that the kingdom of God has come into our midst and now offers a whole new future for our world and for our lives.

The line between these two worlds is thin and risky. But in between them stands the gift and power of the good news of God’s Messiah, Jesus.

Weekly Memorization

Taken from the gospel for today’s session…

Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?

Living the Good News

What action can you take in the next week as a response to today’s reading and discussion?

Keep a private journal of your prayer/actions responses this week. Feel free to use the personal reflection questions or the meditations which follow:

Reflection Questions

  • Have I ever, like the disciples, left one place where everybody looks and thinks like me to a place which is, metaphorically speaking, “across to the other side—foreign”? Did it make me uncomfortable or afraid? How did I handle it?
  • Have I ever been invited to “cross to the other side”, to take a risk?
    Did I accept or decline the invitation?
  • Do I think that following Jesus will guarantee me a storm-free life?
    Am I willing to follow Jesus only until the going gets rough?
  • Has there ever been a time when I asked for God’s help, and God seemed to be sleeping?
  • How did this event test the faith of the disciples? Did they “pass” or “fail”?
  • How do difficult, uncertain or treacherous times test my faith?
  • Does my fear of certain things make me a “bad” disciple?
  • What is the intersection for me between faith and fear?
  • What are some of the issues in our country and our world that seem particularly dangerous today (race equality, immigration, Israel, voting issues, the continuing pandemic in the rest of the world, for example)?
  • What have been some treacherous seas I have experienced in my life or am experiencing now? Where was there chaos?
    Did I realize that Jesus was in “the boat” with me?
  • What does the boat called “my religion” feel like right now? Are there any waves lapping at the hull?
  • Have I invited Jesus to speak words of courage and support to me personally?
  • One way we have usually interpreted the term faith is “belief”, usually in a set of theological principles. However, the term faith in this story can best be translated as “trust”, and that “belief” then is seen as utter dependence on and reliance on the goodness of the God who loves us.
    How do I think of the word “faith”?
    Do I trust God? Jesus?
    What does that trust mean to me?

Meditations

A Meditation in the Dominican Style/Asking Questions:

Ann Lamott, in Hallelujah Anyway, wrote:

Being alive here on earth has always been a mixed grill at best, lovely, hard, and confusing. Good and bad things happen to good and bad people. That’s not much of a system: a better one would be silverware drawer of joy, sorrows, doldrums, madness, ease. But no, Eden explodes and we enter a dangerous, terrifying world, the same place where goodness, love and kind intelligence lift us so often. The world has an awful beauty. This is a chaotic place, humanity is a chaotic place, and I am a chaotic place…In the Christian tradition, we say that Christ continues to be crucified, in tsunamis, sick children, political prisoners, and that we must respond. This is what I believe, so I show up and get water for people, real people, which is to say, annoying people. Mother Teresa cradling strangers at dawn is very romantic, but in life, there is also your thirsty bigoted father, your lying sister the whole human race, living and dying and rising with Christ.

How do I think Jesus viewed his companions in the boat screaming at him in a panic?
How do I see the face of Jesus in the face of those who whine and complain, when in my estimation, they have nothing to whine and complain about?
Do I think that because I am deeply spiritual, I should somehow be rewarded with a blissful, peaceful and happy existence?
When I say I believe in God, what do I mean?
How do I see the goodness of God in the midst of my messy and imperfect life?

A Meditation in the Ignatian style/ Imagination:

Adapted from Sacred Space, a service of the Irish Jesuits:

I take my place in Jesus’ boat and let myself be drawn into the whole experience on the sea (lake) that day. Everyone knows what a tricky and dangerous body of water this is, with sudden deadly storms that have killed many fishermen. How do I feel when the rain comes down in sheets and the wind howls, whipping up the waves which pour into the boat? Am I afraid of sinking? What goes through my head as I turn to Jesus in utter panic and see he is asleep—ASLEEP!—in the stern of the boat? What is my emotional state at this moment? What do I say to him as I try to wake him up? Am I terrified because he seems so unresponsive? When he does wake up and authoritatively quiets the storm, do I feel foolish or angry because he is chiding me for being afraid in the first place? Does this experience make me look at Jesus in a new light? Will I have confidence in him in the future? Do I truly believe in His love and care? In God’s?

Poetic Reflection:

Much of Denise Levertov’s poetry is religious in nature. In this poem, we see her trust in the love and care of the Almighty:

“The Avowal”

As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them;
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.

A Meditation in the Franciscan Style/Action:

Jesus has left us, and it is up to us, his disciples, to navigate the treacherous waters of our country’s and the world’s needs and problems. Sometimes our very Church seems like a frail barque, capable of capsizing. What are we to do? While it may seem overwhelming, what we are called to do, is to navigate the waters we call life on this planet. And from this story, we learn that Jesus has confidence in our ability to manage those challenges. Jesus is no longer physically around to jump in and rescue us and our world; we have to do it ourselves. Think of one little corner of your world where there is pain and anger, sorrow and uncertainty. Think of those in your little corner of the universe as fellow travelers on the boat with you. What concrete thing can you do to make their situation better, or at least tolerable? To whom in your life should you bring a drink of water, including yourself? Instead of being defeated by trying to act globally or make others do so, do ONE THING, one small thing, that stops the boat from rocking for someone, that calms the waters of his or her life.

Poetic Reflection:

Wendell Berry, a farmer, poet and former Stanford Stegner Fellow, finds nature to be a refuge from the anxieties and strife of everyday life:

“The Peace of Wild Things”

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the woodrake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

—Wendell Berry from Collected Poems

Closing Prayer

Lord, I need to hear your voice commanding me to calm down, to be still, saying “Peace, I am with you always.”H elp me to remember the times you held me up in the midst of one of life’s many storms… Help me to wait in faithful confidence for your comforting and sustaining presence.