Faith is hard. Oh, intellectually it may not be - I know so much about who God is and what he’s done, and about the efficacy of Jesus’ lordship - but out at what the infantry calls the tip of the spear, that place where life really happens and choices have to be made, faith is hard.
I take a little bit of consolation from the fact that it was hard for the disciples too, even when they were in the physical presence of Jesus. Remember the time Jesus calmed the storm? Here it is, as told in Luke 8:22-25:
“One day Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us go over to the other side of the lake.’ So they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger.
“The disciples went and woke him, saying, ‘Master, Master, we’re going to drown!’
“He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. ‘Where is your faith?’ he asked his disciples.
“In fear and amazement they asked one another, ‘Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.’”
Jesus told them to get in the boat and to cross the lake. He joined them, calmly sleeping, even as the storm built. I wonder if he didn’t feel a little more at home in the center of so much rampant power; I wonder if maybe he didn’t feel a little closer to God. Certainly, Jesus saw no threat in wind and water. And he seemed disappointed that his disciples showed so little trust.
I don’t feel the fear, because as I read this I’m not in the boat, so I tend to agree with Jesus. But then I think of all the times I fret and worry. I think of the events that made me wonder where God was, and whether he cared. I remember the many occasions I took action myself after praying to God.
Faith is hard. When life isn’t going well, it takes steely nerves and unswerving trust not to blink. To remain serene in my confidence in God’s personal interest in and love for me seems almost impossible.
It’s good this morning to remember that Jesus is no farther from me than he was from the disciples in that boat. He knows what’s happening, how I’m feeling, and what would be best. And he already has a plan and knows how it will turn out.
It’s also good to know that, in my life, he has a singular purpose: my sanctification. To grow me to be more and more like him. And sometimes that takes a squall. After all, there’s an ancient saying to the effect that fair winds don’t make skilled seamen. Sailing through storms does that.
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