The fishermen were terrified as winds raged around them. Goliath waves threatened to swamp the boat. Surely, they would be pitched into the black waters and drown. Where was their guide, the one who had said, “Follow me, I will make you fishers of men”? They had left everything, traipsed after him, and trusted him.
Their teacher and miracle worker was fast asleep. Right there, down in the boat! How was it possible? He woke to their cries.
At his rebuke, the roaring winds and sea ceased their assault. Then he turned to his frightened and amazed followers. He didn’t exactly coddle them. “Where is your faith?” he chided.
I don’t know about you, but, open-mouthed, I would have marveled with the rest of the crew at this man who could command the winds and sea to be still!
I’ve been diving into that famous story from the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke these past few weeks. I’ve been absent from you for a number of days, launching a first book, trying to swim against a riptide of one event after another. Pulled away from shore, struggling to get ground under my feet, I’ve have been struggling to reach a quiet sandbar.
All of us have swum in a wild sea of recent events. Hurricanes Florence and Michael tearing through the Southeast, from Florida to Virginia; a tsunami of words and emotions on Capitol Hill; today, as I write, there is relief and rejoicing that an American pastor has been released from two years’ captivity in Turkey, and knelt in prayer for our President at the White House!
So, re-reading the famous story of Jesus and his storm-tossed disciples has reminded me that while the tempest rages around us, we are to keep the faith. We hurricane survivors know. While search and rescue crews are working in Panama City, most t.v. coverage may miss the close-ups: caring people collecting clothes for a neighbor’s children who have nothing but the tee shirts, shorts or pajamas they wore during the storm; the guy next-door, with a broken house, but a working gas grill, warming a can of beans for his friend, who sits, head in hands, weeping because his dog is missing. Those you may not hear about are the thousands behind the scenes, loading pallets with meals and water, dropping off tons of ice to people who will have no electricity for days. You may miss stories about the men and women driving power company trucks, heading south from distant points across our vast country. All these things remind me that in the hearts of many, is a deep belief that we are meant to care for one another.
Then the current starts pulling me under.
The recent tempestuous Senate hearings on Capitol Hill have raised some serious questions, creating my own quiet storm. A few days into the drama played out by Dr. Ford and Justice Kavanaugh, as I tried to write to you, and failed miserably, I looked up a scholarly definition of “truth,” on a popular search engine. This is what I got:
“Truth.” “the quality or state of being true:” “He had to accept the truth of her accusation.”
-in accordance with fact or reality; a fact or belief that is accepted as true
Synonyms: what actually happened, the case, so; the gospel (truth)
Interesting. Instructive. But, wait!
Look at the example. “He had to accept the truth of her accusation.” Curiously timely.
My hand just went up. Is truth of an accusation synonymous with the phrase, “what actually happened”? American history shows we’ve already been through a couple of periods of unproven accusations against innocent people resulting in deadly consequences. These accusations were usually based on personal grudges or unresolved legal issues.
I am not saying that all that happened during the Senate hearings last month was based on falsehoods. But, I was confused when one prominent individual interviewed stated, “I’ve heard and listened to her truth. And I’ve heard his truth.” Isn’t truth, fact? Reality? How could both parties be telling the truth? This troubles me.
So, I cling to the faith that Jesus came to bring us truth. (John 18: 37-38) Further, when I am outraged by cruel human acts, or praying through my own dredged up hurricane memories, when I can’t think of encouraging words I promised when I created this space for us to sit together, I remember something I once learned about surviving the riptide. Stop swimming so hard, impatient to go straight to shore. Instead, swim calmly parallel to your goal line, that ribbon of flotsam and jetsam along the sand. By swimming along the beach, the push and pull of the sea will eventually help you get there.
No telling what surprises will surface in the near future. But we are also taught to expect miracles. Keep eyes on that calmer shore. Swim sideways, swim steady, dear friends.