Why did the disciples cross the lake?  To get to the other side.  Only, as it turns out, that wasn’t so simple as they had thought when they set out.  It seemed like it would be.  And they had Jesus with them, after all, right?  What could go wrong?  Jesus was going to take care of everything.  And yes, he did, but . . .

What we should probably remember here, first, is that it was Jesus who proposed this trip: “One day Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us go over to the other side of the lake.’  So they got into a boat and set out” (8:22).  Maybe that should be they set out one fine, sunny day.  If it were overcast and brisk, that might cause us some concern: maybe it’s not a good day to be on the lake.  It’s not as if the apostles, many of them having grown up at the Sea of Galilee, many of them having learned their work and earned their livings on the Sea of Galilee—it’s not as if these guys wouldn’t have noticed when the signs or even hint of a squall were present.

Let’s say, though, that it wasn’t entirely sunny and it wasn’t entirely overcast.  There are days like that, mixed days.  In almost any event, going across the lake would take less time than walking around it, especially when the wind was favorable.  I read that it takes about three hours to walk around the Sea of Galilee, the entire lake.  Estimates vary widely regarding the time it would take to cross it by boat: conservative estimates say an hour, bolder estimates say thirty minutes.  The Sea, today, is about eight miles across.  If you knew what you were doing, of course you’d go by boat, unless the weather gave every indication of being unfavorable.  It seems there were no such indications.

But let’s say there were some hints that the weather could take a turn for the worse.  These were experienced sailors.  They knew the lake.  The other apostles trusted the experience, skill, and judgment of the fishermen.  Besides, Jesus was with them, so nothing bad could happen, right?  Looking back on the event now, and understanding that Jesus was not ignorant about what was happening around him and even at a distance, we’ve got to wonder a little, I think, about what Jesus had in mind.  It would not be too much to say that Jesus proposed they cross the lake knowing that the squall would come, and that it wouldn’t be just a little one.  It would not be too much to say that Jesus knowingly sends his followers out into a rough, risky, dangerous situation.  Does Jesus want to endanger us?

No.  Jesus does not want to endanger us, but he does want to teach his followers something about danger; he does want to teach his followers something about what it means that he is with them, the meaning of his being with them.  Self-preservation is a strong impulse, we know, but being timid will never get us very far.  Little as I like it, meekness is a virtue; being timid not so much.  To have Jesus with us does not mean no situation of danger will ever come along, or that we will never be at risk or in peril.  We already know that, though, I hope.  Have you ever done something risky and lived to tell about it (or maybe tell no one)?  There’s prudence; that’s good to have.  There’s wisdom; that’s good to have.  Then there’s also courage.  That’s also good to have.  Prudence keeps courage from being stupidity, and courage keeps prudence from being cowardice.  Wisdom tempers both, for there’s no wisdom without experience.  The beginning of wisdom, its foundation, as it were, as Scripture reminds us, is the fear of the Lord.  Fear is not paralyzed terror but awestruck wonder, reverence, and obedience.  Do you really want to defy God?  Are you sure?  Have you really thought about this?

God’s power is creation power.  God likewise has the power to overthrow and obliterate.  Both powers—really the same power—are beyond our ability to measure.  Glorious as it is, this is not necessarily power you want exercised right over your head.  But God works on the small scale as well as the cosmic scale.  When we encounter that which is much bigger, much more powerful, maybe a little ominous, we’ve got to decide how we want to encounter it, how we want to proceed.  Sometimes you can’t go around it; you’ve got to go through it.  Extended unemployment.  Cancer.  Divorce.  A death.  A shattering loss.  Aging.  That which can shake what you thought was the firm foundation of your faith in God, God’s love, God’s goodness, God’s power.  Haven’t you ever been shaken?

Jesus was there, in the boat.  The apostles had seen Jesus at work and knew power was with him, God’s power was with Jesus.  And there, on the lake in the storm, where was Jesus?  Asleep.  How could he be asleep?  How could he possibly sleep?  Maybe he was terribly exhausted.  Have you ever been terribly exhausted?  Ever fallen asleep still in your work clothes?  Ever slept ten hours or more, completely asleep?  Bone tired.  Why would Jesus be bone tired?  Why were you?  Exhausted.  Wiped out from the demands, the labor, the stress, the strain.  Sleep can be a welcome relief, a welcome release.  No wonder we’re slow to wake: I don’t wanna!  Do I have to?  And did people all around Jesus place no demands upon him?  And did he not, in his humanity, feel it, too?

God isn’t supposed to be asleep.  He doesn’t sleep, but He doesn’t always answer right away, either, does He?  When God is with us, why storms just aren’t possible!  Right.  But what if it’s God who allows the storm?  Well, why would He ever do that?  We know we’re not supposed to think this way, yet we fall into a way of thinking that, with God loving us so much and all, why life will be sunshine and jackpots from here on out.  And then it isn’t that way, and we get ruffled, flustered, a little put out with God.  Hey!  You’re supposed to do for me, you know!  And after all I’ve done for you!

Beloved, I’m not downplaying the seriousness of any storm that God allows to come along.  They are big.  They are real.  They are scary.  And all our skill, all our experience, even our courage and wisdom, can feel as if they just aren’t up to this.  Beyond us—beyond our ability to navigate.  Oh, it’s terrible, to have to ride out a bad storm, I know.

“[T]he boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger” (8:23).  Luke isn’t downplaying this.  It’s real danger, “great danger.”  The boat was taking on water faster than they could bail, and the storm showed no signs of letting up.  Why didn’t they wake Jesus at the first sign of danger?  They thought they could handle it.  They knew Jesus was tired.  They were tired, too.  They were trying to be considerate.  Then they got occupied with managing the boat in the storm—no one had a moment to break away from his post to go shake Jesus awake—shouldn’t the storm do that, anyway?  Why wasn’t he waking up?  Why wasn’t he doing anything?

But things got to the point when there was nothing left for them but to go to Jesus and try to get his attention.  Ever been there?  “The disciples went and woke him, saying, ‘Master, Master, we’re going to drown!’” (8:24).  Fact or fear?  It sure looked like fact, even if it hadn’t happened yet.  Have you ever had the conviction or just the strong fear that you were going to die, but didn’t?  We know Jesus isn’t with us in order to preserve our physical life no matter what, in all times and circumstances, or when we don’t want our lives to be done just yet.  Jesus didn’t come to save us from physical death.  He came to give us power for living.  He came to save us from the sin storming in us.  We may not feel the storm, it may even look like a calm day, but as on the Sea of Galilee, sometimes the storm comes up, comes along, awful fast.

But we don’t want to go through the storms.  Jesus—Jesus is peace and love and joy.  A storm is no peace, fear, and sorrow.

We know Jesus is with us, but what good does that do us, in the storm?  Jesus was asleep: he shouldn’t have been asleep!  When has it seemed to you as if Jesus was asleep when he ought to have been awake for you, alert, and at his post?  When they cry out to him, he responds.  He hears.  He hears us, hears our prayers.  He doesn’t disregard them, but our praying does not require any immediate, overawing response from him.  We want him to be under obligation to us, but we discover that the obligation is all on our side—what kind of deal is this?

And they cry out to him, and he responds.  He rises.  He rebukes the wind and the raging waters, that churning chaos—is it outside or in here?  Both!  He rebukes the storm, and it subsides.  Hallelujah, Amen!  The twelve, drenched, stunned, look around, dumbfounded.  (Remember, oh remember, Judas is there, too, and Thomas.)  How?  It was just as dark as night!  The winds were clawing at us, dragging us out of the swamped, sinking boat, waves high as sycamore trees.  And now?  How?

Jesus responds in the strangest way.  “‘Where is your faith?’ he asked his disciples” (8:25).  We want Jesus to get us through, through it all.  We sing about Jesus, sing to Jesus.  All our wanting and all our singing won’t do an ounce of good, without faith.  Faith gets us through.  Faith gives life to our singing, our praying, and our hoping.  The danger is great, yes.  The danger is real, yes.  There is greater grace.  Grace is greater than every danger.  Faith is the key to accessing and experiencing grace.  Faith is the key to knowing Jesus: his love, his power, his grace, his glory, his peace.

Life in Christ is not the promise of no troubles, no trials, no danger or peril.  Life in Christ is the promise of ability, grace, mercy, and glory—the confidence that the steadfast love of the Lord is with us in all seasons, and His promise is sure.  The gifts of prudence, courage, and wisdom are given to be developed, put to use, real use, hard service.  These are tools for labor not leisure, the work of life, not carefree play.  We can’t always go around life; sometimes, we must go through it.