2 Corinthinas 6 and Mark 4

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost – June 20, 2021 | A Sermon on 2^nd Corinthians 6:1-13 and St. Mark 4: 35-41 | by The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills |

³⁵When evening had come, [Jesus said to the disciples,] “Let us go across to the other side.” ³⁶And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. ³⁷A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. ³⁸But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” ³⁹He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. ⁴⁰He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” ⁴¹And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (Mark 4:35-41, NRSV).

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son +, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This morning, as we hear the incredible story of Jesus calming the sea, I want to begin by telling a brief story about the day Kathleen and I celebrated our wedding rehearsal.  We were married in Maine in the fall–it snowed the night of our wedding–but on the afternoon of the rehearsal I decided to go on a quick little kayak ride out on one of the Maine lakes that flow into the ocean.  My brother came with me, and we jumped in the borrowed kayaks, put on our life vests, and figured we’d paddle along the shore for a while and be back in plenty of time to change for the rehearsal.  Soon we were out in cold open water, and I noticed the wind picking up, the clouds beginning to darken over, and the water beginning to break over the top of the kayak.  All of a sudden that feeling began to creep over the back of my neck, and in the pit of my stomach—this was not good!  We turned around to head for shore, and then realized we couldn’t tell where we started, and couldn’t tell one dock or one point of land from another. We were now against the wind, the wind was blowing us out further, we paddled and paddled, exhausted, realizing that the kayaks were slowly sinking down deeper with every wave.  I looked down at my hands for a moment, and in surprise realized they were bleeding from the friction of the paddling, and I remember thinking, “I can’t believe I’m going to drown out here! Kathleen is going to kill me.”  We desperately gazed at the land and kept paddling, knowing we were in a losing battle.

Today, after a full day of teaching and healing, Jesus is taken into a boat by the disciples, to cross to the other side of the Sea.  And before they knew it, a great windstorm arose, we’re told and the waves beat into the boat, so that it was already being swamped.  The Sea of Galilee, where they were sailing, is a big lake, but it’s as wide across as Long Island Sound is at points, surrounded by hills and cliffs.  And even today, after the sun warms those cliffs over the water and the air inverts, massive storms blow up from out of nowhere.  And the winds blew, and the boat was already being swamped.

But you don’t need to be on a lake for a storm to break out.  In the wake of 2020 sometimes it feels like we were all in a lifeboat during a mid-winter storm! But what are those windstorms in your life today, those places where the waves are beating into your boat, what are the ways this week where it feels you’re already being swamped?  The storms of strained relationships, of your family in trouble?  The windstorm of addiction, or depression, of your secret sins blowing you helplessly back into yourself?  Or the beating waves you once proudly thought you could handle, now out of control.  The overpowering waves of grief, of anxiety, or of fear flooding in, telling you that not only are you not going to get where you’re going, but you are going down, that it’s all over.

I think we can all relate to those waves, I think we all can name those winds, I think we can all taste the water in our mouths as we feel like we’re going down, and as we look around, as we begin to wonder how we’re going to get out of this. The disciples looked for help today, and there was Jesus, in the stern of the boat, asleep on the cushion.

What?  This is Jesus’ big moment, he ought to be up front in the bow, directing the boat through, but there he is asleep in the back!  What kind of Lord is this?  But how often have you and I cried out, “Lord, where are you?”  “God, help me!” and it feels like Jesus is in the back, taking a nap.  “Where are you, Lord? Do you not care that we are perishing,” the disciples cry?  And sometimes it feels to us like the Lord is asleep.

Some of you may know the famous art heist from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Perhaps the most famous painting stolen was Rembrandt’s depiction of today’s gospel reading.  In the painting, before it was stolen, you could see all the disciples in a panic, looking around in terror, one even has his head over the side being sea-sick! But Jesus, at the center, is completely calm, completely in control, as the old saying goes, “God has no problems, only plans.”

Jesus slept amidst the storm today because he totally trusts God, because he has perfect faith in his Father, the only one of us to ever completely obey the First Commandment to fear, love, and trust God above all things. But he hears their cries, wakes up, and rebukes the wind—“quiet, stop, that’s enough now”—and said the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm.  “Why are you afraid,” he asked the disciples, he asks you and me this morning.  “Have you still no faith?”

You and I who are still afraid, who still wonder about our faith, we are in a boat, did you know that?  The ancient word for this room is not sanctuary, or worship center, but “nave,” like navy, we are in the boat of the church.  From the ark that saved Noah and his family, to the fishing boat that kept the disciples safe with Jesus, the church is always a boat, always a ship, a ship that contains people from every tribe and race and language under heaven, and we are in this ship together, as one crew, one people, on one journey to the other side, on a passage to God’s Kingdom, our destination is Heaven, this ship docks at Eternal Life.  But this journey will not be easy, it will not be all smooth sailing—for the devil, the world, and our flesh do all they can to try and sink us, to try and make us fall overboard, to divide up the passengers, or to try and separate us apart and float us away from our Lord.  But he is the one who in the midst of every storm, in the midst of every churning wave, who in the midst of every blast of wind is our shelter, and our mighty fortress, and the one who rebukes the churning within and without and says, “Peace, be still.”  So we have peace in our midst, peace in hearts, peace in our lives, even though the winds and waves may blow.  Even in the midst of the strongest hurricanes life throws at us we can take shelter in him, and live from his peace, his peace that overcomes the world, his peace that overcomes us, and brings us safely to where we are going, brings us safely to our harbor, and rest, and home.

So with St. Paul today, who knew all about Christ’s peace in the midst of his own storms, we can say that in our lives, in our journey as Christ’s church, yes we’ve also been through great afflictions, hardship, calamities; and that we’re dying, and yet alive; punished, and yet not killed; sorrowful but always rejoicing; poor but making many rich; having nothing but possessing everything.  For Christ, who suffered on the Cross for us in sorrow, triumphed on the 3^rd day in unending joy.  For Christ, who died for our sins, rose on the 3^rd day in eternal life.  For Christ, who was pierced for us and torn apart for us, was raised up to bring us life and to make us one people, a people united by his love, living in faith towards him, and in fervent love towards one another.

And he is the one who speaks into your life this morning, who puts out his pierced hands and says to the wind, “Stop,” and to your shaking heart, “Peace, be still.”  And he is the one who is present especially when it seems like that he isn’t, his power is made perfect in weakness, the Lord rests, hidden in the boat with you, calling you and me to trust in him all the more today, but at the right time he will arise, he will awake, he will be there for you, for us, for his whole church that cries to him for help this morning.  For he’s with us today, this morning, in our fellowship, in our mission, in our sailing, in this boat with us, and we will find him in the Holy Communion, in the Eucharist, in the simple, quiet, sleeping gifts of bread and wine, that are filled with his power and forgiveness and peace for all who believe, “I am with you, Peace, be still,” he says as he feeds you with himself this morning.

The afternoon of our kayak trip, we finally washed up to shore, drenched, freezing, alone, I knew I would miss my own rehearsal, and I wondered briefly if it might be better to paddle back out to sea.  But out of nowhere a jogger came by, who led us to his car, carried our swamped boats, and delivered us to the rehearsal, and to the dinner, right on time.

Christ will bring us home safe, he who carried our burdens will carry us through, in every storm he will be faithful to you, to the ship of his church, and pilot us through together.  So that delivered safely to the other side you will look over your shoulder and ask yourself, “Why was I afraid, where was my faith?” And at the last, we will arrive together on that far golden shore, safe in its harbor, and we will sit down to dinner and feast, and worship him forever.

And the Peace of God which passes all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Ryan Mills

New Haven, Connecticut

Pastor@TrinityLutheranNH.org