When you live in the murder capital of the world, fear takes on a whole new meaning. Twelve years ago we relocated our family of seven to Johannesburg South Africa on a church planting mission. It was a far cry from the small town in Ohio where I grew up. Whereas my mother taught us how to survive a tornado, I taught my five little ones—the oldest being only eight—what to do in a carjacking. One night while our children attended a youth meeting, an armed suspect ducked into the building while fleeing police. That night, for the first time, I asked the Lord to send us home—my fears causing me to question God’s direction in our lives.

That happened to the disciples too. They were the elite few who had answered the call, said goodbye to family, quit their jobs, and left their possessions to follow Christ. In the first month they watched Jesus heal the centurion’s son with a word, cure leprosy with a touch, and raise the widow of Nain’s son from the dead. Then, after a full day of teaching and feeling the press of the multitudes, Jesus led them onto a boat where, once they were under way, he succumbed to exhaustion. While he slept a storm rose so fierce it caused terror in the hearts of even these seasoned sailors.

R. Kent Hughes describes the scene as one of a reeling ship surrounded by dark mountains of water that washed over the boat. The sailors “felt the stern plunge like an elevator in the trough of a rising welling mountain of green, and then were shot toward the sky like a monster roller coaster.” Some of the disciples bailed water while others wrestled with the sails in a state of panic, their minds consumed with survival. It made rational thought difficult. Recently they’d sat at Jesus’ feet learning truth that escaped the grasp of the religious intellectuals; but in the storm there wasn’t time for Peter to call a meeting to review all they’d learned about the sovereign God and his work in this world or to review the lessons on faith Christ taught them on the mount.

That’s what they should have been doing as they watched the storm approach on the horizon, and that’s what we should be doing as storms appear on the horizons of our lives. Our fears often start as “what if’s.” Like a storm on the horizon, a possible future strikes fear in our hearts.

When my children were babies “what if” fears would beset me in the wee hours of the night. “What if those bruises meant leukemia?” Later when they were teenagers I worried when they were late, fearing they had been in an accident. We all have “what if” fears, with or without basis, but instead of debilitating us, fear should energize us to build up our faith.

The time to suit up for a storm isn’t when the waves are covering the deck and the wind is ripping the sails. Then there is just enough energy to hang on and work to keep the boat afloat. The Lord of glory slept in the stern and the disciples were afraid they would perish. How ridiculous is that? In the storm they’d forgotten what they’d seen him do, what he’d promised them, who they knew him to be. I wonder what our panic says about how well we really know our God. If the 12 had grasped these new truths in their lives, the storm would have been just as real and they still would have wrestled with the sails; but they would have known that no matter how hard the struggle, the boat wasn’t going to sink. They would survive. Their hope would have made all the difference.

Amazingly enough, in the midst of the frenzy, Christ slept. How could he lie there, seemingly unconcerned for their precarious plight? Why does God seem inactive in our fiercest storms? Songwriter Gordon Lightfoot voices our question, “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes into hours?”

After the disciples did everything they could to save themselves they turned to Christ in the storm. “Lord,” they called out, “we’re dying. Don’t you care?” Finally the disciples got something right. They let their fear drive them to Christ and they stopped trying to save themselves. That point in our storms is when calm is closest. I’ve been in storms, preoccupied with contingencies that will bring me out of the churning circumstances as quickly and painlessly as possible. I go to my Lord, present the best plan, and put my faith in it until he makes it clear that my plan wasn’t his. Undaunted, I devise something else by which he can rescue me, until finally I come to him, all my earthly wisdom and strength spent, and admit, “Lord, I’ve got nothing. I don’t have a clue what your will is, but I’m trusting you.”

The disciples had come to the end of themselves too. After Jesus calmed the storm he asked them, “Why were you so afraid? Where’s your faith?”

At the beginning of the storm their faith was in their skill as sailors. They thought they could control the situation, but the atmosphere quickly deteriorated and it became obvious that they had misplaced their faith. Their faith should have been in the man who in the midst of the storm, though his robes were saturated with seawater, enjoyed a sleep induced by a heart that trusted his fate to his Father. Once awake Christ asked about their faith—not the size of their faith, but the object of their faith.

Where is your faith? Is it in your self, in your IRA, in your spouse? Does your faith lie in your president or your employment? Or is the object of your faith the one who stills storms, the one who is sovereign over the universe? Storm stilling is nothing to him, but the goal of faith is knowing him well enough to trust him. As Job’s treasures were sucked into the funnel of the storm he said, “though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh I shall see God” (Job 19:26, King James Version). That faith comes as I acquaint myself with his ways in his Word and converse with him in the secret place of prayer. In the midst of a storm, it’s hard to be still and know God. The more panicked I feel, the more I flail and cry and the harder it is to hear his voice. However, when the storm comes as I anchor my faith in the truths of God, those truths give me calm in the chaos.

With Christ’s words, “Quiet, be still,” there came an immediate calm (Mark 4:39). One would think the disciples would have heaved a collective sigh of relief, but instead “They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” (v. 41). Had they ever seen the sea controlled in such a way? Their Jewish minds immediately referenced the only time they’d heard of such a miracle. It occurred when Jehovah parted the Red Sea and their fathers walked through on dry land. Their eyes were opened and they trembled because they realized God was in their boat.

This new greater knowledge of who Christ was made the storm experience worthwhile. The ferocity of the storm accentuated the power of bringing the calm and caused the disciples to stand back and declare in awe, “Look what Christ has done.” The point of their storm, just as the point of any storm in our lives, wasn’t the weakness of their faith but the greatness of their God. Suddenly it became clear that storms weren’t to be feared, for at their worse they could only take your life. More fearful than storms was the God who rode in their boat. He sees the heart and determines the destiny of the soul.

As teenagers we’d board an old church bus in our grungiest clothes, our lunches safely wrapped in plastic bags, and head for the Little Miami River to do battle with the rapids in worn canoes. Once Billy joined our group. We all knew he couldn’t swim and kept our eye on him; but near the end of our journey his canoe tipped sending him headlong into the water. He began to panic and flailed about yelling for help. The leader kept yelling, “Billy, put down your feet!” Finally Billy heard him and realized the water was only chest deep.

Is there a storm on the horizon? Are you afraid? Now is the time to drag your problem through God’s Word and acquaint yourself with the traits and promises of Christ. When panic rises in your breast, listen for our Savior’s voice on the shore as he encourages us, “Put down your feet.” Plant your faith firmly in him and behold his glories as he speaks peace to your storm. |L