Mark 4:35-41
Presented June 25th, 2006, by J.D. Kline
The Third Sunday after Pentecost
Frank Thomas, pastor of a Baptist congregation in Memphis and publisher of The African American Pulpit, was one of the lecturers at the recent Festival of Homiletics I attended. Dr. Thomas spoke about the quest for hope, which he defined as the ability to look at a fundamentally flawed world and still trust in a God who offers freedom, healing and deliverance. In the face of a world marked by racism, militarism, rampant materialism and a host of other woes, hope is a matter of placing our trust in the God who is able to make all things new. That is to say, hope is trusting in an alternative reality, even when all appearances would suggest that there is precious little reason for hope.
The early church, much like the disciples who found themselves caught in a frightening storm on the Sea of Galilee, experienced times of intense struggle and uncertainty, times when it appeared as if there was no hope. Yet, even in the face of persecution and stormy seas, the early believers held fast to their hope, for they had heard the voice of the divine saying to them, Do not be afraid.
Look with me at the story of Jesus calming the storm. Apart from fishing, the ancient Israelites were not a seafaring people. Indeed, the sea had come to symbolize for them the dark powers of evil, that which threatens God’s creation, God’s people, God’s purposes. Perhaps you remember the powerful description in the book of Revelation of the new creation promised by God. “Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth…and the sea was no more (Revelation 21:1). The image is of that time when chaos would no longer characterize much of human life, that time when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, that time when death will be abolished and grief and pain will no longer hold sway.
When the Gospel writer recalls the story of Jesus and the disciples on the stormy sea, it is not simply remembrance of the actual event. Much more, it is a description of life in the church of that day that was beginning to experience intense uncertainty and persecution—a time when the chaotic forces of life seemed to be gaining the upper hand. But the promise of the story is that Jesus is able to overcome the forces of chaos; Jesus can calm the storms of life.
Howard Thurman, noted African American preacher in the mid 1900s, was the grandson of slaves. Thurman’s grandmother would tell the story of the plantation owner who assumed that it would do no harm for the slaves to hear the preaching of the gospel. Indeed, the slave owner assumed that the slaves would embrace a message urging them to obey their masters. But Thurman’s grandmother said of the old preacher who came weekly to tell the story of Jesus, “he hardly ever preached a sermon without going by Calvary,” reminding the slaves of the love of Jesus poured out for all humanity, slaves included. And then, said Thurman’s grandmother, the old preacher would take off his glasses, lean over the pulpit, and say to the slaves in words undeniable, “You are not any person’s property. You are children of God Almighty! Never forget it!”
The seeds of freedom and new life were sown in the midst of an oppressive and inhumane system, in the midst of a stormy life. And Thurman’s grandmother told her grandson that whenever the old preacher got to that part of the story, her spine would stiffen, and she was ready to face another day, buoyed by a new vision for life.
The fearful disciples, caught in the storm on the Sea of Galilee, are irritated, angry, that Jesus could sleep through the storm. But they are little prepared for what happens when they wake him up, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus rebukes the wind, saying to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And then, when the waters become calm, Jesus turns to the disciples and asks, “Why are you afraid?” Not, “Why were you afraid?” But rather, “Why are you afraid?” The disciples were “filled with great awe,” according to the New Revised Standard Version. But the original Greek word suggests something even stronger. Quite literally, “great fear stole over them” (N.T. Wright).
William Willimon reminds us that there are two kinds of fear. There’s the Good Friday sort of fear, the fear of a death-dealing storm when we are prone to cry out to God, “Don’t you care if we perish?” Times when life crashes in upon us, when we receive word of a critical illness or confront the death of a loved one. But there is a second sort of fear, an Easter fear when we come face-to-face with a new reality and it nearly overwhelms us. Times when in the quiet calm we sense God calling us to change and to grow, to move beyond the familiar and comfortable patterns of our lives; times when we hear the call to let go of self-preoccupation and take the risk of living in the light of God’s gracious love.
A life well lived is a life in which we come to terms with both kinds of fear. Truth is, we sometimes try to ignore our deepest fears by filling our lives with an abundance of activity—enough activity so that we might avoid hearing and responding to the voice of God. And sometimes we try to ignore our fears by accumulating more and more possessions. Ever had one of those times when you weren’t feeling particularly good about yourself and your life situation, and decided that perhaps a new computer, or a new sound system, or a new car, or a new outfit might make you feel better? The thrust of the advertising industry is to make us dissatisfied with what we have, to suggest that happiness is always just one more purchase away, just beyond our grasp.
In his book about Sabbath Wayne Muller reminds us that Americans on the average purchase twice as much as we did in the 1950s, but then he goes on to ask, “Can we honestly say we are any happier for it?” Muller challenges us to reconsider the experience of Sabbath, times of quiet and rest when we listen for the promptings of God’s Spirit. Rather than waiting until we find ourselves in one of the storms of life before seeking the peace and comfort of God’s presence, we can take Sabbath moments or Sabbath walks, we can do Sabbath reading, we can experience Sabbath rest as times of consecrated listening. Sabbath need not be a specific day, but any time we set aside to listen for that which nourishes our souls, that which brings a deeper sense of beauty and hope to our lives. Writes Muller,
The Sabbath is a revolutionary invitation to consider that the fruits of our labor may be found in the restful and unhurried harvest of time. In time, we can taste the sweetness of peace, serenity, well-being, and delight. The truth must be told: With all the money in the world, and no time, we have nothing at all.
In Sabbath times we re-connect with the God of hope, the God who enables us to find a way out of no way, the God who promises to make all things new. Speaking at the Festival of Homiletics, Frank Thomas referred to the writings of Jerome Groopman, a doctor on the staff of Harvard University Medical School, who has written a book entitled The Anatomy of Hope. Groopman contends that healing and hope are deeply interconnected; indeed, hope is every bit as important to one’s healing as is any medication or surgery. And surely, asserts Thomas, if members of the medical world are coming to affirm the power of hope, ought not we who live and proclaim life in Christ—ought we not, even more, be embracing the power of hope?
Martin Luther King, Jr. was one who embraced the power of hope. Indeed, in his last year of life, as he increasingly came to terms with the possibility of his own death, King’s passion for hope, his passion for healing the soul of America, only increased. On April 4, 1967, exactly one year before his assassination, King preached a sermon entitled “A Time to Break Silence,” at Riverside Church in New York City. Though many urged King not to become vocal in his opposition to the war of that day—the War in Vietnam—he had come to the point of recognizing that he could never again raise his voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos of city streets “without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today—my own government.”
Lamenting that “a nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death,” King challenged us to embrace a revolution of values—to shift from a thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society, a compassionate society that cares for “the least of these” among us.
King could urge us to embrace a new way of experiencing life precise because he carried the hope that ours is a God who is able to make all things new, that ours is a God who is able to create a way out of no way. Like the disciples in the boat with Jesus, perhaps you and I may well need to call upon the One who is able to calm the storms of life. But we may also find, once the storms begin receding, this same Jesus urging and calling us to embrace a new vision—a vision of hope, a vision of life in the kingdom of God, that realm of life in which compassion and loving-kindness reign supreme. And here’s the best of the good news—the Spirit of the living God empowers you and me to live differently—to do justice, to love tenderly, to make peace, to walk humbly in the presence of God and in relationship with sisters and brothers in the human family. Along the way, we find ourselves living life well—living a life well lived!
May it be so. Amen.
Pastoral Prayer
God, we gather in this place, a community of your people, yearning for a vanishing of darkness and fears and brokenness and pain. Grant to us, O God, hearts of compassion, hearts eager to serve one another, hearts empowered by your forgiveness and grace. God of new life and hope, fill us with songs of celebration, songs of joy as we express gratitude for your good gifts.
God of all creation, how blessed we are to live in relationship with you and with one another. How blessed we are by relationships that encourage, support, strengthen, and challenge us. How blessed we are by your vision for our living—a vision of hope, a vision of peace, a vision of walls tumbling down and all humanity cherished.
Lord, listen to us, your children, praying for strength and courage to embrace the vision, to walk in your light. Lord, listen to us, your children, yearning and praying for peace—that inner peace that passes all human understanding, and the kind of peace that heals our warring madness, that mends human-made barriers, that brings an end to oppression and fear, suspicion and hostility, violence and brokenness.
Lord, listen to us, your children, praying for those among us in special need of your healing. We pray for the grieving, the lonely, the confused, the alienated, the addicted, the broken. Listen, O God, as we pray now for…
Lord, listen to your children praying for the coming of your kingdom here on earth, even as it is in heaven. Fill us with forgiveness, hope, and unceasing faithfulness. Send us love. Send us power. Send us grace. Amen.