Facing the Weather

Facing the Weather--July 6, 2017

"On that day, when evening had come, [Jesus] said to [his disciples], 'Let us go across tot he 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, 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?' He wok 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?'" [Mark 4:35-41]

A summer storm came through a couple of weeks ago, and the resulting flooding caused some major damage for folks around town here.  One neighbor down the street lost their furnace from the amount of water that filled their basement.  Others lost whatever treasures they had been storing in their basements and brought the ruined remains of shelves, boxes, couches, and such out onto their tree lawns in the following days to be pitched. 

There are plenty of deeply devout, utterly faithful people in our community--but the storms still came.  There are plenty of folks in our county who trust in Jesus, but the flash floods still cost them.  To say that Jesus leads us beyond the country of fear, as we have been exploring this week, does not mean that we are given some promise that nothing bad will happen in life--to us or to those we love.  Living out from under the shadow of fear does not mean we are invulnerable, nor that God will not allow your boat or your basement to be swamped with incoming water.  Ask the disciples. 

Or consider this news item of the last few weeks.  There is an iceberg about to calve off of the Antarctic ice shelf--a monster of ice hundreds of feet thick down below the surface of the water, and as large across as the entire state of Delaware.  Scientists say it is perhaps the largest piece of ice to break off there in all of years humans have been recording such things.  That thought fills me with dread--dread for the ships that might encounter such a beastly block of ice... dread for the thought of some ship's crew member who will think he sees land in the distance and how his heart will sink to his feet when he sees that the "island" is coming toward him and his vessel with terrible speed... dread for what it might mean for the world that larger and larger icebergs are forming, and what will happen when this one's 2,300 square miles of ice melts into a trillion new gallons of seawater. 

Now, I believe in God.  And I believe that the God we meet in Jesus does indeed free us from the grip of fear... but I also have to believe that giant icebergs are real.  Faith in God does not suddenly glue the ice shelf back together, and it makes no promises that this new iceberg will cause no damage or have no lasting repercussions.  As much as I believe that faith in God's goodness and grace leads us out from being ruled by fear, I also believe that disastrous things still happen.  The Christian faith is not--or at least is not meant to be--license to believe in immunity from bad things.  The boat with the disciples still takes on water when the storm comes--and it still comes, even with Jesus onboard.  The houses full of people of deep faith still get basements full of water when the pop-up thunder cell overwhelms the storm sewers--and those summer rains still come, even for church-going people in a pleasant town.  The iceberg will still break off of the Larsen ice shelf, along with whatever portentous meanings or ominous consequences that brings--and such things still happen, along with hurricanes, famines, epidemics, wars, bombings, and shooting rampages, even though this is God's world.

All of this is to say that whatever it means to have faith in the mercy of God, and whatever it means to let such faith free us from captivity to fear, it does not mean that terrible things may not still happen in life.  They can.  They do.  Being free from fear does not mean being free from seeing reality as it is. Freedom from fear (for the followers of Jesus) is not the right to stick our heads in the sand or ignore dangerous realities, or the power to wish them away. 

Notice that even in a story that ends with Jesus calming a storm--the storm still comes.  The ship takes on water.  And the disciples really are feeling like Jesus must not care.  To be a disciple of Jesus does not mean you are spared storms or their consequences, and it does not even guarantee us a warm, fuzzy feeling inside that everything is happy and fine.  The disciples go through their share of storms.  For that matter, they would each one day lose their lives for their faith in Jesus--trust in Jesus does not mean being spared suffering or loss.

So when we talk about being free from the power of fear, it is not because we have been given some inside information that nothing bad will happen.  It is not the kind of easy bravery you find when you know nothing unpleasant will happen.  That is hardly bravery--that's rather like being in the old Monty Python sketch where the Spanish Inquisition uses "the comfy chair" and the "soft cushion" to get prisoners to talk.  Nobody lives in fear of the pain of "the comfy chair" because there is no pain.  Real freedom from fear, on the other hand, arises precisely in the midst of real suffering and real pain.

To say that mercy moves us beyond the country of fear, then, is not to say that I can use God as some magical good luck charm to ward off the storms from hitting my house, or the waters from overwhelming my boat, or the sea levels from rising on my home planet.  Simply saying, "I believe in God" does not put a protective force field around my house when the flood comes.  And simply choosing to ignore a problem by saying, "Well, God will fix it" is not what faith really means.  Being freed from the grip of fear is not license to dress up willful ignorance in religious garb, and genuine Christ-like courage is not permission to be naïve.

Rather, when Jesus mercifully leads us beyond the grip of fear, it means the ability to see things honestly, truthfully, even with stark clarity (whether we like what we see or not), and then to respond with our wits about us, rather than either being throw into chaos or covering our eyes and ears.  To be led beyond the country of fear is to be freed from having fear dictate how we deal with a world that is still full of swirling seas and scary things.

So as you and I step out the door today, grounded in faith that our lives are held by a God of grace and swept up in Jesus' movement of mercy, we do so with open eyes and heads held high.  Dangers still lurk in the world--we do not pretend they do not.  Terrible things happen in life--we do not get to imagine that God is our magical good luck charm to ward off thunderstorms, icebergs, cancer, or other people's hatred.  But rather being led beyond the country of fear means we no longer have to dwell in fear--that we no longer have to live under its authority.  We can see the troubles of the day in their right perspective, with clear eyes, and then to deal with them compassionately and wisely.

You'll note, here in this story from Mark's Gospel, that when Jesus is awakened and has calmed the storm, he does not say to his disciples, "Didn't you boneheads know that there was never any danger?" nor does he say, "There wasn't ever really a storm--that was all a hoax!"  The storm is real, and the danger was real, too.  Rather, when Jesus asks, "Why are you afraid?" it is as if to remind them that they do not have to be ruled by fear, but can face the situation with honest vision and grounded clarity.  The promise, in other words, is not that we will face no storms in this life, but rather that Mercy changes the way we endure them. 

Living by fear will throw me into a meltdown of panic when the storm starts, and I'll be no use to anybody, whether in my own house, my own boat, or to the neighbors down the way (did you notice that these verses from Mark say that there were other boats around in this story, but the panicking disciples don't even think to ask about how they are doing?).

Living by willful ignorance will send me off in my boat for a three-hour tour with the mistaken assumption that no storms can come because I am a Christian, or that storms aren't really very dangerous after all.

But living beyond the country of fear means that when the storm comes, I don't suddenly lose my head, or start blaming the rest of the people on the boat, or forgetting about the people in the other boats around me, either.  Being free from the rule of fear means that I can keep my head and heart above water enough to still respond to danger with compassion, so that instead of saying, "It's every man for himself!" I can help pull someone into my boat who was thrown overboard from theirs when it was sinking.  Being free from the rule of fear means that when someone else is seeking refuge from the storm, I can still have the compassion to take them in and offer shelter, rather than telling them to fend for themselves.  It is not that awful things will not still happen in life because we believe in God, but rather it is following Jesus that gives me a whole new way to respond to the awful things that happen with clarity and with love.

There is likely rain coming today.  We don't have to pretend it's not... and we don't have to lose our heads over it.  But... maybe you and I can have the calmness and clarity of mind to remember and umbrella today--and to keep any eye out for someone else who is getting drenched and to offer to share ours.

Lord God, give us the clarity and compassion to face whatever the weather brings today, so that we are not ruled by fear, but able to face fearful things wisely.