Little Boats

When I think about my life, it’s never been the big, grandiose moments, the successes, the accomplishments, the really big endeavors that have made a difference in my faith.  If I am honest, it’s been in the whisper-prayers that echoed from a desperate place, the simple cry for help, the brokenness of total surrender. 

Hurricane Ike made landfall in September of 2008 and was possibly the worst storm I have ever witnessed.  I remember lying in bed feeling so scared, so unsure of what was to come.  Questions circled in my mind.  Are we in danger?  Will we be hurt? Will our new roof hold up in the 100 mph winds?  Will our home suffer damage?  How long will it last?  Are we prepared for this type of storm?  Should we have left town with everyone else?

Even though the winds ceased soon after, a storm in my own life had just begun and it would last much longer than a few hours.    A storm that brought high winds and torrential rain; a storm that would force me to my knees; one that would make me face fears buried deep inside of me. A new set of questions began to develop, but really they were the same.  Will our marriage hold up through this storm?  Will we be hurt?  What will it cost?  How long will it last?  Are we prepared for this type of storm?  Should we follow the crowd or climb into the boat? 

I’ve spent a lot of time lately parked in Mark chapter 4.  I’ve been here day after day after day.  Seven quick verses describe a furious storm.  But rather than study the storm itself, Jesus has had me focused on the two seemingly insignificant verses that are the calm before the storm.

On the same day, when evening had come, [Jesus] said to them, “Let us cross over to the other side.” Now when they had left the multitude, they took Him along in the boat as He was. And other little boats were also with Him.

Mark 4:35-36 (NKJV)

Jesus makes mention of “the other side” twenty three times in the four gospels combined.  The Greek word is peran, which means “beyond.”  It is a word that marks direction.*   “Let us go beyond…”  Jesus spoke these words to his disciples after a long day of teaching a vast number of people gathered near the water.  At one point, the crowd grew so large that He got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake while all the people listened from the shore.  And then after a long day, He instructed His disciples to move the boat to the other side of the lake.

I may not know much about boats or sailing or even rowing, but I do know this: I’m not so sure about climbing into a boat at dusk.   I know there was no weather ap back in Jesus’ day, but I am pretty sure that the storm did not just appear unexpectedly.  There had to be some kind of cloud activity, wind indicator, or something that warned these men of the imminent danger.

Another sign that this was a risky move was the fact that they were literally moving away from the crowd.   The multitude?  They were heading for shelter.  You wouldn’t find them out on the water!  Ever notice when you take a step out from the crowd how risky it really is?  And yet, other little boats were also with Him.  Right here, in this rather insignificant verse, are men and women who were desperate to follow Jesus wherever He went, even if it meant climbing into a boat in the dark and sailing straight into a coming storm.

I am fascinated by this verse that I am sure I’ve never even read before.  I haven’t ever heard a sermon on “little boats” or read a book about who was riding in them.  But I know what it’s like to ride out a horrible storm in a little bitty boat.  I’ve spent years in a tiny boat, being rocked back and forth by the waves, and during that time God showed me that I spent way too long staring at the approaching storm and way too much energy gasping at the pummeling waves and fierce wind that accompanied them. 

The word used for little boats, ploiarion, means “small vessels.” * This is the only verse that speaks of these followers of Jesus.  The story continues with the anticipated storm, and as Mark shares the severity of it, no further mention is made of the little boats and those inside of them who pushed away from the crowd and stepped out in faith to follow Jesus.  However, I do believe that the miracle that took place out on the open sea was not only witnessed by the disciples in the boat with Jesus, but by those who ventured beyond their comfort zone and said yes to Him, though they could see the storm in the distance.  I’ve often wondered why Jesus would guide them straight into the storm.  But then I lived through a storm that threatened to engulf me and I watched as the Voice of the One I love spoke with authority right before my eyes.  And that experience has given me the courage to get back into that teeny tiny boat again and again and again, following Jesus right into the middle of a storm.

And a great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that it was already filling. 

Mark 4: 37

This was one intense storm.  The word Mark used to describe the action of the waves is the Greek word epiballō, translated as “beat.”  It means the rushing of waves into a ship. If “flash flood” was a term that existed back then, I’m sure it could be applied here. Interestingly, this word is also used to describe seizing someone to lead him/her off as a prisoner.*  Fear does just that.  It wraps chains around us and leads us off as prisoners.  In fact, Jesus later connects the disciples’ fear with their lack of faith.

All of us who follow Jesus sit in a boat of some sort.  Some are large ships, others are rickety canoes.  The boats don’t matter and we need not compare them.  It’s the same wind that causes the same storm which makes the same open sea terrifying.  It’s funny how we think our storms are so different.  We tend to think we can only reach out to those who are literally sitting in a boat we’ve sat in.  But the storms in each of our lives magnify the fact that we are not in control.  Storms cause the same reaction: fear.  And fear often dredges up the same accusations that reveal a weak faith:  “Jesus, don’t you care if I drown?”  You see, Jesus was sleeping while this storm threatened the lives of the disciples and surely those in the smaller boats who left the safety of the shore behind.  Not only was Jesus sleeping, but He was snoozing on a pillow!  I have to say that I would have reacted the same way the frightened disciples did.  I wish it were not so, but I have asked that very same question from the confines of my small boat that was quickly filling with water.

Then [Jesus] arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace, be still!” And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.

Mark 4:39

Jesus never answered the question that painted Him as uncaring, aloof or nonchalant.  Instead, He calmed the sea with a word then asked the disciples a question:  “Why are you so afraid?  Do you still have no faith?”  I believe that Jesus knew the answer had something to do with the fact that they still did not quite know Him.  In fact, the last verse of this short story suggests just that.

And they feared exceedingly, and said to one another, “Who can this be, that even the wind and the sea obey Him!”

Mark 4:41

“Who is this?” they asked each other, hinting that they were only just beginning to see Jesus.  Storms will do that- strengthen our faith.  Not only does our faith grow, but our view of who Jesus is expands when we see Him command the wind and the waves.  As we shout out our frantic questions, accusing Him of not being there and leading us straight into a hurricane, He remains calm.  He is not fazed.  He teaches us what He led us to sea to teach us and then He confronts our fear.  As we see and understand more and more of this Jesus, those fears start to seem less and less.  Why is that?  From my own experience, I can say it has a lot to do with where we look.  During a particular storm- one that wreaked havoc on my heart- I was way too focused on the waves.  Now I know where to look- at Jesus’ face.  Fears still surface.  Questions bubble up.  But a single, quick glance at the One who calms the sea will push those fears aside, causing them to fade into the background.  Present, but not overwhelming.  Existing, yet not consuming.  Jesus told us we’d have trouble in this world and lumped into that, I believe, is a fair dose of fear.  But Jesus says, “Take courage, for I have overcome the world.” 

Jesus offers the anecdote for fear: hope.   Look up the word “hope” and you’ll find this listed as a synonym: “free from fear.”  Jesus is Hope.  Hope comes in all different forms.  The lifeline thrust into the water is a rope of hope, sturdy and sure.  The lighthouse on the shore is a beacon of hope, projecting truth onto uncertain waters.  We spend so much of our time asking God to calm the storm, but it is in the middle of the storm that we discover the beauty of who He really is.

*Greek meanings taken from STRONG’s Numbers, blueletterbible.org