A Contagious Calm
A Contagious Calm - Audio/Visual
Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything. (Phil. 4:5-6)
Disaster was as close as pushing a red button. Four Russian submarines patrolled the Florida coast. US warships had dropped depth charges. The Russian captain was stressed, trigger-happy and ready to destroy a few American cities. Each sub was armed with a nuclear warhead. Each warhead had the potential to inflict Hiroshima-level devastation. Had it not been for the contagious calm of a clear-thinking officer, World War III might have begun in 1962. His name was Vasili Arkhipov. He was the thirty-six-year-old chief of staff for a clandestine fleet of Russian submarines. The crew members assumed that they were being sent on a training mission off the Siberian coast. They came to learn that they had been commissioned to travel five thousand miles to the southwest to set up a spearhead for a base near Havana, Cuba. The subs went south and then, not long thereafter, so did their mission.
In order to move quickly, the submarines traveled on the surface of the water, where they ran head-on into Hurricane Daisy. The fifty-foot waves left the men nauseated and the operating systems compromised. Then came the warm waters. Soviet subs were designed for the polar waters, not the tropical Atlantic. Temperatures inside the vessels exceeded 120 degrees Fahrenheit. The crew battled the heat and claustrophobia for much of the three-week journey. By the time they were near the coast of Cuba, the men were exhausted, on edge and anxious. The situation worsened when the subs received cryptic instructions from Moscow to turn northward and patrol the coastline of Florida. Soon after they entered American waters, their radar picked up the signal of a dozen ships and aircraft. The Americans were following the Russians. The US ships set off depth charges. The Russians assumed they were under attack, and the captain lost his cool. He summoned his staff to his command post and pounded the table with his fists. "We're going to blast them now! We will die, but we will sink them all – we will not disgrace our navy!" But then Vasili Arkhipov asked for a moment with his captain. The two men stepped to the side where he urged his superior to reconsider.
He suggested they talk to the Americans before reacting. The captain listened. His anger cooled. He gave the order for the vessels to surface. The Americans encircled the Russians and kept them under surveillance. What they intended to do is unclear because in a couple of days the Soviets dove, eluded the Americans, and made it back home safely. This incredible brush with death was kept secret for decades. Arkhipov deserved a medal, yet he lived the rest of his life with no recognition. It was not until 2002 that the public learned of the barely avoided catastrophe. As the director of the National Security Archive stated, "The lesson from this [event] is that a guy named Vasili Arkhipov saved the world."
Why does this story matter? You won’t spend three weeks in a sweltering Russian sub, but you may spend a semester carrying a heavy class load, or you may fight the headwinds of a recession. You may spend night after night at the bedside of a sick child or an aging parent. You may fight to keep a family together, or a business afloat. You’ll be tempted to press the button, releasing not nuclear warheads, but angry outbursts, a rash of accusations, a fiery retaliation of hurtful words. How many people have been wounded as a result of unbridled stress? And how many disasters have been averted because one person refused to buckle under the strain?
It’s this kind of composure that Paul is summoning in the first of a trio of proclamations. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6) The Greek word translated here as “gentleness,” epieikes, describes a temperament that is seasoned and mature. It envisions an attitude that is fitting to the occasion, levelheaded and tempered. The gentle reaction is one of steadiness, even-handedness and fairness. Its opposite would be an overreaction or a sense of panic. And this kind of gentleness will be "evident to all." Family members will take note. Your friends will sense a difference. Co-workers will benefit from it. Others may freak out or run out, but the gentle person is sober-minded and clear thinking. A contagious calm.
The contagiously calm person is the one who reminds others, "God is in control." It’s the executive who tells the company, "Let's all do our part; we'll be okay." It’s the leader who sees the challenge, acknowledges it, and then observes, "These are tough times, but we'll get through them." But this “gentleness” of which Paul speaks – where do we quarry that particular gem? How can you and I keep our finger off the trigger? How can we keep our heads when everyone else is losing theirs? The answer lies in plumbing the depths of the second phrase. "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything." (Phil. 4:5-6)
“The Lord is near.” In other words, you’re not alone. You may feel alone. You may even think you’re alone. But there’s never a moment in which you face life without help. God is near. God repeatedly pledges his proverbial presence to his people. To Abram, God said, "Do not be afraid. . . . I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward." (Gen. 15:1) To Hagar, the angel announced, "Do not be afraid; God has heard." (Gen. 21:17) When Isaac was expelled from his land by the Philistines and forced to move from place to place, God appeared to him and reminded him, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." (Gen. 26:24) After Moses' death God told Joshua, "Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." (Josh. 1:9) God was with David, in spite of his adultery; with Jacob, in spite of his conniving; and with Elijah, in spite of his lack of faith.
Then, in the ultimate declaration of communion, God called himself Immanuel, which means "God with us." He became flesh. He became sin. He defeated the grave. He is still with us. In the form of his Spirit, he comforts, teaches and convicts. Don’t assume that God is watching from a distance. Avoid the quicksand that bears the marker, "God has left you!" Don’t indulge that lie. If you do, your problem will be amplified by a sense of loneliness. It's one thing to face a challenge, but to face it all alone? Isolation creates a downward cycle of fret. Choose, instead, to be the person who clutches to God’s presence with both hands. "The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?" (Ps. 118:6) Because the Lord is near, we can be anxious for nothing. And that’s Paul's point.
Remember, Paul was writing a letter. He didn’t write to the Philippian church using chapter and verse numbers. That system was created by scholars in the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries. The structure helps us, but it can also hinder us. The apostle intended the words of verses 5 and 6 to be read in one fell swoop. "The Lord is near, so don’t be anxious about anything." We can calmly take our concerns to God because he’s as near as our next breath. This was the reassuring lesson from the miracle of the bread and fish. In an event crafted to speak to the anxious heart, Jesus told his disciples to do the impossible: feed five thousand people. "Jesus lifted up his eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward him, he said to Philip, 'Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?' But he said this to test him, for he himself knew what he would do." (John 6:5-6)
When John described this gathering as a "great multitude," he wasn’t kidding. There were five thousand men, plus women and children. (Matt. 14:21) Imagine a capacity crowd at a sports arena, and you've got the picture. Jesus was willing to feed the entire crowd. The disciples, on the other hand, wanted to get rid of everyone. "Send the multitudes away, so that they may go into the villages and buy themselves food." (Matt. 14:15) It has a tone of anxiety, aggravation, or maybe frustration. They don't call Jesus "Master." They don't come to him with a suggestion. They march as a group to Christ and tell him what to do. The disciples see a valley full of people. Growling stomachs will soon become scowling faces, and the disciples could have a riot on their hands. They had every reason to feel unsettled.
But then again, didn’t they have equal reason to feel at peace? By this point in their experience with Jesus they had seen him heal leprosy (Matt. 8:3), heal the centurion's servant without even going to the servant's bedside (Matt. 8:13), heal Peter's mother-in-law (Matt. 8:15), calm a violent sea (Matt. 8:26), heal a woman who’d been sick for twelve years (Matt. 9:22), raise a girl from the dead (Matt. 9:25), heal a demon-possessed man in a cemetery (Mark 5:15), change water into wine (John 2:9), and heal a man who’d been an invalid for thirty-eight years. (John 5:9) Did any of the disciples pause long enough to think, Well, hmmm. Jesus healed the sick people, raised the dead girl, and calmed the angry waves. I wonder, does he have a solution we haven’t seen? After all, he is standing right here in front of us. Let's ask him. Did it occur to anyone to ask Jesus for help? The stunning answer is no. They acted as if Jesus wasn’t even there. Rather than count on Christ, they had the audacity to tell the Creator of the universe that nothing could be done because there wasn't enough money. I wonder sometimes how Jesus kept his composure. How could he not keep from looking at the disciples and say, "Really?"
Finally, a boy offered his lunch basket to Andrew, who tentatively mentioned the offer to Jesus. Jesus said, “’Have the people sit down.’ There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, ‘Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.’ So, they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.” (John 6:10-13) Not one red cent was spent. They started the day with two hundred coins. They ended the day with two hundred coins. In addition, they filled twelve baskets with leftovers. Maybe souvenirs for each apostle. The people were fed, the bank account was intact, and we have a lesson to learn: anxiety is needless because Jesus is near.
You aren't facing five thousand hungry stomachs, but you’re facing a deadline in a couple of days . . . a loved one in need of a cure . . . a child who’s being bullied at school. Typically, you'd get anxious. You'd tell God to send the problem packing: "You've given me too much to handle, Jesus!" Next time, instead of starting with what you have, start with Jesus. Start with his wealth, his resources and his strength. Before you open the ledger, open your heart. Before you count coins or count heads, count the number of times Jesus has helped you face the impossible. Before you lash out in fear, look up in faith and experience the contagious calm that comes to those who simply turn to him.
Grace,
Randy
