It’s been a rather important week for our country, wouldn’t you say? 

The (thankfully) peaceful transition of power from one administration to the next has filled the airwaves with messages of hope, of unity, of restoration – things we could all agree we need right about now.

Now, whether you are excited about this new administration or not, it’s interesting to note the themes of unity and restoration being spoken of. These themes reside so deep within the human heart that we can all send a resounding Amen when we hear these themes, regardless of how we receive the messenger. 

The storms of 2020 (and early 2021) have left our hearts longing for some peaceful waters, some calm after the storm passes. 

The problem is, I don’t get the impression we’re out of the storm just yet. 

And so what do we do in circumstances such as these?

  

I am brought back to one of the more popular stories in Scripture (Mark 4:35-41 for those of you taking notes at home). It’s right after Jesus wraps up his famous Sermon on the Mount – he decides to hop in their boat and take his disciples to the other side of the lake.

The disciples, following his instruction, head out across the large lake, when suddenly a storm appears. 

You know the rest: the storm gets fierce, the waves start crashing over the edge of the boat, and the disciples, terrified that they would drown, search for Jesus only to find him sleeping in the back of the boat.  

The rustle him awake, he tells the storm where to go, and then he says something to the disciples that is pretty astounding. He asks them, “Where is your faith?” 

Now, when I read that story, I often hear an annoyance at the storm as Jesus yells at it telling it to chill out. I also tend to hear an annoyance at the disciples – almost a reprimand for their lack of faith, if you will. 

But Jesus doesn’t actually say that – that’s my own broken view of God. 

What he does say, where is your faith?, is actually pivotal to you, to me, to our nation, and to our world:

Let’s imagine for a moment that we are in the boat. We are following Jesus’ directive to head over to the other side of the lake. He drifts off to sleep, trusting that the journey will see us across to the other side. 

Winds start to blow. No big deal.  

Waves start to increase in size. OK, we’ve done this before, we can handle it.

Winds blow harder. Hmm, Jesus said we would get to the other side, so we’ll take his words at face value and assume nothing will harm us along the way.

Waves start to lap against the side of the boat with a little more force. Jesus? You’re here with us, right?

  

At some point during the storm’s intensity, the disciples had to have transitioned from believing in the power of Jesus, to trusting their assessment of the danger of the storm. 

And it’s in that place that Jesus asks them the question: where is your faith?

Perhaps another way to look at it is: in what are you placing your faith?

 

Is it in a political leader? Is it in a vaccine? Is it in the “goodness of humanity”? 

Where are we placing our hope? Our faith to get us through the storm and over to the other side?

When the storms hit, do we really think we can fix everything by simply rowing harder? Hasn’t the past year shown us that no matter what we do on our own, there are things that still exist outside of our control, no matter how smart, clever, or informed we are?

  

I think one of the problems is that perhaps we’ve tossed Jesus out of the boat. Maybe we were sick of him sleeping; maybe we never trusted him to be honest and true in the first place.

Where is your faith?

 

It’s a question that gives me pause. Even though I claim to be a Christ-follower, has the object of my faith shifted during the year’s storms? Have I subtly shifted into a place of self-sufficiency, of independence, of misplaced hope? 

When Jesus asks the question, he’s not annoyed; he’s inviting. Inviting you and me to reset. To go back to a place where we take him at his word, and where we find peace there.

 

Political leaders can promise peace, but they will always have a difficult time delivering it.

Medical professionals can promise a cure, but new strains will lurk around every corner. 

Social movements may promise change, but there will always be those who seek their own agendas.

  

What’s interesting about the end of the story is that the disciples, after having been rescued from the storm, simply stand in awe at the power of Jesus: Who is this man, that even the wind and the waves obey him?

Where is our faith?

I vote we turn our focus away from our own efforts, which will always ultimately be futile, and instead begin to put our hope and trust in the only One who has the power and authority to make any real difference. 

It happens by first recognizing who Jesus is, then by running to him (even if you have to wrestle him awake), and then by putting your hope and faith (trust) in him.

It’s truly the only source of lasting, real, hope.

And I trust that, as you take those steps, you’ll notice the waves die down a bit as your hope is anchored to the one true source who can actually get us to the safety of the other side.

 

I’ll see you on the shoreline…