What difference does faith make?
What difference does faith make?
A Sermon on Mark 4:35-41
This past weekend I relished in the opportunity to preach at Coastline, our home church in Victoria. It’s been over a year since my last sermon, so it felt really good to shake the dust off and get back to preaching. I don’t plan on sharing many sermons on Ordinary Matters—but this one was special to me.
As you can tell from the screenshot, I talk about “catching a fish this big” and move with such speed the camera had trouble tracking me (… I jest: a big thank you to Coastline’s excellent media team). I also talk about my fear of alligators. The sermon is on a favourite passage in Mark 4:35-41. I try to answer the question: What difference does faith make in the storm?
Behind the Scenes
Here is some bonus content for you—especially if you are a little bit of a Bible nerd. These are some details I would never include in a sermon as they’re too technical. Nevertheless, they are interesting! Although my New Testament professor Jim Miller would likely still disagree with me, I remain convinced that Mark 4:35-41 is the centre of a chiasm in the overall structure of the gospel of Mark. A chiasm is a linguistic sandwiching technique in which you work your way into the middle from two directions). Here is how I see it:
Called & Sent
A¹ Disciples: Called (3:13-19)
B¹ Problems at Home (3:20-35)
C¹ Disciple Training: Parables (4:1-34)
D The Storm: Who is this man? (4:35-41)
C² Disciple Training: Parables enacted (5:1-43)
B² Problems at Home (6:1-6)
A² Disciples: Sent (6:7-13)
This section of Mark begins with the disciples being called to Jesus (A¹) and ends with them being sent to announce his kingdom (A²). They witness the challenges related to his ministry (B¹ and B²), and learn about the kingdom of God and also see it in action (C¹ and C²). At the centre of this experience is when Jesus calms the storm (D) and the disciples finally start asking the right question: Who is this man? Their calling and sending ultimately depends upon answering this question—as does our own! Is Jesus merely an interesting Rabbi and teacher or the King of the kingdom and the Son of God?
Take a look at Mark 3:13–6:13 for yourself, and let me know what you think!
Faith In The Storm
If you prefer to read (which I assume is many of you since you’re subscribed to our newsletter), I’ve included my manuscript below:
When I was five and my sister was seven, our family went on vacation in Ontario. We spent many of our days at a decent-sized lake in the Northern area of the Province. We were with our extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins—so, there was still lots of fun to be had. But there’s a story my mom tells that lives in infamy:
My sister and I were playing in a row boat on the shore and a friend of our family decided it would be funny to push us out into the lake … without oars, and without life jackets. I don’t think he really thought it through.
My poor mom was terrified. She paced up and down the coastline yelling out:
Alastair, Stay still.
Alastair Bryan Sterne, Don’t you dare stand up!
She even threw in some Afrikaans, Boyke, Stay seated!
Strangely she shouted nothing to my sister. But that’s because my mom knew the real danger was not the lake but her wild son!
When I was getting the facts straight, I asked my mom, Why didn’t you just swim out to us? She didn’t even pause to think about it. She said, I wasn’t going in the water … there were weeds.
It turns a mother’s love knows some bounds.
Fortunately a stranger swimming in the lake saw two stranded children, swam over to us, and saved the day.
This is the first point I’d like to make: If you want to make friends and influence people, don’t push their children out into a lake in a rowboat without oars and life jackets
Okay, here’s my actual question: What difference does faith make in the storm?
What do we do when we drift into dangerous waters and fear rises up within? Because bigger storms than my childhood misadventure come our way—and they often leave us feeling exposed, vulnerable, helpless, even powerless. We can wonder: How does God meet me here?
Today, I want to step into a passage in the gospel of Mark where the disciples, much like my sister and I in that rowboat, are thrust in dangerous waters. But they truly stare death in the face. Push comes to shove: What difference does faith make in the storm?
Let’s get into our passage and find out. It’s Mark 4.35-41. The scene is set for us in verses 35-37:
That day when evening came, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped.
The sun is setting. The disciples head off with Jesus—“just as he was”—for an evening sail. The waters are calm on the Sea of Galilee. You can see orange hues, light flickering on the ripples of the waves. It’s beautiful. Peaceful. Serene.
I’ve had the privilege of visiting the Sea of Galilee. It truly is stunning. But to my surprise, it’s a much more modest sized lake than I imagined. On a normal day, it would take the disciples about two hours to cross the lake by boat.
Although the Sea of Galilee can be beautiful, peaceful, and serene: it’s not always peaceful. It’s famed for wild windstorms. In other words, windstorms go with the Sea of Galilee like snow storms with Edmonton, rainstorms with Vancouver, or clouds of grasshoppers with Saskatchewan.
On this trip across the Sea of Galilee, “a furious squall” (a great translation) or great windstorm kicked up. The sun has set by now and the boat is enveloped in darkness. The waves begin to break in over the sides and the boat starts to capsize.
Now, let’s remember, a handful of the men in the boat are seasoned fishermen. They were the type of people my mom would have loved to conscript to help her: You’re strong! You’re competent! Help! Becuase I’m not going in the water, there are weeds! But this chaotic storm is too much even for them.
One scholar says the words used to describe the storm could be translated as a hurricane. They are at the whims of nature—feeling exposed, vulnerable, helpless, even powerless. There is nothing they can do. Fear grips their hearts. Their pulse is beating in their throats. Hope disappears as all they can see on the horizon are the crashing waves and utter darkness.
This is a real, life-threatening, hurricane-like situation. Life jackets don’t exist yet. There’s no backup plan. The disciples are confronted with the sheer uncontrollability of the world.
This might be how the story ends.
And while all of this is going on, what is Jesus doing? Manning the ship? Barking orders? Pull his weight? Look at Verses 38-39:
Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?
Mark records this curious detail. Jesus wasn’t just asleep. That was shocking enough given the chaos going on. Jesus was asleep on a cushion! A cushion! Whoever recounted this story to Mark told him, you’ve got to keep this detail in. Jesus was asleep on a cushion!
In a frightful panic, the disciples wake him up. They say":
Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?
Let’s stop here a minute to think about what they call Jesus. They call him:
Teacher.
That’s an odd way to address him.
Out of all the ways they could address Jesus—Rabbi, Master, Lord—they call him Teacher. What’s a teacher going to do? Make this into an object lesson? “This, students, is how you die.” I know a lot of great teachers but they’re not the people I'd want on a sinking ship with me. Maybe … maybe a P.E. teacher. But English teachers, you can stay on shore. Write a poem about it.
You know, what the disciples really need is a Saviour. What they really need is someone who can rescue them from imminent death. But they don’t know Jesus as Saviour at this point in their journey. But given all they’ve heard Jesus teach and all they’ve seen Jesus do in his ministry, there is a flicker of faith waking up in them. They want to believe Jesus makes a difference when it matters most. Essentially they’re asking:
Can the Word of God meet us in the face of death … and bring life?
But they’re not sure. Does Jesus care? Because Jesus was sleeping … on a cushion!
Let’s look at Mark 4:39. This is what happens:
Jesus got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
The chaos ceases. The water is so still it looks like glass. And all Jesus did was speak. He only said the words, Quiet! Be still! And it was so. He says, Shhh! Creation, you woke me up. Calm down. It’s incredible. Jesus can tame the uncontrollable.
Now, it’s tempting to get caught up in the miracle. But as impressive as it is, this is not the headline of the passage. We read in verse 40:
Jesus said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”’
If I was in that boat, I’d want to remind Jesus that while he was sleeping, there was a fierce storm and imminent death. I’d be defensive, Of course I was afraid! I might even say, if I’m daring to be honest, What was faith going to do for me?
Hasn't your heart asked that from time to time? You might think, Yeah, what’s faith going to do when your wild son isn’t wearing a lifejacket and is stranded in the middle of a lake? Or, What is faith actually going to do for me in the storms I’m facing? Or even, What's faith really going to do for me in a life and death situation?
Jesus might turn to us and say, Where is your faith?
The disciples they have no response, no defence. Look at verse 41:
They were terrified.
There’s some nuance here.
When Jesus asks, “Why are you so afraid?” The word for afraid is a survival instinct kind of fear. It’s a reflex. This is what the disciples felt during the storm, before the miracle. But after the miracle, the disciples are terrified. It’s intentionally a different word in the Greek. It’s a different kind of fear. It means incomprehensible shock. The disciples go from afraid to incomprehensible shock: reality stops making sense.
Do you know this kind of fear?
I grew up in Victoria, and in my twenties, this Pacific Northwest Island kid moved to the Sunny and ever-calm state of Florida. In Florida, I was introduced to new fears.
For example: I discovered that you must assume that in every body of water there’s an alligator. I'm not even kidding. Alligators—everywhere. Driving cars, eating at restaurants. But in all seriousness: If you're swimming in a lake: there is a 100% chance an alligator is swimming with you. I discovered this the hard way. My friends, at least I thought they were my friends, took me Kayaking in the Wekiva River. We turned the bend and alligators lined both shores. One even swam directly under my Kayak. I was afraid. Afterward, I asked my friends,“Why would you ever kayak or swim or go near the water, ever?” And they said, “Oh, they usually just eat little dogs. You don’t need to worry.” What! How is that better?
Alligators. They gave me the first kind of fear: a survival instinct fear.
I experienced a different kind of fear during Tropical Storm Fay in 2008. My wife Julia and I were sitting in our living room. Suddenly we hear this loud boom, followed by a terrifying crack— like the sound of a baseball bat if it were swung by a giant. Then the crashing noise got louder and louder and louder until it collided with our house and the whole house shook as if the foundation had between swallowed by the earth. It sounded and felt like a train had derailed and hit our home. We tried to look out the window. But it was pitch black and we couldn’t see anything. We had no idea what happened. It was an incomprehensible shock.
Julia started shaking and I held her. We just looked at each other, jaws wide open, “What just happened?”
Well, a very large tree fell on our house and broke through the roof and into the kitchen. We were lucky not to be hurt. What happened in the moment was incomprehensible. But it still felt more like the first kind of fear: instinctual fear.
But if we had come outside and our beloved pastor Andy Moore was there hands raised telekinetically holding a giant tree above our home, adverting doom while simultaneously keeping all the alligators at bay? Second kind of a fear. It would be incomprehensible. Reality would crumble around us. Who is this man?
A tree just fell on the disciples reality. What just happened? The world stops making sense. Any old human can’t just speak and calm a storm. They are left asking the only question you could ask after a situation like this.
Let’s turn to Verse 41 again:
The disciples were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”
Now they’re getting somewhere.
This man who came into the boast with us “just as he was”: Who is this?
Who is this man who was sleeping on a cushion during all the chaos?
Who is this man that at his word … the wind and waves obey him?
After journeying alongside Jesus for awhile, they are finally asking the right question: Who is Jesus? Because Teacher isn’t going to cut it. We can’t explain this story if Jesus is only a teacher. Let me put it this way, if Jesus was only a good, interesting, moral teacher this story is a total farce. It’s made up—a tall tale. The disciples needed a better answer than Teacher.
And we do too.
If you are wrestling with the question Who is Jesus? And if you haven’t come to an answer yet, there’s another question that you can ask: Are you willing to listen to what Jesus says about himself?
That’s why Jesus asks the disciples, “Have you still no faith?”
Throughout his ministry, Jesus is clear: he came into the world to make himself known. So, he essentially says to his disciples, “After all I've taught and explained to you, after all I’ve shown you, after what you've witnessed: have you still no faith? Are you still ‘seeing but not perceiving, hearing but not understanding?’ Do you still not know who I am?”
So, Who is Jesus? In this specific passage, Jesus doesn’t answer explicitly. He demonstrates it. Jesus, “just as he was,” is capable of calming the storm, the wind, the waves—he tames the uncontrollable world simply by his word.
Who can do this … but God?
You can go back to creation in Genesis. It’s God and God alone who speaks and the watery world becomes ordered. Or think about Psalm 107, God controls the stormy wind and waves of the sea. Do you see? Jesus does things that only God is capable of doing. The gospel of Mark wants us to be sure of this:
Jesus is the Son of God, the Word made flesh, God among us as one of us.
The disciples are finally asking the right question. But they’re still on a journey to discover the right answer. They don’t understand who Jesus is yet. But now, after the storm, Jesus doesn’t fit into their neat and tidy categories … and its a step in the right direction. They face the terrifying possibility that the God of the Universe, the God of Israel, God himself is sitting in the boat among them
The disciples show us something important here: we can be slow to see, slow to understand. The journey toward answering the question, Who is Jesus?, can take some time … and that’s okay. It really is.
Here’s a point for us to take to heart: You can take the time you need to answer the question, Who is Jesus?
Many of us may be able to answer this question, but if you’re still asking, Who is Jesus? Is he really who he claimed to be? Take as much time as you need but no more time than necessary. Because Jesus is inviting you in life in abundance—and I’d hate for you to miss out on that.
I understand what we say about Jesus is an audacious claim: Jesus is fully God and fully human—that these two natures co-exist in one person. You might think, “Wait, hold up: Christians believe Jesus is God? That’s nuts.” Because normally, if someone claims they are God, well … they’re deluded and wrong and needs help—except … in instance of Jesus.
Like the disciples, you might need time to journey into the answer—and you’re in the right place to do that. If you’re still asking the question, I would encourage you: sign up for Alpha. The next course is starting April 9th.
Take as much time as you need but no more time than necessary, because Jesus will ultimately ask each of us, “Who do you say that I am?”
Now, back to the question I asked at the start: What difference does faith make in the storm?
Let me tell you two ways:
First, Where there’s a storm, there’s a Saviour.
We all face storms in life—struggles, troubles, setbacks, difficulties, trials, let-downs, losses, shattered dreams, even deaths. If you haven’t faced big storms yet … I’m sorry to say that you will. Sometimes when chaos looms over us, when the uncontrollability of the world confronts us, and life feels uncertain, we can wonder: Does God care, or is God asleep?
That’s not an unfaithful question.
I want you to know that.
Psalm 44:23 (NLT) teaches us that we can cry out:
“Wake up, O Lord! Why do you sleep? Get up!”
Do you know what I love about this passage? The disciples are already talking to Jesus like He is God, they just don’t realize it yet.
We can empathize with the disciples. How can Jesus sleep in the storm? Doesn’t he feel the danger? They’re staring death in the face—it’s imminent and fearful! But the disciples are not alone. Even asleep, their Saviour is right by their side. And Jesus could sleep (on a cushion!) because he is God. Storms don’t scare him the same way.
He is the one who has power over all things: The wind, the waves … even death itself. Throughout the gospels, Jesus even talks to death like it is merely sleep. Amen?
I won't downplay our storms—they're real and sometimes devastating. I don’t know how hard it is and how bleak it may be. Miracles may come, and we pray for that, but sometimes they don’t. If we expect Jesus to calm every storm we face in our lives, we'll be disappointed. That's not the promise.
Here’s the promise: Where there’s a storm, there’s a Saviour. Even when it seems like God is asleep, he is with you. You don’t go through any storm alone with faith. And while Jesus slept on earth, Psalm 121 reminds us that in eternity God watches over us and he neither sleeps nor slumbers.
If your storm doesn’t calm, if doubts creep in, and you’re praying, “God wake up! Do you care?” Our faith simultaneously reminds us that God is with us in the storm and he cares.
That’s one difference faith makes in the storm.
Here’s the second:
Where there’s a storm, there’s a Saviour. And where there's a Saviour, there is peace.
Now, this might sound like a stretch. How can we have peace in the worst of storm? How can we attain a peace that the disciples didn’t even have in the boat? Is it possible to become more like Jesus and rest our heads on cushions during chaos?
Awhile ago, I was processing the aftermath of a storm in my life. I was on the other side of it—the storm was over and now I was living in the aftermath. You know, the aftermath: your child is now safe on shore and you have to have an awkward conversation with a family friend, or the aftermath of when a tree falls on your home and now you have to deal with repairs. Or the storm of death and the aftermath of loss, emptiness, and grief. The aftermath of the storm can sometimes be as disorienting and painful as the storm itself, can’t it?
I was living in the aftermath and bringing it to God. But reluctantly. I was sitting with God in prayer, trying to muster up the words, and let out a heavy sigh. “Ok, Lord. I’m here. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what you’re up to. Are you awake? Do you see me? I’m here.”
Then a picture came into my imagination. It was the image of a child in a row boat in a dark ocean, no one around, no sight of the shore. But the ocean was still, like the calm after a storm. And the child was me. And I thought, What on earth is that child doing out in a rowboat, without a lifejacket, struggling with the oars? I felt a sense of the fear my mom probably felt when I was adrift with my sister in that boat. Do something! Somebody! Anybody!
And in my imagination, I saw Jesus was in the boat, at the stern, asleep on a cushion. A cushion! I prayed, “Wake up Jesus! Take care of this child! Don’t you care that he’s perishing?” Of course … we know what happens when Jesus wakes up. Incomprehensible power: God, just as he was.
But something else happened in my imagination as I prayed. Yes, Jesus woke up and then Jesus invited that little child to come sleep with him in the stern, to rest his head on the cushion. And Jesus held that child close, and peace cozied up between them, as the oars fell into the water and they drifted off into the ocean.
In that moment, as God spoke to me through my imagination and this familiar story in Scripture, the Spirit filled me with peace. It was palpable. I still felt grief, confusion, and disorientation … but I had a deeper peace. I didn’t have the answers I wanted, I was still certain about what was next or what to do, but even so … I had peace. I had what the apostle Paul describes in Philippians 4:5-7:
“The Lord is near … in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
I’m not saying that in the eye of the storm you won’t feel afraid or in the aftermath of the storm you won’t feel grief. That’s human. The peace of God doesn’t bulldoze our emotions. But alongside these emotions, the peace of God secures us, settles us, and gives us the resilience and strength we need.
So, whether the storm rages or calms, in the storm or in its aftermath, we have a Saviour—and where there is a Saviour there is peace. Because he is the God who is near, not only in the storm, but dwelling in little old us—and he is the steadfast anchor of our souls who tethers us to himself and shares his own peace.
Like children, we can curl up beside God in prayer and know peace.
If we are with Jesus, no matter what happens, we are right where we need to be. Just as he spoke to the storm on the Sea of Galilee, he can speak over the storms in our lives. But if he doesn’t speak the words we expect or want to hear over our circumstances, we can trust he will always speak to our souls,“Quiet. Be still.” And there is peace.
This is the power of knowing Who Jesus Is. He’s not just a teacher or an interesting religious figure. Jesus is God and our Saviour and he is near. Faith says, “This storm will not destroy me, the aftermath will not ruin me, because even if I die, in Christ I will live.” Faith knows that while Jesus slept during this storm, he was awake when it mattered most. He faced the storm of the cross and came through death into life with victory. So, faith says, “Come what may, I’m not alone. My God is near. Come what may, I will live.”
Faith opens us up to the peace of knowing that whether he is sleep or awake, we are held by our Saviour—and that’s the difference faith makes in the storm.