A Disciple in the Boat

“God, help! Do you not care what’s going on? Do you not see what’s happening in my life?”

I’ve been thinking about that story lately… The one where Jesus and His disciples are sailing across the Sea of Galilee after a long day of teaching.[1] Jesus falls asleep in the back of the boat while the sailors do their thing. After a while, a storm kicks up, but not a drizzle. It happens so quickly that no one realizes. It happens furiously – even the ones who are used to sailing start to lose their courage. Some of them have seen storms on this sea before, but not like this. As the waves start to leap over the sides of their little fishing boat and swamp the floor, the colour drains from their faces. The water in the boat with them starts to rise, and they realize they might not make it out of this one alive.

But there’s one hope left. Hurriedly, one of them turns to Jesus and shakes Him awake. “Teacher!” he screams over the sound of the crashing waves. “Don’t you see what’s happening? The boat is sinking! We’re going to drown! Don’t you care that we’re going to die?”

The undertone is unmistakable. Hours before, the disciples saw Jesus do amazing miracles and teach about the mysteries of God’s kingdom. Now, they’re afraid they’re going to die.

Anyone would be afraid in this situation, but they’re not just afraid or anxious or terrified. They’ve lost hope in Jesus’ character. They suddenly think that He doesn’t care about them; that He isn’t really concerned with what happens to them; that it doesn’t matter to Him whether they live or die. They misinterpret Jesus’ slumber in their storm as indifference.

Though there are storms raging in my life now, the presence of storms doesn’t mean that God does not care. It feels sometimes as though I’m alone. Wet with seawater, blinded by the wind, and tangled in the rigging, I turn around and scream at God, “Why don’t You care? Are you not listening? Are you not aware of what’s going on in my life right now? Look at this, and do something about it?”

Many times, this is subconscious. I push my terror back in the midst of the things going on in my life so that I can keep plowing forward. But when I do this, I don’t connect with God in it, and I think that’s probably more dangerous for me than unloading the fullness of my weak faith onto God. If there’s anything I have learned so far in life, it’s that He is strong enough to take my doubts.  So when I do realize that deep down, I am a disciple in the boat, it’s okay. Sometimes I need to face my storms head on in order to realize that I am not strong enough on my own to take them. I’m not physically, emotionally, or spiritually tough enough to face a storm on my own. But coming face to face with Jesus makes me strong. Or rather, I come face to face with my weakness and His strength.

Jesus stands up. He looks at them; He looks at the waves. He stretches out His hands. In the midst of the shrieking wind and the pounding waves, He gives the command: “Peace. Be still.”

They answer. They know their master. Do I?

When I’m faced with terror and sheer fear, do I know where to turn?

As Jesus looks back at His disciples, I can imagine an incredulous, though gentle, undertone to His voice: “Why are you afraid? Do you not have any faith?”

Did they not trust that He cared enough for them to protect them in the storm – not even just a little bit? Did they not know that He loved them, not at all?

Maybe that’s the value in the storms. They teach us where to turn. They show us the face of the Master, if we will only turn around and see Him. They show us that we are weak, but He is strong. They teach us that He is for us. Even if we come to the end of ourselves in the sea, we are given the opportunity to throw ourselves on Jesus, to lean on His strength rather than our own. Easier said than done, but at the end of the day, we really have no strength on our own in comparison. We need Him, and coming to a point where we realize that is valuable.

It has been a difficult semester. In everything, God has given me everything I needed to help me get through. Until now. Now, I hardly have the energy to accomplish anything. I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. Maybe until now, I relied on God for certain things. He was digging in my heart, and I responded. I was grateful for the work that He did in me, and I still am. But maybe even in all of that, I didn’t know the extent to which I needed to rely on Him. That I really can’t live without Him, not even a little bit. That I cannot ultimately rely on myself. The meaning of suffering, for this particular point in my life, is perhaps that it brings me face to face with a God I can’t live without. 


[1] For reference, I'm thinking of Mark 4:35-41, though there are other versions in some of the other Gospels.