Reflection on Mk 4:35–41
Wilfrid Stinissen, OCD
“Let us cross to the other side,” says Jesus. If we take our lives seriously, we repeatedly find ourselves in situations where it is about “crossing to the other side.” If we live an intensely Christian life, it is inconceivable that we would simply stand still. If we want to become mature people and Christians, we must cross many thresholds. God invites us to gain ever new experiences in our relationship with Him and with one another. There will be times when we are prompted to leave our past behind, and we say with St. Paul: “What is old has passed away; behold, the new has come!” (2 Cor 5:17).
Are we always sufficiently willing to sail to the other side? Would we rather stay on our side, where we are already settled and where we feel secure? We cannot program these crossings ourselves, but to say no when the challenge comes is the same as stifling life.
At the end of our lives, Jesus will challenge us once again: “Let us cross to the other side!” If we have previously crossed many times with absolute surrender, then we can once again say yes from the depths of our hearts when the time comes for the final great crossing. All the more so when we know that Jesus always sails with us. He does not say, “Cross over,” but rather “Let us cross to the other side.”
“Then a great storm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling.” Leaving behind the old and turning towards the new is not just a wonderful adventure. Growth comes with crises. It is an illusion to think that a storm cannot arise during our crossing just because Jesus is with us. Storms are part of a sailor’s life. Has anyone ever seen an experienced sailor who has never experienced a storm? Jesus does not command the wind and sea to calm down beforehand. He allows the storm to break out. He intervenes only when we are on the brink of destruction. He gladly waits until it is almost too late; He loves the extreme moment. Not to torment us, but because He knows that the storm is necessary and plays an important role in our lives. Without a storm, we cannot grow. Trusting in Jesus when the lake is calm and everything goes smoothly does not require much faith.
However, when the situation is hopeless, when we see no way out, then our faith and hope have the opportunity to grow. Jesus drives us into the arms of despair not only to test the degree of our hope but also so that our hope may be as firm as a rock, able to overcome despair itself. If He were to intervene too early, the storm would lose its effect. As soon as all human hope is completely exhausted, then the time for divine hope has come, the hope in God. On another occasion, Jesus describes the fearful events that will precede His coming, and then He adds unexpectedly and to the amazement of all present: “When these things begin to take place, straighten up and raise your heads, because your redemption is near” (Luke 21:28). In the worst situations, divine hope is the strongest. When Jesus makes His final crossing, a terrible storm strikes Him, such as cannot be compared to the storms we experience. God the Father not only waits to intervene until the last moment but indeed lets Him pass. He does not save Jesus from the cross; He allows Him to perish; Jesus dies on the cross. Just as He seemed to be sleeping, so Jesus slept when the disciples desperately battled the storm. However, the Father awakens Jesus to life, and Jesus rises from the dead. Jesus already predicted earlier that the Father would not leave Him alone (John 8:16,29). Even if God intentionally misses the last moment and lets us perish, there is always one more moment in reserve, a moment that lies behind annihilation: the moment of new life. After death comes new life.
In this storm, however, Jesus does not go that far. He intervenes in time. “He rebuked the wind,” writes Mark; he uses the same word as when Jesus cast out demons (epitamao). The situation when Jesus calmed the storm is described by Mark as a cosmic exorcism. The Bible considers the sea to be the realm of evil powers. We, secular people, do not need to explain the storm with demons. Meteorologists know exactly when and why a storm will arise, and the word demon never appears in weather forecasts. However, the people of biblical times knew that reality has a deep dimension that we cannot perceive with our senses but which is nevertheless more real than the visible and tangible. The scientific explanation has its validity, but reality is deeper than how science understands it. St. Paul was likely aware of this truth to a greater extent. “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood,” he writes, “but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12).
When Jesus commanded the wind and the sea, causing the calm to occur, He turned to His disciples and rebuked them: “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” In Matthew, Jesus calls the disciples of little faith (8:26). According to Mark, who often uses stronger expressions, they have no faith at all. Jesus contrasts fear with faith. Both exclude each other. If I believe, then I do not succumb to fear. And if I am afraid, that is a sign of weak faith. Fear is always an alarm signal. “Have greater faith!” fear tells us. However, the faith that Jesus has in mind is something different than merely considering God's existence as probable. To believe means to have the courage to entrust oneself to God, to rely on Him, to entrust oneself and all of one’s life into His hands, and to know that there I am safe.
If the disciples had true faith in Jesus, they would not have had to wake Him. After all, He was with them. What could happen to their boat when Jesus is present? The disciples—and likewise most of us—believe in Jesus only when He is awake, when He evidently proves that He cares for us. In contrast to this inadequate or even nonexistent faith, we can mention the faith of Thérèse of Lisieux. Thérèse had for a long time the feeling that Jesus was sleeping in the boat of her life, that He had entirely lost interest in her. Nevertheless, as she writes, she never wanted to wake Him and let Him sleep. This may seem naive to us, yet this childlike image illuminates that Thérèse does not need to “feel” that God cares for her. She knows that God knows about her, even though He seemingly sleeps deeply. Her faith is so strong that there is no difference between feeling God’s care tangibly or not. In reality, God’s sleep is only apparent. “Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:4).
When the disciples see how irresistibly sovereign Jesus commands the wind and the sea, they are filled with great fear. This fear has nothing to do with the fear they felt when the storm raged. Their fear is awe, wonder, admiration. “Who then is this?”
It would be good if we sometimes felt something of this awe and also asked ourselves, “Who then is this?” After all, He is different, greater, more mysterious than we have thought. We can rely on Him much more than we have dared so far. His love is greater than our understanding can grasp. Who then is this? Or in the words of the Apostle Paul: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and how inscrutable His ways! For who has known the mind of the Lord… To Him be glory forever. Amen.” (Romans 11:33,34,36)
(translated from the Swedish magazine KARMEL, 1/1995)
