Earlier this week, although I find it quite hard to believe now, I was in a boat with Bishop Peter and all the curates from the Edmonton area, crossing the Sea of Galilee.
As we glided over calm waters, followed by a gentle warm breeze, we listened as someone read aloud the very passage we heard in our second reading, the story of the Stilling of the Storm.
It seemed hard to imagine how such an idyllic scene could provide the backdrop for a storm which seemed to the disciples to threaten their very lives, but it was explained to us that the lake is surrounded by hills, with deep gorges in between.
Although the lake is generally quite sheltered, occasional gusts of cold air from the West rush down the gorges, stirring up quite sudden and violent storms, which may stop and start with no warning.
Many of us may have experienced the sudden and visceral fear induced by the sense that one is alone at the mercy of the elements.
When I first took Jeremy, my husband, to the Scilly Isles, where my sister lives, over twenty years ago now, we went on what seemed to us then (landlubbers that we be) a very rough boat-trip out into the open sea.
As the wind got up, and the waves crashed around the boat, a small child sitting next to us asked, “Granny, are we going to die now?”
We both started to feel that she might have a point!
My sister, Rachel, moved to the Scillies some fifteen years ago, and the island where she lives is the most westerly of all, the last inhabited land before America, which has just seventy-two inhabitants.
She and her family come regularly to visit us, and sometimes comment on what they see as the constant and fearsome roller-coaster of activity which is life in London, with all the fast-moving action and dangers which it involves.
I think they would see their island as a place one could find stillness after the storm of a week in London, even though in literal terms, the risk of storms and storm damage is a far greater and more real threat to their community than to ours.
How we understand images of storms and dangers can be very different depending on our perspective, and it is perhaps important in the context of this Gospel reading, not only to consider the literal interpretation.
Having said that, this story starts with a very concrete description of a storm blowing up, and the fear it induces.
We are reminded that is when faced with the natural forces of wind and waves, in the middle of the open sea, that one becomes more aware of the power of creation, which we in the cities, have largely managed to conceal and subdue under our concrete jungle.
Mankind may have managed to harness such forces for our benefit, from early windmills to grind corn, to huge dams to produce electricity, but such moments of fear remind us that we shall never possess the power fully to command the wind and the waves.
One of the effects of the story of Jesus stilling the storm is therefore to remind us of just who he was, and what enormous words of power were at his disposal.
It links him firmly with images of God in the Old Testament, whose power is frequently manifested in his control over the elements.
Obviously the most famous example is the story of Noah’s Flood, where God is able to call forth such tremendous rainstorms that he is able to destroy the whole earth, and drown all its inhabitants.
But it is also a theme which can be found throughout the Psalms and in particular in psalm 107, which includes this section:
Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the mighty waters:
They saw the deeds of the Lord, his wondrous works in the deep.
For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea.
..Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out from their distress;
He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed.
The very early followers of Christ, who knew the Old Testament Scriptures intimately, would at once have heard the echo of this psalm in the stilling of the storm on the Sea of Galilee, and have understood immediately that Jesus’ words contained the true power of God.
The disciples’ question, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” demonstrates the gradual dawning upon them all that Jesus did share in God’s wondrous works.
The subtext of Jesus’ question, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”, may also have been that they should have remembered their Scriptures better, and know that God can rescue his children, even from the storm.
But, as so often, the example of the disciples is there to demonstrate to us that we are in good company, when we, too, let our faith waver in the face of fear.
We Londoners may never, or only very occasionally, find ourselves literally in a small boat in the middle of a terrifying storm, but how frequently we feel that we too are being “swamped” by waves of fear, pain, anger, or grief.
Psalm 107 continues after describing God’s stilling of the storm,
“Then they were glad because they had quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven.”
Much of Christ’s message and the lessons of the Gospel, are about the peace which is to be found in faith.
The “peace of God, which passes all understanding” does not deny the storms of grief or hurt, or the feelings of being swamped by despair or exhaustion which we will all experience at some time if we live our life to the full.
God’s peace works to “keep our hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of Christ”, so that an awareness of his healing and calming presence can be with us, even in the midst of our suffering.
It may be easy to “proclaim our faith in the words of the Creed” when we are gathered cosily together in the holy atmosphere of church on a Sunday, but it can be harder to cling on to that faith as we go out to face the storms outside.
A Biblical reader might naturally assume that a boat carrying all the disciples, who were to form the foundation of God’s Church – to say nothing of carrying the Son of God himself – would be preserved from encountering dangerous and stormy weather.
But gliding quietly over a glassy sea is not automatically the path of the Christian – in this life at least.
God does not promise that we will not experience the storms – and the example of Christ’s life shows us that suffering may be part of our journey.
But what this Gospel story could be telling us is that even as we face the storm, if we maintain our faith in God’s love, we will be conscious of him protecting us, and bearing us up, and he will, of course, bring us all at last, like the seafarers in the psalm, to our “desired haven”.
When we remember those who literally risk their lives as they put out to sea for a living, we might also think of those known to us who may at this time be afraid of drowning in a sea of anxiety or grief or exhaustion, and ask for God’s peace to be with them.