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Sermon preached on Sunday 23rd February 2025 based on Luke 8:22-25
May I speak and may you hear through the Grace of our Lord; Father, Son and Holy Spirit
I wasn’t expecting to end up in A & E on Tuesday, I certainly hadn’t planned to be, and I didn’t know it was going to last a whole twelve hours. The day has been going so smoothly, car in the garage having new tyres fitted – tick. A pleasant visit exploring the many delights of the garden centre, including a delicious lunch in the company of two granddaughters – on their best behaviour – tick. Excited chatter in the kitchen as baking with granddad got underway and flour and eggs were beaten and cracked – tick. Just the dog to take for a walk, to get some chocolate buttons requested for decoration requested…
The thing about tripping over your own feet is that it is totally unexpected. One moment admiring the spring flowers in the gardens, the next lying prone on the pavement, having connected head with said surface with an almighty whack. Two passing motorists stopped to come to my aid, and an informal paramedic examination by my son-in-law advised me that it really was necessary to go to A&E and that I couldn’t just stick a plaster on it and carry on.
I have the say that the first three hours were somewhat unremarkable after the initial flurry of information exchanged with the admissions team as I watched a lot of people coming and not going, some in obvious pain and suffering, others beyond pretending it was all going to be fine because their bodies showed clearly their illness, and others more stoic, but nonetheless anxious because of the unknown.
At this stage I very tentatively asked the million-dollar question – and was told very politely, ‘how long is a piece of string’ and that I hadn’t been forgotten, I was moving up the list and patients were being seen in order of need. Everybody in that waiting room was in the middle of a storm, which for many had blown up out of nowhere. They were frightened and lost because there was no clear sense of when or how they would be able return to normality. A fear of not being in control to make their own decisions.
Which is exactly how the disciples were feeling. They had been with Jesus for only a short time but had already seen things that confirmed their belief in Jesus, but which were also beyond their natural comprehension, the raising of the widow’s son and healing through faith alone. One can imagine that sitting listening to Jesus preaching a series of parables from a little fishing boat, pushed out a few feet from the shore was thought provoking and challenging, as well as the crowds that were beginning to gather in their thousands to hear what he had to say on that shoreline in Galilee.
However, according to Mark’s gospel, the day is drawing to its close and Jesus wants to get to the other side of the lake, as the Sea of Galilee was also known. Saying farewell to the multitude of people, they push away from the shore to head out into the deeper water. Nothing about this is usual, this shoreline and particular body of water is home to several of the disciples; they know this lake like the back of their hand. Even sailing into the sunset would not have been unusual, as they were used to fishing through the night.
It had obviously been a long day for everyone, and so it was hardly surprising that ‘while they were sailing, he fell asleep’. Jesus is exhausted. There is no doubt that he is entirely divine and yet he is at the same time entirely human. He gets hungry and thirsty, and he suffers pain and weariness and the need for sleep. He was worn out and asleep.
However, Luke’s account is about to give us one of the most interesting displays of Jesus’ two natures: human and divine. His physical weariness as a man, and as we shall see, his divine influence over nature.
Suddenly, a gale swept down the lake. Again, nothing that may be considered unnatural. Every time a fisherman got into a boat on the Sea of Galilee, they knew the risk. This lake is nearly 700 feet below sea level, surrounded by mountains. Deep ravines coming down the mountains act like funnels for the wind, picking up incredible speed. And that cold air rushing downwards collides with the warm air on the lake and creates hurricane conditions and 20-foot waves without warning.
The boat was filling with water, and they were in danger. The boat they were in was no modern-day fishing trawler, it would have been no more than an oversized rowing boat, and in the midst of this storm, Jesus is sleeping. What to do then?
Our first question might be, how can he still be asleep, does he not know what is happening, what we are going through. I wonder if sometimes we think this when we’re in the middle of our own storm, although we might not say it out loud. Because surely, he knows everything. Maybe he does know, but he doesn’t care. One wonders why the disciples didn’t try and wake Jesus up at least ten minutes earlier, when the storm was developing, why wait till the boat was swamped? Again, many of them were fishermen, and here was a carpenter. They had seen this before and had lived through storms – just keep bailing water James and John, we can handle this!
It would be easy to criticise the disciples for failing to simply put their faith and trust in Jesus, but I wonder what our faith and trust is doing in unexpected, difficult, dangerous, painful, confusing, life-threatening situations?
Finally, in desperation, they wake him up, shouting, ‘Master, Master, we are perishing!’ And he awoke and rebuked the wind and the raging waves; they ceased, and there was a calm. The 20-foot wave heading their way, which sees them crouching down, arms covering their heads, never reaches them, instead the sea is like glass; everything is immediately still. I bet none of us has ever splashed or stirred water to find it completely motionless when we stop, but then which of US has a divine influence over nature.
He said to them, ‘Where is your faith?’. He isn’t saying ‘you have no faith’ but asking them, ‘Where did your faith go?’. Because the problem when we face unexpected tests in our life, it isn’t that Jesus isn’t there for us, it’s that our trust in Jesus goes missing. Again, the problem isn’t that Jesus stops looking after us, the problem is we stop looking to him.
In this and other similar situations, Jesus demonstrates his power and divinity, ‘Who then is this, that he commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him?’
But at the heart of everything is his love and care for each of us. Certainly, Jesus may not eliminate every storm, but he guarantees his presence in every storm. He might not calm the waves and the wind, but he is able to bring a calm to our troubled hearts. So that we too can be still and know that he is God.
Back to that waiting room, then, and please don’t think that this is in any way a complaint about the service that I received. The NHS is a megalithic machine but the cogs that keep the wheels turning couldn’t be praised more. From the nurse who walked an elderly gentleman to a nearby bus stop to make sure he could get home, to the young mum reassured that her young child was not causing a disturbance because she had had to bring her with her as she accompanied her own mother; to the cup of tea offered, unrequested just at the right moment when refreshment was needed. At each and every turn there was kindness and compassion, reassurance and a genuine desire to bring calm to troubled waters. It certainly restored my faith in the system.
Original artwork by Bernard Allen, The Calming of the Storm