Peace Be Still
He settled himself once again into that comfortable cushion. The soft creaking of the timber seemed suddenly out of place. All else was eerily silent.
Inwardly the storm still raged.
Muscles ached and twitched with a memory of strained oars and taut ropes. The silence of the sea roared over the beating of the blood that still raged in their ears.
No words came, but a thousand questions streamed as a silent torrent between the men. Most of their company had weathered storms, had uttered countless prayers to see the dawn, but none had ever seen this, or dreamed that this was even possible.
Eventually one allowed the thought to escape his cracked and spittle moistened lips, “Who then is this?”
That morning the Teacher had eaten breakfast, a meal filled with laughter and spirited stories. They were riding the wave of wonder. They each felt the most honoured of men to walk with Jesus, yet also the most lowly of men as they were humbled by his gracious wisdom.
Jesus wanted to spend the day by the shores of the Great Lake. They walked with him. They watched the crowds gather. They watched him share a smile with children, dip his head in honour to women gathering firewood, and rest a gentle hand on hardened fisherman's shoulders.
Crowds became throngs. We saw acts of mystery only recalled by those familiar with stories of the prophets of old. Yet the power felt in those days did not come through miracles, instead, it was heard in the authority of his voice. Power flowed as the words escaped his lips. No one had heard teaching like this.
Always moving, an unseen urgency seemed to perpetually grip him. It wasn’t until the afternoon shadows began to stretch out over the water that he turned to his follows and said, “Let us go across to the other side.”
Boats were pushed out into the deep. Light grew soft on the water as they pulled hard on the oars, looking for a favourable breeze to carry them to the far shore. They were too many to safely travel in one boat, so the Teacher settled in the stern of one as his companions prepared the boats to sail into the night. As the evening star reflected off the lake, thoughts were turned to silent musings over the Rabbi’s teaching. Questions about God’s kingdom and mustard seeds rattled around their wonderings. It was some time before they saw the flickering light on the horizon and felt the shifting wind in their hair.
Fear does strange things to a man.
It would not have mattered if they had wept or wailed in that fierce storm, no one could have heard. The fury of the elements broke on them in unrelenting rage.
All had given up hope.
All but one.
When all despaired, one reclined as securely as he had beside the fire the night prior.
Jesus slept.
Later, there was confusion over who it was that finally woke him, but one among them despaired enough to violently shake him awake, screaming through the wind, “We’re dying! Don’t you even care?”
Jesus didn’t rebuke the rude awakening.
Instead, looking around him in quiet repose, his voice suddenly erupted with a single word.
“Peace!” Then with quiet command he looked about him and said, “Be still.”
He settled himself once again into that comfortable cushion. The soft creaking of the timber seemed suddenly out of place. All else was eerily silent.
Inwardly the storm still raged.
“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
