Over the years I’ve asked you many questions. Today’s question is about questions. It’s this: what is the shortest, yet most fundamental question, everyone asks? I think you’d agree the answer is: “Why me?” Usually, we ask it when something goes wrong. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this happening to me?” We seldom, if ever, ask the question when something good happens. I mean: do you know anyone who would ask, “Why me, Lord? Why did I win this week’s Lotto drawing?”
On the other hand, the “why me?” question was raised in our first reading from the Book of Job. Job certainly had reason to ask it. You remember the story. Job had everything a man could want in his ancient world. He had seven sons and three daughters. He thousands of sheep and camels, hundreds of oxen and donkeys. But then, for no apparent reason, it was all taken away from him. He could, with all justification, ask, “Why me, Lord?”
His friends claimed to know the answer. It was: in some secret way he had offended God. It was some secret sin of his that brought on this punishment from God. If only Job would confess his transgression, God would forgive him and all would be made right again. But Job denied he had offended God, or man, in any way. He maintained he was totally innocent of any charges which could be made against him. And his friends kept saying (sarcastically), “Oh, sure, you are.” Finally, Job said he wanted God, Himself, to tell him what he had done wrong so he could defend himself.
And in today’s first reading, God does show up to respond. I’d love to see a movie with the scene from today’s reading. The computer graphics would be spectacular. Those dark, ominous clouds gathering together in what had been a perfectly clear, blue sky. And then from those swirling clouds comes the voice of God asking, “Who shut within doors the sea …” and so on.
But here’s where I have a problem. Did God thunder his response with a mighty voice that shook the trees and trembled the rocks around Job? Or did God merely whisper his question – like the passage of the gentle breeze when He showed himself to the prophet Elijah?
I have the same problem with today’s gospel reading with its scene in which dark, swirling storm clouds and tossing waves play important parts. My problem comes because of the scene immediately before the storm. In the preceding passages, Jesus had been sitting by the sea and telling parables to the people who followed him – and explaining them to his disciples. The parables were about a sower scattering seeds, about a lamp with a visible light, about a mustard seed. Jesus had just finished his stories about the Kingdom of God and about faith, about trusting in God.
Mark’s gospel then goes on to say: “When evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’ And leaving the crowd behind, they took Jesus with them in the boat.” And so, there they were, sailing once more on the Sea of Galilee, at night. You’ll recall the Sea of Galilee is surrounded by hills, on the east side there are the Golen heights, on the west are hills that look like sleeping lions. Although the Sea of Galilee is wider, it reminds me of the Finger Lake region of Upstate New York where Karen and I lived four decades ago. I remember how there could be a clear sky one moment and then, over the crest of the hills, came a sudden wind and a heavy rainstorm.
The Sea of Galilee has the geography to produce such sudden changes like the one we heard about in our gospel reading. A calm night, lite by a half-moon and peaceful stars, suddenly blacked out by howling winds and surging seas. Many in the boat were fishermen who, no doubt, had seen their share of rough water late at night when they had gone out to cast their nets for the fish which schooled under the moon’s glow. But this night, the storm had such fury they became frightened. So frightened they dared to rouse their friend who, having spent a long day teaching them and the other followers, was now sound asleep in the boat, despite it’s pitching up and down on the ever-increasing waves.
It was then, Jesus spoke his words to the raging waters: “Peace! Shalom! Be still.” And it’s here I have my own puzzlement. Just as God spoke from the clouds in his response to Job, did Jesus thunder his command to the storm or did he merely need to whisper his words, “Peace! Be still,” in order to calm the raging waters.
These alternatives did not seem to bother the early Christians who saw, in this scene, a picture of the early Church tossed about by the waves of the surrounding world, a world subject to storms threatening what they called the “Bark of Salvation,” a “bark” or small sailing vessel containing Christians who would drown unless they were protected by Jesus, the Christ. It’s a scene that’s portrayed in many stained glass windows in churches. It is a popular image for the Church and its relationship to the world and to God. But it’s also an image that can be brought closer to home, for it may, indeed, be an image of our individual homes, today.
Perhaps, this image comes to me in particular this weekend when Karen and I celebrate our thirty-ninth wedding anniversary. It’s been almost four decades, ago, when we first saw those hills surrounding the Finger Lakes where we lived when we were newlyweds. We’ve seen our share of the ups and downs of life. The times when it seemed as if we were lost at sea and the times of being in a safe harbor, watching a magnificent sunset on a perfect day. So, today, the image of a sailing vessel on the Sea of Galilee seems to be an appropriate one, not only for all of Christendom, but also for each of our families.
For are there not times when it seems our home-life is sailing calmly along, when everything appears to be going well. Mom and Dad have satisfying careers either in the home or elsewhere. The kids are doing well in school. There are no problems with drugs or crime. But, then, there is a sudden shift in the wind and both our nights and our days are consumed with new dangers surrounding us.
And what do we do? Are we like the disciples who awaken the Christ with them? Do we, ourselves, arouse the Christ within us and ask for his help, or are we afraid to wake him, afraid he will be angry with us, or afraid he will not help us. I raise the question because of the other part of today’s gospel reading. Yes, Jesus spoke words that calmed the sea, but what else did he say?
Mark, according to one translation, writes, “Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. Jesus said to them, ‘Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?’” In the back of our mind do we hear these words when the boat in which we sail is about to be overcome by a surrounding storm? Are we afraid that by asking for help, we somehow show a lack of faith that everything will turn out as God wants it to. After all, perhaps God has sent us the storm to test us, to try our faith.
Or does our faith, in fact, include the belief that we actually show our faith by seeking his help? It is then that we put our faith into action. Do we remember when his friends asked for his assistance, the first question Jesus asked them was “Why are you afraid.”
Why are you afraid when you know I am here? Right here, in the tossing boat. Right here, with you in your troubles and dangers. All you need to do is turn to me and ask for help. Help that I will immediately give you. Help to calm the waters about to engulf you. Or better yet, help to still the storms within you. Help to lift the clouds within you so that you can see in the moonlight the shore towards which you can now sail.
We no longer need to fear a God who questions us from a swirling cloud, but rather, recognize we have a Lord who rests within us. A Lord who may appear to be asleep but who instantly awakes, who whispers the words, “Peace! Be still.” A friend who gently inquires, “Why are you afraid?” A friend who already knows the answer to the question he asks: “Have you still no faith?” No faith to know I am here to help you? With this friend, Jesus, we know the answer to the question, “Why me? Why do you help me?” We know he always responds, “Because I love you.”
Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 22, 1997 Job 38:1-8-11:2; 2 Cor 5:14-17; Mk 4:35-41