On that day, when evening had come, He said to them, “Let u s go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd, they took Him with them in the boat, just as He was. And other boats were with Him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But He was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke Him and said to Him, “Teacher, do You not care that we are perishing?” And He awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. And He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still not faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?”
Mark 4:35-41
A windstorm on a large lake is no small thing. When I was about fifteen, my dad and I went on a 5-day backpacking trip in Algonquin National Park in Ontario, Canada. At one time we wanted to canoe across a large lake to continue our hiking for the day. At first, the lake was calm. We had no idea that once we were halfway across, a windstorm would suddenly pick up. We were both terrified, although at the time I couldn’t tell my dad was afraid; he was relatively calm and collective as far as I could tell (after all, he had his preteen son with him, who doesn’t know how to swim, not to mention all our camera and camping gear were with us). Realising it was now impossible to canoe across the entire lake, we decided to paddle to a nearby island to make camp for the night, which wasn’t that far away.
But with a grown man steering at the stern and a skinny 15-year-old paddling at the bow, we were paddling against strong winds and waves. It seemed that for every foot we travelled, we were pushed back three feet as the waves slapped up against our canoe. Eventually, we made it to the island and some campers graciously shared their campsite with us as we setup our tent—soaking wet, terrified, and relieved. I don’t know how long it took us to get there, but it felt like an hour, if not more. That’s the first time in my life that I remember praying a lot, and I wasn’t particularly religious at the time.
It was no different than on the Sea of Galilee, which I can also speak to from experience. When I had gone on my pilgrimage to Israel with a group of students back in college, we had the opportunity to sail on the Sea of Galilee. We were on the lake for about 20 minutes when the wind started up a little, and the captain sailed us back to land in fear of a windstorm. If he was cautious, you know it could’ve gotten serious (in fact, later it did as we stood ashore and watched the mighty waves).
I share those stories because I sympathise with the disciples’ fear. Should they have had faith in Jesus, especially after all they’ve seen Him do? Of course, but they’re only human. Would you or I act any differently? I doubt it. Why wouldn’t they be terrified when a windstorm picked up? Who knows what prior bad experiences they’ve had on the lake?
So, what is the whole point of Jesus’ calming the storm? Many sermons, Bible studies, books, and devotions have allegorised the text, saying, “Just as Jesus calmed the storm, so He can calm your anxiety.” There’s a time for allegory when it’s taken from the Scriptures, but this is not one of those allegories. (If you’re going to allegorise, use the Scriptures, not some TED Talk motivational speech nonsense.) Besides, Jesus didn’t calm the disciples’ anxiety; He calmed the storm! In fact, the disciples weren’t calm at all! Instead, “they were filled with great fear.” They were more scared of Jesus than they were of the windstorm! Can Jesus calm your anxiety? Yes, but that’s not what this text is about. This is hardly a story about calming anxiety when the disciples were more anxious than before.
The point of this account is that we learn of Jesus’ two natures, human and divine, which are co-joined, not separate. Jesus is so exhausted that He sleeps through a windstorm, so here we see His humanity. When Jesus commands the storm to stop with only two words (in Greek), we see His divinity, that He is God, for only God the Creator who created all things with His Word can command His creation to do what He wants. This is what the disciples perhaps suddenly realise. They don’t just have a wise rabbi in their boat; they have God sleeping in their boat! He is literally Immanuel, God with us! They witness Jesus, as God, command the windstorm to cease with two short Greek words (σιώπα, πεφίμωσο [siopa, pephimoso], “Be quiet, be silent”).
How might one preach on this text? Rather than using such a poor allegory, why is it Good News to see Jesus’ humanity and divinity in this text? Here’s one possibility: Because He became human, we have a God who is able to sympathise with all our weaknesses (Hebrews 4:15). He knows what it’s like to be exhausted. He understands the necessity for sleep. He knows what it’s like to be weak. Ultimately, He became weak for you when He gave Himself over to the cross. He became weak that you might receive the strength of His salvation. He is not just human for you; He is also God for you.
The Lutheran Column 