There they were in the middle of the Sea of Galilee in a boat when they found themselves suddenly being tossed to and fro by huge waves of a storm! The text says that the boat was "covered with the waves" but Jesus was asleep. It's easy for me to picture Jesus (the Prince of Peace) sleeping in the midst of a violent storm, likely getting wet from the spray of the waves and the falling rain, but still sound asleep. Then the disciples in a panic, wake him crying, "Save us, Lord; we are perishing!"
He arises, calling out to the storm to stop; and it does!
The text says that the men "marveled, saying, 'What kind of a man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?'"
Clearly this is not what they expected. So, what did they expect?
For that matter, what do I expect when I cry out to God for help, or for anything? What do I expect as I come each day to "just be with him"? Are my motives really that pure?
Returning again over the next days to Matthew 8 & 9, I began to see that with each story Jesus was doing the unexpected -- touching a leper, honoring a Roman centurian, leaving when the crowds began to gather, setting his own terms for discipleship, rescuing the demon-possessed, forgiving sins, calling a tax-collector to be one of the chosen twelve. . .
Because he was always doing the unexpected, people reacted in a variety of ways: fearful, amazed, praising God, angry, celebrating.
How do I react when Jesus does the unexpected in my life? Why are his actions unexpected anyway? Could it be that I'm caught off guard and surprised because I just don't get him? I forget that he refuses to be kept in the box of my theology, rules, and ways of interpreting the world. He continues to be infinite God and therefore by definition beyond figuring out within my finite reason or explanations. He is and always will be messy and mysterious and if he ever fails to be, he will no longer be God.
And so, if he and his ways are beyond finding out; and his plans for me are likewise not always clear and often unexpected in their process, how do I trust a God like this?
As I have sat with him these days enjoying his presence and offering these musings to him, this night as I write, he answers. He reminds me of a truth I learned one special weekend last Spring:
Jesus is present.
Jesus is active.
Jesus is good.
When all other lights have gone out this is my star of Eärendil. When my world is rocked by uncertainty and tossed by circumstances out of my control and my habits of activity and anxiety offer their false refuge, to these truths I return. To these truths I hold.
Repeatedly Jesus gives me a picture of a path of stones in a dark world. I cannot see what is around me and the noises of the night sometimes fill me with fear. All that is visible is a light similar to a flashlight shining on the stone in front of me where my next footfall is to be. If I stand too long without taking that next step I begin to topple and at times he has had to set me aright and support me because of my hesitancy. Moving on is the key to maintaining balance. Yet, a single step is all that is given at a time. When I allow my anxious thoughts to quiet, I can hear his soft voice saying, "Now step here, and now here. Good. Now one more step. . ." To me this is what it is to follow Jesus, and why I must cling to the truth that he is present, active, and in all his being good.
