“Lessons of the Storm”
June 14, 2009
Job 38:1-11
Psalm 46
Matthew 8:18 ‑ 27
“God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble.”
When we met to worship here a year ago, the rain was still coming down, the river was still rising. In the previous week, college students, long time residents, newcomers worked together to protect houses and university buildings and businesses. We cared for each other, supported each other, hoped with each other. The rain came. The floodwaters came. Homes and businesses and buildings were evacuated.
And people came from all over to do everything that could be done.
The worst of times also showed our city at its best. There was a sense that there was something greater than storms and floods; that we would get through this together.
There was a sense of belonging, of community—if only for the immediate time and purpose.
This morning we hear d again the words of the Psalmist: “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble.”
Who can speak like this?
The city threatened with flooding ?
The man whose life seems to be in shambles?
The woman who has come to the end of her rope?
The teenager whose family is falling apart?
The voice of the psalmist is raised in absolute confidence, unshaking faith. These words are a beginning, but they sound like a conclusion. One who went through the upheavals of nature, one who experienced the assaults of the nations now begins a song celebrating God's victory.
Who can speak like this? These a re the words of a survivor, one who has made it through. This song is sung by someone who stands on the other side of turmoil , looking back. This is the sure faith of one who is now on solid ground.
“God is our refug e and our strength.” T hese words are a solid conclusion. Often, however, we speak them as words of hope, an affirmation of faith in what is not fully known. Even now, as we look back on the events of a year ag o, many are still not sure if they are stand ing on solid ground. Homeowners still rebuild and repair, businesses are still recovering, the University continues to look for new venues for classes and performances. In difficult times, when a good ending is not apparent, we claim by faith the affirmation of those who have made it through times of trouble in the past.
“Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult.”
The psalmist speaks from a confident faith that runs deep thro ugh the Hebrew scripture. But in the church we also remember a story of Je wish people who went on a boat with their teacher. The waters roared and foamed. And the disciples of Jesus were terrified.
One painting that depicts this Gospel st ory shows waves high above the boat, garments flapping in the wind. Jesus is sleeping in the middle of the boat — his head bathed in an otherworldly light. And all around the disciples are clinging to something — an oar, the side of the boat , their seat, anything — for dear life.
There are times of high water when the reassuring voice of Jesus is awfully hard to h ear. Most of us have been in that boat at some time — trying to negotiate the seas of a stormy relationship, being hit with a wave of unemployment, battered by the winds of heavy drinking. Even those events that we celebrate — graduation , moving to a new home, the birth of a child — even these can rock the boat far m ore than we might first expect.
There is much that can shake our faith, much that will make us cry out “Lord, save us! We are perishing!”
What do you cling to when the boat seems ready to sink?
What tells you that God is still present?
Many have asked: “Where was God when the flood came ?” Maybe you have been asked that question. Maybe you have asked that question.
Of course, it begs the larger question: “Where was God before the flood —when we heard about and prayed for the people of New Orleans and Sri Lanka and Myanmar and China and Parkersburg , Iowa . Where is God when the storms of life hit us hard? How do we get through times of serious illness, strife, or the destruction of relationships? How do we keep going in a world mired in war and terror, economic upheaval, and often rampant injustice?
No quick answer s, are there ? Maybe those aren’t even the most pressing question s .
Listen again as Jesus asks: “Why are you afraid, you of little faith?”
When confronted with immanent disaster , human beings do not ask, “Where is God?” We reach out—mostly to one another, seeking a word, a t ouch, some companionship. We reach out to one another and are embraced by God.
In the past year, through the chaos and the uncertainty, through the hope and the new beginnings, we have turned to each other for support, for the sense that there is someone else who understands. In doing so we discover the sustaining power of the living God.
Listen again as the Psalmist affirms: “Therefore we will not fear. . .though the waters roar and foam.”
The Psalmist does not fear because God is in charge. “God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved; God will help it when the morning dawns. The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; God utters God's voice, the earth melts.”
“What sort of man is this,” the disciples ask, “ that even the winds and the sea obey him?”
We’re constantly reminded about the force of nature—hurricane season threa tens each year, wildfires rage. Over and over we see the nations in an uproar. War continues in Afghanistan and Iraq . Tension continues in Pakistan and North Korea . The globe is filled with “hot spots.”
And if God is in the city, God's presence is not readily apparent. Certainly the psalmist meant that God was to be found in Jerusalem in the temple, the sacred center of life and worship for the people of ancient Israel . Yet the violent clashes in the region of that city seem to make God's presence a dubious proposition.
“Lord save us! We are perishing!”
Sometimes the boat seems close to sinking. Still there is the af firmation of God’s presence, God’ s care — even God’ s power. Where will we see that power today? How will we experience that presence?
“Come behold the works of the God, who has wrought desolations in the earth.”
The psalmist gives us reason to pause. The works of God are not what we might expect or desire.
No mention here of colorful summer flowers. No birds singing and people living together in harmony.
The works of God: “making wars to cease to the end of the earth, breaking the bow, shattering the spear, and burning the chariots with fire!” The peace of God, it would seem, is not a pretty sight. If God were to suddenly appear and rebuke the winds and the sea around us we might very well turn away in shock. Jesus masters the storm on the lake. Rather than growing in faith, the disciples are left with an even deeper question: “What sort of man is this?”
The world, our cities and this town, this church, and our individual lives are filled with problems. But do we really want to cry: “Lord save us!” and live with the results—the breaking of the bow, the shattering of the spear, the burning of the chariots? Or are we better off working with each other toward solutions?
Whenever I preach on the story of Jesus calming the storm, what I want to say is: “Don't worry. Everything will be alright.” But that’s no t really the case. And that isn’ t the lesson of the storm.
Jesus does not promise to be around to calm the sea. Instead he calls those who follow him to faith, even in the midst of the great uncertainties of life. "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” So , he concludes: “Follow me.”
When the winds blow, the psal mist reminds us of God's word: “ Be still, and know that I am God.”
There is a power greater than the storms that rage.
There is a power greater than the tumult of the nations.
There is a power greater even than our own mighty selves and our overwhelming problems.
When life is stormy the first thought is often toward action: What can I do now to solve this problem? Motion begets motion. And very often more heat is generated than light.
Be still, the psalmist says. Keep your head while everyone around you is losing theirs. In stillness we might better discover our own ability to act.
In stillness before God we might discover what needs to be done rather than simply what can be done.
In stillness we might discover, like Jesus calm on the boat, the ability to still the storms around us.
Be still, for e ven in the midst of the storm, “ God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble.”
Who can speak like this?
Those who are still. Those who, like us, have lived through the storms and looking back see that it was something other than their own power that got them through. And those of us who will listen to their testimony.
If we are willing to be still, and to listen, even when the storms are raging we can know God, our refuge and our strength.