The Storm

May I speak to you and may we all hear in the Name of God, the Holy and Undivided Trinity. Amen.

A boat on the sea. A great wind or gale. A main character asleep. Seafarers – that is, experienced travellers who would have undoubtedly encountered high winds before – seafarers turning in despair to that main character asleep for calm and the protection of their lives. 

As if written on a palimpsest, the story of Jonah resurfaces from beneath both our passages from Job and Mark. Their similarities and differences prompt a comparison and highlight the journey from the Old Testament [TaNaKh] to the New Covenant. Jonah was fleeing from God’s will, trying desperately not to go to Nineveh where God had called him, a prophet, to ‘cry out against it’ [Jonah 1:2]. Jesus, instead, finds himself on a boat which he has requested so as to avoid the crowd who might well crush him. Throughout his time around the sea or lake of Galilee, not only does he not shy away from his ministry, but he finds himself (with a

Jonah attempts at hiding from God, so much so that when the great wind arises and everyone – again, seafarers and not any kind of passengers – everyone is panicking, he decides to go into the hold of the ship to sleep, preferring death over going to Nineveh and inviting a people he despises to repent. Instead, Jesus keeps giving evidence of who he is, trying to make himself known as God incarnate, and has already fallen asleep by the time the gale arises. So, as we could anticipate, there are clear differences between Jonah and Jesus, between an anti-hero and a hero if you wish, between a prophet and God incarnate.

Now similarities. The seafarers’ or fishermen’s reactions are almost identical: they are afraid of perishing, they do not want to die, and they call out to God for help. In Jonah, they each call their own god and will cast lots to find out who is responsible for the danger threatening their lives. They need to find the cause because they will need a sacrifice to appease whichever god is angry according to the belief framework in which they operate. They trust that whichever divinity they believe in will speak to them through casting lots and, indeed, Jonah is found out to be responsible of the great wind. Realising that his attempt at simply hiding in the hold of the ship did not work, Jonah recommends that they sacrifice him by throwing him overboard. And yet, in the midst of danger, afraid of losing their lives, the seafarers are not so inclined to do so. Instead, they try hard to row against the wind. It is only after trying this and failing that they resolve to follow Jonah’s advice. And, as we know, a big fish is just waiting to swallow Jonah and save him. 

Similarly, our disciples on the boat in the lake of Galilee, afraid of perishing, turn … to Jesus. They do not turn to other gods, nor do they cast lots to try and discern why God is doing this to them, nor do they pray God as if Jesus was absent: they immediately turn to the one who – although we are still early in the Gospel of Mark – the one who has already shown that there is hardly anything he cannot do, their ‘Teacher,’ their ‘Rabbouni,’ the one leading to God.   

And so, just as there is a little bit of irony in Jonah’s story when God refuses to let him off the hook just because Jonah does not feel like helping the people of Nineveh (which he will though succeed at, much to his surprise and disappointment!), so is there a little bit of irony when Jesus rebukes the disciples saying ‘have you still no faith?’ There is no one else they would turn to that night in the midst of peril and uncertainty, and they are proved right to do so, if prompted by fear.

And this is what Jesus addresses in his rebuke: their fear. A fear for their lives which stems from the fear that he does not care about what happens to them and that they are left alone in the midst of danger. This fear resonates with both Jonah’s and Job’s protests to God at the end of both books and which God addresses. 

Much of Jesus’ ministry around the lake of Galilee – and of course everywhere he goes – is about healing. It is about healing precisely because Jesus cares about those whom he encounters. It is God showing in immediate and practical ways that God loves them and wants them to be healed from fear, to be freed from hear. But that form of care and healing takes the disciples by surprise.

Instead of reading the journeys of the disciples with Jesus from one side of the lake to another as transitions from one place of healing to another, the journeys themselves become fully integrated in Jesus’ teaching to his disciples and an equal source of healing for their souls. We are told that Jesus teaches his disciples only in parables and one may want to read the story of the boat threatened by the great wind as a parable too.

The journey – or any journey on the lake – is not long, and it does not need to be. It follows Jesus’ parable of the sower and the parable of the mustard seed. The journey too is short enough to offer great teaching to and bear long-term fruits for the disciples. It is the evening, and we can only assume that it is getting dark. Although there are fishermen among them, the wind is so great that the experienced travellers among them feel out of control. It is no coincidence that many of our prayers in the Church are about finding peace at night and being defended from fears at night. Think of Evensong. Think of Compline. When our senses are severely hindered, when we are at our most vulnerable, we feel much less equipped to address whatever comes our way.

But also, they are on their way to ‘the other side’ as Mark puts it. It is one of many sides of the lake which they will visit. Once they reach this ‘other side’, again, Jesus heals a man with an unclean spirit who is living among the tombs, that is, among the dead. This healing process on the ‘other side’ takes on another meaning by which the man is restored among the living – not exactly a resurrection, but certainly a new life.

For the disciples, the journey to ‘the other side,’ to another place of healing, is surrounded by fear: fear of death, fear of the unknown. Yet what it teaches them is that this fear which could be paralysing and lethal can be turned on its head and result in awe – another form of fear but transformed through respect and wonder. If we read that particular journey as fully included in Jesus’ ministry, the great wind which threatens the disciples participates in their healing process, a healing from fear, a preparation for their future ministry after Pentecost.

And this is for us a reminder that the Gospel as a whole, the sharing of the Good News, is at its heart a source of healing, medicine to our souls. While the scene described in Mark is dramatic and visually impressive, we know all too well that we all go through invisible storms, within us, which go unnoticed to others, but which turn our lives upside down. High winds which make us feel that we are lost and left alone, when we could surrender to fear, and we may feel that we are or that something within us is sinking.

Instead of discarding these ‘journeys within’ and brushing them off as unimportant in the grand scheme of things, or as distractions from what really matters, I believe that they are all included in this storm on the sea. While it may sound hopeless in these circumstances to try and still that storm, God is inviting us not to look away, but to look them in the face, assuring us that what can truly offer us peace and a way forward is faith that God is present throughout, certainly not abandoning us or not caring. But God’s healing, which takes us to ‘the other side’ is not necessarily pain-free. That is the surprise for the disciples and so it is ours to ponder. Because this may sound a little bit abstract, I will close with an example.

In February 1942, British painter Stanley Warren was among dozens of thousands of people in the allied forces (and civilians) to be made Prisoners of War as Japan took over Singapore. What had been initially built as a naval base for a few hundred was transformed into the ‘Changi Camp’ for several thousands. Food soon became scarce and the sanitary conditions dreadful, so much so that dysentery quickly spread across the area. One barrack was soon turned into a hospital and Warren, initially sent to another camp, returned to Changi as a patient. His condition was so serious with severe renal disorder and dysentery that it was thought he would die. He ended up on the first floor of the so-called Roberts Barrack where, on the ground floor, a chapel had been built with whatever the prisoners had been able to find around. Slowly recovering and still very much frail and in pain, he managed to feel well enough and enquired about the chapel, which situated in the hospital had been named after St Luke. Having heard that Warren was a painter, the Padres asked him if he would consider decorating the chapel. Although materials were very limited and the walls quite challenging to paint on, Warren accepted, partly as an expression of gratitude for his survival. And so began another journey towards healing. He painted five panels in total, which he paired with biblical verses: the Nativity and the Ascension first – so that, should he die in the meantime, both ends of Jesus’ earthly life would be depicted – then the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, and one particularly commissioned by a Padre representing St Luke among the prisoners.

While it might have been perceived as quite futile in such extreme circumstances, the presence of the paintings was instead pointing beyond the prisoners’ condition. In the midst of suffering, fear, and hopelessness, Warren provided for them something to hold on, a reminder of God’s presence and care for them. He redirected their fear to a sense of awe.