With wonders, you will answer us in your righteousness, O God of salvation. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
How can we be so naive and unprepared—like a London commuter who never considers delays, a traveller in Wales or Ireland who ignores the possibility of rain, or perhaps like someone living in Japan, Taiwan, New Zealand, or California without ever expecting an earthquake? These events are not beyond possibility, yet we often take a simplistic attitude, leaving ourselves vulnerable to surprises.
This question came to me while reading today’s Gospel. Were Jesus’ disciples not prepared for a storm at sea? It is ironic to recall that some of them were experienced fishermen! The Sea of Galilee is generally calm, more like a large lake than a sea. But while storms are rare, they are not impossible. Did the disciples board the boat assuming the waters would remain tranquil?
We might be tempted to dismiss their fear—how could seasoned fishermen be so shaken by a storm? But I believe what unsettled them most was not the size of the waves or the force of the wind, but the sheer unexpectedness of the storm. It came out of nowhere.
Even though the Sea of Galilee is usually peaceful, storms are not unheard of. The disciples, especially the fishermen among them, surely knew this. So their lack of preparation wasn’t just practical; it was spiritual. Their hearts were unprepared. They were overconfident, assuming everything would go as planned simply because Jesus was with them. Perhaps they believed that, if needed, he would simply perform a miracle to save them—just as he had before.
Yet when the storm struck, they were gripped by fear. (We also see the calmness of Jesus who remained asleep!) And when Jesus calmed the storm, their fear only deepened—not at the storm, but at the
revelation of Jesus’ power. Who is this? they asked. Even the wind and waves obey him!
We live with a necessary level of confidence—enough to turn on the kettle, leave home, and cross the road. Confidence helps us manage the daily risks of life. We rely on stability and predictability. Science gives us patterns and models to anticipate the future. We crave control. We hate surprises, disruptions, and uncertainty.
But life does not always go according to plan. And when things go off script, when we are confronted with disorder and chaos, we, like the disciples, often react with fear. We close our hearts rather than discerning the reality before us.
We see this fear in our world today. Political movements, particularly the rise of far-right ideologies, often stem from an anxiety about losing control. There is a longing to restore things to an imagined past—to what is familiar, expected, and ‘right.’ Fear drives the impulse to control. But paradoxically, the more we try to enforce control, the more fear overwhelms us when things don’t conform to our expectations.
In Scripture, the sea often symbolises chaos and disorder, a force threatening God’s purposes. Yet it is in the midst of this storm—this chaos—that Jesus reveals himself. His identity becomes clearer, not in the stillness, but in the turbulence.
The Gospel keeps knocking at the door of our hearts with an urgent question: What shakes us? What stirs up our fears? How do we prepare ourselves for surprises and change? We cannot stop the dark clouds from forming, but we can choose where we centre our hearts.
Our brief glimpse of Genesis 2 reminds us that God placed a tree in the midst of the garden—the Tree of Life. Not the human being, but the Tree of Life. Jewish tradition has long understood this tree as a symbol of the Torah, the Law of God.
What, then, is at the centre of our lives, our communities, our societies? The Law of God is not merely a checklist of rules; it is, as Jesus teaches, the command to love God and love others. This is what must be at the heart of our existence.
When fear threatens to overwhelm us—when life throws us into unexpected storms—what we centre ourselves on determines our response. Are we clinging to our own sense of control? Or are we looking to Jesus and the Law of God to re-centre our hearts and our communities?
As you may have read in my reflection in the Mid-Week email, I recently encouraged us to reflect on being interrupted to be more inclusive. If we accept interruption as ordinary and as part of God’s purpose, we will develop a different perspective on surprise and change. Our openness to interruption is a spiritual practice—one that continually recentres us on Jesus and the Law of God. Rather than seeing interruptions as obstacles, we can see them as opportunities to realign and reorientate ourselves with God’s work in the world.
May we, in the midst of life’s uncertainties, prepare ourselves for things going off script, coming as surprises, or striking us expectedly.
May we also, in the midst of life’s uncertainties, find our anchor not in fear, but in the One who calms the storm.