Peace, be still — Pentecost IV
'Peace, be still.'
So says Jesus to the wind and the waves -- the tempestuous little Sea of Galilee, which he and the disciples are crossing after exhausting themselves healing the sick and proclaiming God's reality. Jesus has been asleep, and a storm has arisen.
They're 'crossing to the other side,' and this is not just a geographical direction, but a cultural excursion as well, away from their people, the good Jews on the west side of the Sea, heading to the unclean and unrighteous people on the eastern shore. Who knows what awaits?
But, that storm. The water is not a friendly element in the ancient world -- there are demons in the sea, and the sea, itself, floods and storms, claiming many lives. We hear echoes of this ancient fear in the book of Job and in the psalm today. Praise and fear, mixed. It's a complicated relationship with the sea. Jesus has power over the wind and wave -- a sign of divine power for the disciples and others.
Yes -- call out to the Lord in times of distress, and find that God is present there in the boat with you. Such is how this story has been read for centuries: whether personal distress or collective/societal distress. And, amen!
That storm is quieted. Nothing can ultimately harm them, for - though they may and will die - a life following Jesus leads beyond the grip of the fear of death and suffering, whatever comes next on the adventure in the boat of life together. The early community saw themselves as being together metaphorically in a boat, and the image of voyaging together on a long pilgrimage or journey was a powerful one in early Christian thinking. Jesus was with them in the boat.
Yet, they're still in a small boat on a rough sea heading to a strange country where they know no one and the people are not of their mindset. Oh, there are many ways to go with this story, reading ourselves into it.
The presence of Jesus through the power of the Spirit today is not magic, despite what this story suggests to our post-Modern ears. The presence of Jesus in our boat is simply the nature of ultimate reality, when we can grasp glimpses of it. 'Peace, be still' we might say to our own racing hearts -- this is why we begin our liturgy sometimes with a deep breath. Be present here in the boat with me. You are? Within and among us? Deep breath.
So, why are some storms calmed while others rage?
This basic question often tries to return everything to what the tradition calls 'theodicy,' or why do bad things happen to the 'good?' Why that 'storm' and not another that capsized a boat, drowning people?
First, let's set aside the idea of a mechanistic God present in this question -- certainly, any notion of a vindictive divine 'judge' deciding which storms to calm. And, as we know from a wide vantage point, it can be very difficult to understand causality in the contemporary world, or our own role in various storms in which we are enmeshed.
I am reminded that the 19th June is Juneteenth - now a federal holiday! - and the final proclamation of 'emancipation' in 1865 to the ends of the earth (Galveston, TX, in case you're wondering where that lies...) was an unquestionably good thing. Yet, not unmixed, in that this 'good proclamation' contains within it the reasons for the delay in making it, whether the criminal 'seasonal' delay of months - so those enslaved in Texas could harvest one last cotton crop without being 'freed' - or the delayed reckoning with the evil of slavery, itself, over the long centuries. Peace, be still -- and, also, stir up in us the prophetic voice to continue this unraveling and re-raveling of our society.
Yet, I am also reminded that June 19 is the day on which the federal government executed Ethel and Julius Rosenberg -- right up the Hudson at Ossining -- the cases against whom look quite shoddy after almost 70 years. Roy Cohn was involved in the prosecution in 1950; his later protege was Donald Trump. Mendacity can become a way of life, and one origin is entangled in so many other origin stories.
Where does the storm begin, and where and when does it end?
Peace, be still. Take a deep breath. Then examine your own heart and its storms. Where in your life might one discover Jesus asleep in the stern of the boat, waiting for you to call out? Continue the journey.
The storm may die down. Regardless, you'll have a strong friend holding your hand, teaching you to breathe and to receive the presence of the Spirit in your very breath. You may still be in a small boat, heading to an unknown country (dragons, demons, and those people -- but also the power to proclaim God's reality in word and deed). But, you will not be alone.
And, your story will not end with your death, whenever and however it comes, for your story is enmeshed in The Story, in this story of the one who is always present (who is Presence, itself), and who calms the waves, and speaks peace amid the storm.