A Sermon from the Church of
Bethesda-by-the-Sea in Palm Beach, Florida
Preached by the Rev. Timothy E. Schenck on June 23, 2024 (Proper 7, Year B)
There’s a meme I remember going around awhile ago that said, “This year I want to be more like Jesus: Hang out with sinners, upset religious people, choose unpopular friends, and take naps on boats.”
And while I endorse all of these things, it’s the last one that stands out this morning: take naps on boats. Because that’s precisely what Jesus is doing in our gospel passage from Mark. And although I’d rather not take a nap on a boat during a raging storm, I love the fact that while everything’s swirling and the disciples are freaking out, Jesus is zonked out on a cushion in the stern, taking a snooze after another full day of teaching about the kingdom of heaven in the hot sun.
But, still, this squall that kicked up on the Sea of Galilee must have been a real doozy — both intense and truly terrifying. Jesus’s companions were experienced fishermen, after all, not accountants. They were used to being on the water in all sorts of conditions. They grew up on the sea, they made their living on the sea. And so if even these men were convinced they were about to be lost at sea, well, that storm must have really been something.
Which is why they roust Jesus from his slumber, incredulous that he’s sleeping through the howling wind and crashing waves and driving rain. They shake him and desperately demand to know, “Do you not care that we are perishing?” I mean, he’s the one that got them into this mess in the first place. Not only had they literally dropped their nets to follow him, he’s the one who had told them to get into that boat. It was at Jesus’ urging that the disciples were crossing the Sea of Galilee, so that they could continue to spread the good news of Jesus’ message of love. Why do all that, why go to all that effort, if they’re just going to end up in a watery grave at the bottom of the sea?
“Do you not care that we are perishing?” they demand to know, as Jesus peacefully naps in the back of the boat. And it’s a good question. One that, if we’re honest, we also occasionally ask. Maybe not in these terms, exactly. We generally don’t think Jesus is trying to drown us.
But with everything that’s swirling in our world these days, it can feel like God is nowhere to be found and Jesus is fast asleep in the back of the boat. It’s hard not to wonder where God is when we think about hostages tortured and hospitals destroyed in the Middle East. When we think about our deeply divided nation, and the collective sense of dread about our upcoming national election. When we think about the fragility of our planet and the mess we’re leaving for future generations. When we think about the ways the rights of marginalized and vulnerable populations are daily being trampled upon.
It can absolutely feel like Jesus is asleep in the back of the boat, while we’re rapidly taking on more and more water. While our boat is getting swamped. Despite the urgency of our attempts to wake him up, Jesus doesn’t appear to want to get involved. It feels as if he’d just rather not be bothered. “Do you not care that we are perishing?”
And it’s not just world events; this question can be deeply personal. When we’re going through a crisis — a relationship in tatters, an unsettling medical diagnosis, trouble at work, a life that seems to lack meaning, whatever it is — it feels like Jesus is asleep in the back of the boat. And we can’t help but feel abandoned, lost at sea. Like our faith is not quite the bedrock we’ve been led to believe. That at the precise moment when we need Jesus the most, he is apparently unavailable.
But then something dawns on you. You realize that Jesus actually is in the boat with you. That Jesus is present even in the midst of our wildest storms. That Jesus isn’t ignoring us or abandoning us or forsaking us. He’s loving us, calming us, protecting us. Showing us that the storms we’re experiencing may not be quite as destructive as we make them out to be. Because he is always with us. Stilling our storms, calming our rough seas, filling us with that peace that truly does pass all understanding.
And the thing is, only Jesus can do this for us. Now, we try to calm our souls in all sorts of ways — through self-help books, liquor, beauty products, seeking affirmation on social media, binge-watching shows on Netflix, hoarding money. But only Jesus can still the storms in your life. Only Jesus can bring order to the chaos of the human condition. Everything else falls short. And the sooner we not only recognize that, but embody it in our everyday lives, in the ways we interact with ourselves and others — the sooner the storms will lose their power.
“Peace! Be still!” Jesus commands the raging storm. And suddenly, we hear, there was a dead calm. In an instant, all went silent. The churning waves, the whipping wind, the driving rain, it all ceased.
And I want you to think about that stillness; the calm after the storm. The sudden quiet, the gentle breeze, the warm sun peeking through the clouds. That’s the stillness Jesus wants to bring to your soul. That’s the peace Jesus wants you to experience. A calmness rooted in trusting that Jesus is always with you. Whether you recognize it in the moment or not, Jesus is right beside you in that boat. Loving you for who you are, enfolding you in his presence, gazing at you with deep compassion.
And when we recognize that, when we feel his presence at the very depths of our souls, those heavy burdens of fear and anxiety and hopelessness that we carry around with us like heavy chains, are lifted. And we experience the freedom and peace of that calm after the storm. Of knowing that Jesus will always be in the boat with you.
I don’t know about you, but I find that these stories of Jesus on the water — stilling the storm, walking on water, getting into boats, calling a bunch of fishermen — these stories just hit differently when you’re at a place called Bethesda-by-the-Sea. For Jesus, the Sea of Galilee was never too far away, just as the intracoastal and the Atlantic Ocean are never too far away for us.
And whether you take a walk on the beach or look out your window as you drive down Ocean Boulevard or along Flagler Drive, the water connects us to the Biblical world. The water links us to the life of Jesus. And I love that.
Because when the inevitable storms arise out on that water, I encourage you to think about the storms in your own life. And to remember that Jesus is always in the boat with you. Stilling the storm, calming your soul, and bringing you peace.
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