This morning, up early and sitting on my porch, I am watching my little piece of the world recover and dry out from a beating of rain and wind and lightning last night. We needed the rain, to be sure, but the wind, thunder and lightning were there for what effect? To remind us of our smallness in the face of it all? Maybe so. A parable embedded in a storm.
It’s peaceful now, the birds and squirrels noisy in their gathering around the feeders and searching the saturated ground for what can be found from and on the earth. A young doe wanders through the yard, paying no attention to the man on the porch with the moving, tapping fingers, and I wonder where she hid away last night in the face of such a destructive (and yet life-bringing) display of the power of creation and Creator.
And then I open the Word to see what it has for us today and discover Jesus and the disciples in a night crossing in a small boat being tossed by a storm, the disciples fearful and confused by their teacher, asleep on a cushion, as secure and restful as a young doe in high grass, knowing that this, too, will pass…
Leaving the crowds, well into the crossing
the storm overcame, spilled over the sides
turning boat into bowl
fishermen into hasty bailers
and there you slept, at rest on a cushion.
Finally, unable to wait any longer, we woke you
wondering if you knew or feared our peril.
You blinked yourself awake, took in our fearful faces
smiled a crooked little smile, held up your hand
as if waving to someone on shore.
“Quiet, be still,” you said, speaking,
it seems now, to both us and sea.
And a great calm spread over both
the sea ceased its roiling anger
and in us
terror and lack of faith
subsided.
We looked at you, looking at us
and saw for maybe the first time
you who even the wind and sea obey.
– from Mark 4:35-41