The Calm in the Storm: Leading Yourself

Mark 4:35–41 “That day when evening came, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion.

The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

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Welcome/Series Intro

That’s a pretty crazy story—and one that we’re going to be looking into more deeply this weekend and next.

We’re starting a short, 2-part series here at Prairie Lakes this weekend called “The Calm in the Storm.”

SHOW SERIES GRAPHIC

Here’s what we thought might be a good idea:

Post-election…

Pre-holidays…

At the time of year when our anxiety might be (probably is?) running a little (or a lot?) higher...

Let’s talk about it.

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Let’s talk about the very real storms that swirl both around us and in us.

And let’s talk about the opportunity we might have to lead ourselves and others well in the midst of them.

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A Failure of Empathy

It’s been… 2 weeks or so since the election. And here’s what I’ve noticed in my feed (and maybe you’ve noticed it in yours as well; but…) here’s what my algorithm is feeding me:

I’ve noticed the folks who are terrified at the results.

And I’ve noticed the folks who are rolling their eyes at how terrified some of those folks are.

There are the late night | network TV | talk show hosts | and Saturday Night Live cast members | who feel very scared about the future.

And there are the “Top 5 Liberal Meltdown” videos that poke fun of those people.

And there’s a lot of other much more objective and serious content in my feed as well—from all sides.

But I ran across this Thread from Adam Grant, who is an organizational psychologist, a #1 NYT best-selling author, and TED talk presenter.

And here was his comment on this dynamic:

SHOW ADAM GRANT THREAD

“Telling others what to feel is a failure of empathy.”

I think that’s insightful. And loving, even. Telling others what to feel is a failure of empathy.

I think that’s relevant to the moment we’re living in right now, because:

Maybe your extended family is like mine, or like my wife’s:

Both of us have moms and dads and aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters who fall all along the spectrum from “terrified” to “eye rolling.”

And maybe like us, you’re looking ahead to the first Thanksgiving post-election or | the first Christmas post-election and | feel like it’s gonna be a tinder box—

That it’d take just one “that’s ridiculous” or “you’re overreacting” or “can’t you see that” kind of comment,

And the whole gathering is gonna go up in flames.

Telling others what to feel is a failure of empathy.

Transition: Did Jesus Fail at Being Empathetic?

And yet:

It seems like that’s what Jesus did—or at least implied—when he was asked (rather pointedly):

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Mark 4:38b “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

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And then after he calms that storm, he says:

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Mark 4:38b “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”

Mark 4:40 “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

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If only Adam Grant would’ve been around back in Jesus’s day. ;)

Back in 1986, archeologists discovered a remarkably well-preserved first-century fishing boat at a kibbutz on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee. Here’s a picture so that you can kind of put yourself in it:

SHOW 1ST CENTURY BOAT PICTURE

It’s about 27 feet long and 7.5 feet wide. It could fit about 15 or so. Probably something very similar to what Jesus and these 12 guys were in when their storm blew up.

Looks more like a canoe than yacht.

So Jesus is laying down in the back on a pillow, sawing logs. 12 guys are bailing and watching him roll over and hit snooze rather than get his rear end up and help.

And when he does, his first words aren’t “sorry.”

They are:

“Quiet. Be Still.”

And then essentially what feels like:

“What’s the big deal?”

Isn’t this a prime example of a failure of empathy? Is Jesus basically telling his disciples how they should and shouldn’t feel about the storm raged around them?

Well… what we know from the story is:

That’s exactly what it felt like to them. It absolutely felt like a failure of empathy on Jesus’ part.

This wasn’t the kind of storm that, like, every worship song and Christian album art seems obligated to mention. This storm is not a metaphor.

It wasn’t just “in their heads.” It wasn’t just their “opinion.” It wasn’t something that was “up for debate,” or “depending on your perspective,” or all of those other things that, when we hear them from others, really kinda feel invalidating and frustrating.

These were real waves, with really cold water, really filling up a literal boat out in the middle of a really big lake—a lake that was notorious for swallowing up fishermen and ferry passengers alike.

And not to be morbid here, but:

There were real moms and dads at the bottom of that lake. Kids at the bottom of that lake.

Why am I afraid, Jesus?

The fact that you have to even ask makes me feel like you don’t care.

Their anxiety was real, because the storm was real.

And it’s kind of an arresting, stark, confusing contrast in the story:

Because 12 guys are scared for their lives as the waves fill up the boat faster than they’re able to bail it out, while…

This other guy is completely oblivious to the storm everyone else is experiencing, zonked out on his pillow.

Story: Sleeping Through the Storm

It reminds me of a story of the first camping trip my wife and I went on after we had our first child, our son, Jude.

We went down to Wapsipinicon State Park, just east of Cedar Rapids/Anamosa area, with some good friends of ours.

Jude was all of 3 months old. But we had this huge, 12-person Browning tent that we set up, with Erin and I on a queen-sized air mattress in the room on one side of the tent, and Jude in his pack-n-play on the other side. It was glamping, pretty much.

And, you know… it’s your first kid, and those first 3 months can feel so different, because you’re just kinda wrapped up in a new sleeping schedule, and feeding schedule, and maternity leave, and crying that might mean “I’m hungry” or “I’m dying” but you’re not really sure which is happening, and…

Anyways, my wife and I were determined that we weren’t gonna be “that couple” that got on their own little island and their own little world, all cooped up in their house. We were gonna get back to living life, just with a kid.

So we packed all of the things, plus that big tent, and jetted down with our friends to do some camping.

And it was going great. Jude was a pretty easy baby; our friends were helping out and could do most of the food stuff and set up stuff; we were having a great time.

But we were also watching the radar, because one of those famous summer Iowa severe thunderstorms was gonna…

Maybe skate right by us… or…

Maybe roll right over us.

Well… it got to be lights out time, and we put Jude down, no problem. Then we fell asleep.

But at about 2am, I was woken up by the rain on the tent. Kinda quiet at first.

But you could kinda see the lightning brighten up the tent for an instant. Then hear the thunder in the distance.

And then in about a span of… oh, 10 minutes…

It was on top of us.

And it wasn’t just rain.

It was hail. And the wind was beating against the walls of the tent. And the thunder claps were so close that you could feel them in your chest and stomach.

And I had this thought:

“Well, it’s confirmed: I’m the worst dad in the world.” Got my wife and new baby out in a tent in the middle of a flippin nor’easter.

But you wanna know the craziest part of this story? And you can ask my wife this, too, because I swear that this is the truth:

That 3-month old baby did not stir.

He didn’t wake up. Didn’t cry. Didn’t grunt.

In fact, he was so still that I got worried that there was something wrong with him.

I remember going back to our side of the tent and telling Erin, “You’re not going to believe it.” Look at this kid!

Transition: Put Yourself in the Story

When you hear a story like that, or even when you read a story like the one we just read in Mark, I think it’s easiest for us to put ourselves in the shoes of the people who are reacting to the storm like we would:

Two new parents reacting with anxiety.

12 guys in the boat reacting with fear. Or with a question more shot at God than offered up to God:

Don’t you care?

That’s what’s probably the easiest to imagine—because, frankly, it’s not hard to imagine. That’s our world a lot of the time.

But what I think might be a better starting point this weekend is to put ourselves instead in the pack-n-play.

Let’s try and put ourselves in the mind of the guy who has his head on a pillow while everyone else is bailing.

Let’s see if we can’t discover something about why someone can remain uncommonly, almost irrationally at peace while some very real storms are raging around them.

And let’s start by looking at the person of Jesus.

It’s Not About How, but Who

You’ve read the story. Whether you believe it or not might be another thing—but you’ve now read the same story that the rest of us did.

Apparently Jesus can control the weather.

So… maybe that’s why he’s so calm when everyone else is so freaked out. He’s got the magic God-switch to control all of the things that control us.

Must be nice to be the Son of God; if only he could be a bit more understanding of the rest of us who don’t have magic powers.

Well… that’s actually not true, and it’s not true about Jesus.

He actually didn’t have a magic God-switch. His calm demeanor didn’t come because he had control over everything.

In fact, not to get too theological on you, but good Christology—or a more faithful, biblical view of the person of Jesus in this story and moment—requires you to remember that he didn’t have any power of his own.

He was human—exactly like us.

Theologians call this Jesus’ kenosis, which is a Greek word Paul uses in his letter to the church in Philippi to describe Jesus. This word is translated as “made himself nothing,” or “emptied,” or “gave up his divine privileges”—like it says in the New Living Translation in Philippians 2:

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Philippians 2:6-8 (NLT) “Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.”

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The disciples had Thor in the boat with them—but Thor without his hammer, so to speak.

Jesus was still by nature, God—but was every bit as powerless and out of control as they were.

And yet, he didn’t wake up in a panic.

And when he spoke, the storm listened.

Why? How?

Well, because:

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Before it’s about how you react to life’s real storms,

It’s about Who is in the boat with you.

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Let me continue to shift your perspective a little bit—first, on Jesus and who he is—then, on you and who you are. But Jesus first.

When you read these crazy stories—calming the storm, or healing the blind, or feeding thousands—

You’re actually reading stories that are way more human than they are divine.

And what I mean by that is this:

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Jesus was (and is) God.

But Jesus had the ability to perform miracles on earth not because he was God—

But because he remained connected to God.

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He had this perfect, unbroken, spiritual connection with his heavenly Father. Jesus is a picture of what it’s like to be human when you are perfectly connected to God.

It’s why he always went up to these “lonely places” to pray.

He was always listening. Always obedient. Always trusting. Always submitted. A perfect, unbroken connection with God.

When Jesus came to earth, even though he was in eternity past the source of God’s power in his very nature, he instead became a conduit of God’s power in his experience as a human.

Which means this:

When he performed all these miracles, Jesus wasn’t simply proving that he was God—

He was also showing us what it means to be truly human.

He’s showing us what God can do in | and even through | real people—people like you and like me—when we are connected to God.

This is why Jesus says this in John 14:

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John 14:12 “Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father.”

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So… are you trying to say that we can control the weather, pastor?

Might be worth a try. ;)

Obviously, God had Jesus do things that he needed Jesus to do | so that people might believe what God needed people to believe | through him. There’s some obvious uniqueness to the works Jesus did, because there was some uniqueness to Jesus’ God-given purpose.

But what I am saying | is that you can be just as calm as Jesus was | in the very real storms of your life.

You can be just as calm as Jesus was in the very real storms of your life.

You can be | just as calm | as Jesus was | in the very real storms of your life.

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Jesus was able to be the calm in the storm

Not because the storm wasn’t real, or wasn’t big

But because there wasn’t a storm raging inside of him.

He listened to God before he listened to the storm

So he could speak to the storm instead of the storm speaking to him.

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He had this perfect, unbroken connection to God.

And when he woke up, he heard exactly what God needed him to hear, and said exactly what God wanted him to say.

Listen:

I don’t know what storms are raging around you right now, or even inside of you.

And I certainly don’t want to come off as un-empathetic, or that I’m diminishing those storms in any kind of way.

I just want to invite you to listen to God first before you listen to the storm.

Because He might have something to say in order to calm the storm in you—

Or give you something to say that might calm the storm in others. (Which we’ll dive more deeply into next week.)

Close: Canada Story

(Jesse to tell the story of dumping a canoe in Saskatchewan.) Who are you listening to?

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