Immediately after this, Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home, he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone. Meanwhile, the disciples were in trouble far away from land, for a strong wind had risen, and they were fighting heavy waves. About three o’clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water. When the disciples saw him walking on the water, they were terrified. In their fear, they cried out, “It’s a ghost!” But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. The I Am is here. (Matt. 14:22-27)
There’s a window in your heart through which you see God. Once upon a time the window was clear and your view of God was crisp; you could see God as vividly as you could see a gentle valley or a grassy hillside. The glass was clean; the pane unbroken. You knew God. You knew how he worked. You knew what he wanted you to do. No surprises. Nothing unexpected. You knew that God had a will and you continually discovered what it was. Then, suddenly, the window cracked. A pebble broke the window. A pebble of pain. Perhaps the rock came through the window when you were a child and a parent left home — forever. Maybe the rock hit in adolescence when your heart was broken. Maybe you made it into adulthood before the window was cracked. But the rock came nevertheless. Was it a phone call? “We have your daughter at the station. You’d better come down.” Was it a letter on the kitchen table? “I’ve left. Don’t try to reach me. Don’t try to call me. It’s over. I just don’t love you anymore.” Was it a diagnosis from the doctor? “I’m afraid the news is not very good.” Was it a telegram? “We regret to inform you that your child has been killed in action.”
Whatever the rock’s form, the results are the same — a shattered window. The pebble rocketed into the pane and shattered it. The crash echoed down the halls of your heart. Cracks shot out from the point of impact, creating a spider web of fragmented pieces and suddenly God wasn’t so easy to see. The view that had once been so crisp had changed. You turned to see God and his figure was distorted. It was hard to see him through the pain. It was hard to see him through the fragments of hurt. And you’re left puzzled. God wouldn’t allow something like this to happen, would he? Tragedy and travesty weren’t on the agenda of the One you had seen, were they? Had you been fooled? Had you been blind?
The moment the rock struck the glass became a reference point for you because from then on there was life before the pain and life after the pain. Before your pain, the view was clear; God seemed so near. After your pain, well, he was harder to see. He seemed a bit distant – harder to perceive. Your pain distorted the view and now all you can see is the chip in the windshield. Maybe this doesn’t describe your situation. There are some people who never have to redefine or refocus their view of God. But most of us do. Most of us know what it means to feel disappointed by God. Most of us have a way of completing this sentence: “If God is God, then why would he . . . .” Call it an agenda; a divine job description. Each of us has an unspoken, yet definitive expectation of what God should do. “If God is God, then why . . . .” You know the agenda, don’t you? Stuff like there will be no financial collapse in my family; my children will never be buried before me; people will treat me fairly; my prayers will be answered. These aren’t articulated criteria. They’re not written down or notarized, but they’re real.
They define the expectations we have of God. And when pain comes into our world — when the careening rock splinters the window of our hearts — these expectations go unmet and doubts may begin to surface. We look for God but can’t find him. Fragmented and shattered glass hinders our vision. God is enlarged through this piece and reduced through that one. Lines jigsaw their way across his face. Large sections of shattered glass opaque the view, the shards in our hands cut us to the quick and now we aren’t quite sure what we see.
The disciples weren’t quite sure what they saw either because Jesus failed to meet their expectations, too. The day Jesus fed the five thousand men, he didn’t do what they wanted him to do. The twelve had just returned from their mission followed by an army. They’d finished their training. They’d recruited the soldiers. They were ready for battle. They expected Jesus to let the crowds crown him as king and attack the city of Herod. They expected battle plans; strategies; a new era for Israel. What did they get? Just the opposite. Instead of weapons, they got oars. Rather than being sent to fight, they were sent afloat. The crowds were sent away, Jesus walked away and they were left on the water with a storm brewing in the sky. What kind of Messiah would do that? Note the sequence of the stormy evening as Matthew records it: “Immediately after this, Jesus insisted that his disciples get back into the boat and cross to the other side of the lake, while he sent the people home. After sending them home, he went up into the hills by himself to pray. Night fell while he was there alone.” (Matthew 14:22-24)
Matthew is specific about the order of events. Jesus sent the disciples to the boat. Then he dismissed the crowd and ascended a mountainside. It was evening, maybe around 6:00 p.m. The storm struck immediately, because the sun had scarcely set before typhoon-like winds began to whistle and roar down the mountainside. Note that Jesus sent the disciples out into the storm alone. Even as he was ascending the mountainside, he could probably feel and hear the gale’s force. Jesus wasn’t ignorant of the storm. He was aware that a torrent was coming that would carpet-bomb the Galilean sea’s surface. But he didn’t turn around. The disciples were left to face the storm - alone. But the greatest storm that night probably wasn’t in the sky; it was likely in the disciples’ hearts. Their greatest fear was not from seeing the storm-driven waves; it came from seeing the back of their leader as he left them to face the night with only questions as companions. It was this fury that the disciples were facing that night. Imagine the incredible strain of bouncing from wave to wave in a tiny fishing boat. One hour would tire you; two hours would exhaust you.
Surely Jesus will help us, they probably thought. They’d seen him still storms like this before. On this same sea they had awakened him during a storm and he had commanded the skies to be silent. They’d seen him quiet the wind and soothe the waves. Surely he will come off the mountain, they must have thought. But he doesn’t. Their arms begin to ache from rowing. Still no sign of Jesus. Three hours. Four hours. The winds rage. The boat bounces. Still no Jesus. Midnight comes. Their eyes search for God. By now the disciples have been on the sea for at least six hours and all this time they have fought the storm and sought the Master. And so far the storm is winning – the Master is nowhere to be found.
You can just hear them, can’t you? “Where is he?” cried one. “Has he forgotten about us?” yelled another. “Yeah, he feeds thousands of strangers and leaves us here to die?” muttered a third. The Gospel of Mark adds some compelling insight into the disciples’ attitude. “(T)hey still didn’t understand the significance of the miracle of the loaves. Their hearts were too hard to take it in.” (Mark 6:52)
What does Mark mean by that? Simply this: the disciples were mad. They began the evening in a huff. Their hearts were hardened toward Jesus because he’d fed the multitude. Their preference, remember, had been to “send the crowds away.” (Matthew 14:15) But Jesus had told them to feed the people, instead, and they wouldn’t even try. They said it couldn’t be done. They told Jesus to let the people take care of themselves. Remember, too, that the disciples had just spent some time on center stage. They’d tasted stardom. They were celebrities. They had rallied crowds. They had recruited an army. They were, no doubt, pretty proud of themselves and with heads a bit swollen they’d told Jesus, “Just send them away.” But Jesus didn’t. Instead, he chose to bypass the reluctant disciples and use the faith of an anonymous boy. What the disciples said couldn’t be done was done in spite of them, not through them. So, they pouted; they sulked.
Rather than being amazed by the miracle, they were mad at the miracle worker. After all, they’d felt foolish passing out the very bread they said could not be multiplied. Add to that Jesus’ command to go to the boat when they wanted to go to battle, and maybe it’s easier to understand why these guys were steamed. Further, Peter, Andrew, James and John had seen storms like this. They’re fishermen; the sea is their life. They know the havoc the gale-force winds can wreak. They’ve seen the splintered hulls float to shore. They’ve attended the funerals. They know, perhaps better than anyone else in that boat, that this night could be their last. But finally, Jesus appears. “About three o’clock in the morning Jesus came toward them, walking on the water.” (Matthew 14:15) Jesus came. He finally came. But between verse 24 — being thrashed by the waves — and verse 25 — when Jesus appeared — a thousand questions had likely been asked during what seemed like a lifetime.
Maybe you know the angst of being suspended between verses 24 and 25. Maybe you’re riding a storm, searching the coastline for a light and a glimmer of hope. You know that Jesus knows what you’re going through. You know that he’s aware of your storm. But as hard as you look to find him, you can’t see him. Maybe your heart, like the disciples’ hearts, has been hardened by unmet expectations. Your pleadings for help are salted with angry questions. You know what storms do. Storms attack your faith. Storms destroy. Storms come at you like a missile. Storms usher in the night. And storms bring questions. Questions like, “Where’s God in this?” and “Why would he do this?” Frankly, each day can seem like a pop quiz. And some seasons feel more like final exams – brutal, sudden pitfalls of stress, sickness or sadness. So, what’s the purpose of the test? The apostle James, Jesus’ half-brother, said, “For when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be strong in character and ready for anything.” (James 1:3-4)
Tests. It’s possible that this particular chapter in your life may look like rehab, or smell like unemployment, or even sound like a hospital. But you’re in training. God hasn’t forgotten you. It’s just the opposite, actually. He’s chosen to train you. So trust in his training, and then thank him for the results – a life ready for anything, including the Kingdom to come.
Grace,
Randy
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