Church of the Incarnation

I've lived on the coast most of my life, and there's a respect and, well, fear of the ocean that comes with living on the coast. Coastal people always have a memory of "the big one," the time the sea leapt over its borders and threatened even those on shore.

For me, the big one was Hurricane Hugo in 1989. The rain was torrential and the wind liften even cars off the ground, but the real damage came from the storm surge. Early news reports showed slicker-clad weathermen bent over to stand up against the wind as the waves beat against the battery. Hours before the hurricane actually hit waves were pounding the concrete wall and splashing over it, knocking the weather crews back. As we all crawled out of our hiding spots the next morning and began to survey what was left of our city we saw the power of the sea. She had tossed houseboats several blocks inland, washing away everything in her path. My father's office was a block off the water, and the entire first floor was destroyed. The ocean filled the rooms, swirled the contents against the walls, and then receded, taking everything with her but a trail of fishy mud and shells.

But you don't have to be a coastal dweller to have gone through "the big one." I know about some of your storms: a diagnosis of cancer or the death of a loved one or the loss of a job. But there are also the thousands of little storms that throw us off course and evoke panic: an unexpected bad grade on a test, or a car wreck, or your baby girl's wedding.

My most recent little storm has been my house in Tennessee that just wouldn't sell. It has made it impossible to reach the other shore, since I haven't been able to completely settle here until I got rid of the mortgage there. It has also brought financial stress, since I've been paying to keep homes two places. And it's brought emotional waves as I receive an offer - then it's recinded or we settle on a price - and then it doesn't appraise for that. Of course, as I say this, it's obvious to me that these are merely minor inconveniences. But for me they've felt like a storm at sea. And I've behaved exactly like the disciples: I've panicked and assumed Jesus was sleeping through my distress. I've run around the boat frantically struggling to lower the sails and desperately bailing water out of the boat. My eyes have been firmly fixed on the storm. I've watched the clouds gathering and focussed on the approaching gloom. Several of you have tried to help me, gently pointing out to me that Jesus has been right there in the boat, but in my quick glances toward him it's looked to me like he was sleeping, so I've renewed my efforts to weather the storm on my own.

Does this way of behaving sound familiar to you? Why do we do that? Why do we let our fears become greater than our faith? And what about fear makes us assume we have to handle it all on our own?

I love God's words to Job in today's reading - in fact, now that I've sold my house in Tennessee and am working on purchasing a home here, I think I'd better put these words on my bathroom mirror so I'll remember them every morning:

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? 
Tell me, if you have understanding. 
Who determined its measurements-- surely you know! 
Or who stretched the line upon it? 
On what were its bases sunk, 
or who laid its cornerstone 
when the morning stars sang together 
and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy? 
  
Or who shut in the sea with doors 
when it burst out from the womb? -- 
when I made the clouds its garment, 
and thick darkness its swaddling band, 
and prescribed bounds for it, 
and set bars and doors, 
and said, `Thus far shall you come, and no farther, 
and here shall your proud waves be stopped'?  1

God created the universe - of course God can calm my little storm. I think it's interesting that when the disciples finally think to awaken Jesus they say, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" That word that's translated "we are perishing" - sorry, time for another Greek grammar lesson - is middle voice, which means its literal translation is we are causing ourselves to perish. And isn't that true? Our real problem isn't the storms of life - our problem is our panic at the storms of life. We harm ourselves when we let the storm throw us into a tizzy, and in our panic try to combat the storm on our own.

I love the way today's psalm expresses it:

A stormy wind arose,   		
	which tossed high the waves of the sea. 
They mounted up to the heavens and fell back to the depths;   		
	their hearts melted because of their peril.  
They reeled and staggered like drunkards   		
	and were at their wits' end.2

But then they decided to ask God for help:

Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,  		
	and he delivered them from their distress. 
He stilled the storm to a whisper   		
	and quieted the waves of the sea.  
Then were they glad because of the calm,
	and he brought them to the harbor they were bound for.  3

Notice that God doesn't change their course - they were already bound for their destination. But he stills the storm along the way, he calms their hearts so they can sail through it, he delivers them not from the storm but from their distress at the storm.

As we move into the Prayers of the People today, consider calling out to Jesus in your distress or on behalf of a friend who's in distress. Remember that Jesus is always in the boat with us, we just need to stop panicking long enough to turn to him and ask him to help us. And the God who created the entire universe, who tells the powerful oceans where they can and can't go, will calm our every storm and carry us safely to shore.

Amen.

References:

1. Job 38:2-11.
2. Psalm 107:25-27.
3. Psalm 107:28-30.