It
was dark now, and Jesus had not yet come to them. (John
6:17)
Here are
some thoughts from a young missionary, excerpted from his journal during his
first month on the mission field. On the flight to the field he writes: “The
next time this plane touches down, I will be a missionary. To God be the
glory.” The second day he reflects: “I keep reminding myself that the homesickness is
temporary — it comes with the weariness and adjustments. I must remember the
reason I’m here. Not for my own joy or gain, but for the growth of God’s
kingdom.” By day three his spirits are up: “God, it’s a grand blessing to serve
you.” But on the fourth day, his spirits sag: “It’s difficult for us to think
about home. We cried this morning.” On the fifth day he doesn’t rebound: “Today
is not so clear. The clouds have buried the mountains. The sky is gray.”
By day six, the storm is coming in: “Yesterday was the toughest day thus
far. The newness is gone. I’m tired of this language. We could hardly think of
our family and friends without weeping.” On the eighth day, the waves have
crested and the winds are blowing: “This hotel room which has been our home is
cold and impersonal. I held my wife as she wept, and we both confessed the
ugliness of the thought of spending the rest of our lives in this foreign
country. We’re so far from home.” By the tenth day the gales are at full force:
“Doggone it, I know God is guiding us, I know He has a plan for us, but it’s so
hard. How will we learn this language? Lord, forgive my sorry attitude.” And
just when you’d think it couldn’t get any darker: “I wish I could say I’m
thrilled to be here. I’m not. I’m only willing to be here. My commitment to be
a missionary feels like a prison sentence.”
Perhaps the disciples had the same expectation. They only did what they
were told. They didn’t question the order; they simply obeyed it. They could
have objected. After all, it was evening and darkness was only minutes away.
But Jesus told them to get into the boat, so they did. And what was the result of their obedience? John’s
crisp description tells you: “That evening Jesus’ followers went down to Lake
Galilee. It was dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The followers got
into a boat and started across the lake to Capernaum. By now a strong wind was
blowing, and the waves on the lake were getting bigger.” (John 6:16-18)
What a chilling phrase, “Jesus had not yet come to them.” They were caught
in the storm of the “not yet.” They did exactly what Jesus said, and look what
it got them – a night on a storm-tossed sea with their Master somewhere on the
shore. It’s one thing to suffer for doing wrong, but it’s an entirely different
matter to suffer for doing what’s right. But it happens. And when the storm
bursts, it washes away the naive assumption that if I do right, I will never
suffer. Just ask the faithful couple whose crib is empty and whose womb is
barren. Just ask the businessman whose hard and honest work was rewarded with financial
ruin and bankruptcy. Or the student who took a stand for the truth and got
mocked, and the coed who took a chance on love and was raped. And so the winds
blow. And so the boat bounces. And so the disciples wonder, “Why the storm, and
where’s Jesus?”
It’s bad enough to be in the storm, but to be in the storm alone? The
disciples had been on the sea for about nine hours, and John tells us they had
been rowing for four miles. (John 6:19) That’s a long night, and how many times
had they searched the darkness for their Master? How many times did they call
out his name? Why did he take so long? Better yet, why does he take so long?
It reminds me of my children taking piano lessons. Many years ago we
purchased a piano, and fearing that it would become just an expensive piece of
furniture I told my kids that they were to take piano lessons for one year;
after that, they were on their own. Even now I can hear my children playing the
piano. And by the time they had begun their last six months, their teacher had upped
the ante. No more rinky-dink songs; no more nursery rhymes. It was time to move
on. The rhythm varied, the notes sharpened, and the key changed. I remember
thinking that it would be pleasant to the ear … someday.
But the notes came slowly and the fingers dragged, and the kids would
have quit if I’d given them the chance. So, was I a cruel father for urging them
to continue? Was I unfair in prodding them to practice? I wasn’t oblivious to their
struggles; I could hear them. And I wasn’t blind to their tears; I could see
them. I knew they’d be much happier swimming, or reading, or watching
television. So why then did I let them suffer? Because I loved them then, and
love them still. And I knew their struggles then would result in music tomorrow.
Mark tells us that during the storm Jesus “saw his followers struggling.”
(Mark 6:48) Through the night he saw them. Through the storm he saw them. And
like a loving father he waited. He waited until the right time – until the
right moment. He waited until he knew it was time to come, and then he came. So
what made it the right time? I don’t know. Why was the ninth hour better than
the fourth or fifth? I can’t answer that one either. Why does God wait until
the money’s gone, or the sickness has lingered? Why does he choose to wait
until the other side of the grave to answer the prayers for healing? Again, I
don’t know. I only know that his timing is always right. All I can say is that God
will do what’s best. “God will always give what is right to his people who cry
to him night and day, and he will not be slow to answer them.” (Luke 18:7)
Though you hear nothing, he’s speaking. Though you see nothing, he’s acting.
With God there are no accidents. Every incident is intended to bring us closer
to him. It’s like the story of the two maestros who attended a concert to hear
a promising young soprano. One commented on the purity of her voice. The other
responded, “Yes, but she’ll sing better once her heart is broken.” There are
certain passions learned only by the pain. And there are times when God,
knowing that, allows us to endure the pain for the sake of the song.
So what does God do then while we’re enduring the pain? What does he do
while we’re in the storm? You’ll love this. He prays for us. Remember, Jesus
wasn’t in the boat with the disciples because he had gone to the hills to pray.
(Mark 6:46) Jesus was praying for them. That’s remarkable. It’s even more
remarkable that Jesus didn’t stop praying when his disciples were struggling.
When he heard their cries, he remained in prayer. Why? Two possible answers.
Either Jesus didn’t care, or he believed in prayer. I think you know the
correct choice. And you know what? Jesus hasn’t changed. He still prays for his
disciples. “Because Jesus lives forever, he will never stop serving as priest.
So he is able always to save those who come to God through him because he
always lives, asking God to help them.” (Heb. 7:24-25) But if that’s true, where
does that leave us? While Jesus is praying and we’re in the storm, what are we
to do? Simple. We do what the disciples did. We keep rowing. The disciples
rowed most of the night. Mark says that they were “struggling hard” to row the
boat. (Mark 6:48) The word “struggle” is elsewhere translated as the word “tormented.”
In other words, it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t glamorous.
Much of life is spent rowing. Getting out of bed. Fixing lunches.
Turning in assignments. Changing diapers. Paying bills. Routine. Regular. More
struggle than strut. More wrestling than resting. You thought marriage was
going to be a lifelong date. You thought having kids was going to be like
babysitting. You thought the company who hired you wanted to hear all about the
great ideas you had in college. Then you learned otherwise. The honeymoon
ended. The IRS called, and the boss wanted you to spend the week in Screamer,
Alabama. Sure, there are moments of glamour, and days of celebration. We have
our share of feasts, but we also have our share of baloney. And to have the
first we must endure the second.
At the right time, God comes. In the right way, he appears. So don’t
bail out. Don’t give up. Don’t lay down the oars. He’s too wise to forget you, and
too loving to hurt you. When you can’t see him, trust him. He’s praying a
prayer that he himself will answer. So stay in the boat with Jesus and keep
rowing; without him, you’ll just be rowing in circles.
Happy New Year!
Randy
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