Twelfth Sunday in ordinary time, Cycle B. Today’s readings: Job 38:1, 8-11; 2 Corinthians 5:14-17; Mark 4:35-41

 

One of the most endearing characters in the ‘Peanuts’ comic strips and cartoons is a little boy called Linus. Though wise beyond his years, Linus still clings to a security blanket that he carries around with him; he is often portrayed blissfully holding it to his face while sucking his thumb. In one of the Charlie Brown movies, he describes it thus: “This blanket is a necessity. It keeps me from cracking up. It may be regarded as a spiritual tourniquet. Without it, I’d be nothing, a ship without a rudder.”

Today’s gospel portrays another rudderless ship; more precisely, it is a boat being tossed about on the waves of the Sea of Galilee. The vessel’s occupants are Jesus and some of his disciples, and the event is so noteworthy it is recounted in three of the four gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

Yet Mark’s version of this incident stands out for two reasons. Firstly, unlike the other evangelists, he is the only one to note that Jesus was not merely asleep during the storm, but that he was sleeping on a cushion. This indicates that Christ didn’t simply doze off out of sheer exhaustion, but that he was sleeping with some intentionality, that he had attempted to attain a small measure of comfort.

The second aspect where Mark’s account differs from the other synoptic gospels is in the tone of the disciples’ pleading when they rouse Jesus from his slumber. In the other two versions they inform him that they are in danger of perishing and beg him to save them. In Mark, however, their entreaty carries an accusatory edge: “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

Taken together, these two elements raise some interesting points for reflection. Why was Jesus sleeping (and sleeping so soundly) during the storm? Did he really not care about the safety and well-being of his friends?

We too can encounter in Jesus the God who is human enough to need sleep, compassionate enough to care, and powerful enough to calm the waves

We too can struggle with similar questions when the storms of life threaten to overwhelm us. Where is God when the unity and stability of our families is endangered, when serious health issues arise, or when financial problems occur? Does he not care that our societies are riven by violence, injustice and corruption? Does the Lord sleep while even the Barque of St Peter is lashed by the waves of division, error and uncertainty?

Yet questions like these, though undoubtedly valid, betray the fact that very often we still view God as a glorified Linus blanket; a spiritual parachute or airbag to protect us from life’s hard knocks.

The Lord’s response to his friends’ panicked entreaties shows that he was seeking to lead them to a deeper knowledge of his identity. Jesus stands up and rebukes the wind and the sea, as a man would shush a rowdy pet: “Quiet! Be still!” The wind promptly ceases, leaving a great calm.

This here is a new class of miracle; in Jewish eyes, power over natural forces (especially the sea) revealed God’s presence and glory. For – as in today’s first reading – only the omnipotent God can still the storm and say: “Thus far shall you come but no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stilled!”

The disciples get the message. Their terror is swiftly transformed into a different kind of fear: a divine awe at the fact that their friend and teacher evidently has authority over creation. Like them, we too can encounter in Jesus the God who is human enough to need sleep, compassionate enough to care, and powerful enough to calm the waves.

In the storms of life, I can think of no better boat to be in than his… even if he sleeps.

 

bgatt@maltachurchtribunals.org