Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. Mark 4:38-39
One of my earliest memories is of a time I felt close to drowning. I was about 5 years old standing in shallow waters. My father is with me and the excited laughter and screaming of the children around me make me anxious and afraid. I feel the under-currents of the ocean tugging on my legs ever stronger as my father leads me deeper into the water. I let go of his hand — too afraid to go any further. The currents suddenly jerk me off my feet and my head goes under the water. For a long moment I’m caught in a maelstrom of swirling water and sand. I get my feet under me. My heart races and I can hear myself crying. I try to raise my voice over the noise, screaming for my father to take my hand. He smiles at me and beckons me to him. Urging me to come deeper. I regain some balance and try to step forward. The current swirls strongly around my feet and when I try to wade forward I lose my balance again and go under. Rolling and tumbling under the water I crash into the bodies standing around me. Someone pulls me erect. I’m disorientated but make out my father’s green bathing suit in the distance. I desperately trudge in his direction but the current threatens to pull me under again. Panicking now, I turn around and try to run towards the beach where I can make out my mother, standing with my baby sister on her hip. They’re waving at me. I dislodge my feet from the deep mud sucking me down. I lift my knees high as I try to sprint. I fall. Smacking my face hard on the water’s surface. I cry hysterically. My little body fills with dread as the undercurrents toss me around like a rag-doll. I regain my stance with difficulty spewing salt water from somewhere deep inside of me.
Then a clarity and a calmness settles on me and I realize that if I stand firmly, the swirling currents around my legs will keep me upright and steady. As long as I stand still. Allowing my body to sway with the currents but not daring to step out of the maelstrom swirling around my ankles. To survive the storm I must experience the storm. There is a process at play here.
In one swift move my father plucks me from my hold and tosses me into the air. He catches me high above his head and smiles up at me. He draws me to his chest and walks out of the sea. The water sprays against my back as his legs cuts through the ebb of the tide.
I was safe, but that feeling of hopeless dread was deeply carved into my soul. I would feel it many times after that and all throughout my life — and particularly now when the world seems darker than ever. The panic, the desperation, the hopelessness, the blood rushing to my head, draining from everywhere else … and then I steady myself. I stand still. Remembering to shift and move with the water. I would be safe if I remained in the middle of the maelstrom. Allowing the currents to steady me. As an adult, a man of forty with the responsibilities of family and work, and facing the uncertainties of this age, I feel the maelstrom threatening my balance more than ever.
When I think about that day, my mind goes to Jesus sleeping peacefully on the boat while the storm raged around him. I can imagine his body moving with the boat as it rode the waves up and down. Un-tethered, but unafraid. A man sleeping on a boat in a storm; a man still in the midst of turmoil. The message of the story always puzzled me. When I was younger I thought that Jesus was trying to teach his disciples to ignore the storm. Lately, I’ve been thinking he was trying to teach them how to keep faith despite the storm.
Did the 5-year old me forget the storm raging around his feet when he saw his father? Or, did the storm no longer matter when my salvation came into view?
I want to believe the latter.
Remember that the only way out, is through.
Blessings, till next time…