William Lord Margraf, Seminarian | June 23, 2024 at the 7:45am Eucharist

Mark 4:35-41

When evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But 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?” He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

May the words of my lips be yours, Loving Creator, in the service of these my brothers and sisters and siblings, through Christ, Our Lord.  Amen.

“Honey, use your words.”  

Perhaps every parent has counseled their little one in a time of a child’s emotional crisis with this encouragement.  After a few moments of the child’s stammering, between sobs and flailing limbs, the gentle coaxing and trusted presence of a caring adult helps the child to articulate their need or their hurt or their struggle.  

Once it is articulated, it feels as if the better part of the battle is won.  In relief, the child and the adult together find a way through what was a moment ago the cusp of a world-ending calamity.

What was a frightening and lonely challenge becomes an empowered partnership wiping away a terribly scary time. 

And it all starts by “using our words.”

I wonder if Jesus was just waiting for his disciples to “use their words.”  

I wonder if Jesus might have been feigning sleep while his followers lost all hope.While they tossed hopelessly,  I can imagine that

Jesus hoped

Jesus prayed

they would call on him for help.  

Was Jesus praying for them to “use their words”?

In every miracle or healing  — except for perhaps one, I think —  Jesus only acts when a person in need asks or consents for healing 

because God acts in concert with us.  

And

things happen when we are completely open with God.  

While we muddle about trying to “do it ourselves” or to muster up the humility, 

God waits 

God hopes

God yearns 

to hear us invite God into whatever struggle with which we wrestle.  

I know in my own experience, God certainly does not always provide a miracle.  

But I can testify in my crying out to God that I have felt that gentle divine presence, that tender assurance that I am not alone.  

Somehow, after my cries of desperation, my burden is lighter, My circumstances seem more manageable, 

I feel more hopeful.  

In today’s Gospel passage, did the disciples think they could ride out the storm?  Did they feel so self-sufficient that they could somehow make it to shore safely under their own power?  Did they stubbornly dig into their own false self image of being “the strong one” that they alone could fix it? 

In the end, the disciples could only allow themselves to be honest about their fear of perishing and that they needed to rely on Jesus.

Amidst the chaos in that boat on that violent sea during that dark, threatening night, I can imagine Jesus, under a blanket in the stern of that boat, praying: 

“O Father, my brothers and sisters are so distressed.  

O Father, I hope they will come to me 

so we can provide them with calm and peace.”

My prayer is for us to freely and continually cry out to God in need, in distress, in joy, and in thanksgiving.  May we have ears to hear.  May we have voices to cry out.  May we have hearts to know that 

God is always with us. 

 Amen.