We all know the story where Jesus is asleep during an overpowering storm on the lake as the disciples fear for their lives. They've just heard the sermon on the mount, including how to pray, and reassurance of their worth and not to worry. They've just seen multiple people healed. And he's just told them that life with him is not cozy and safe, that they are on a purposeful journey where home is left behind. And yet, the power of the storm makes them wonder if they all took a wrong turn, if their master who was "willing" to heal leprosy has forgotten their vulnerability.
And that's where we live most of the time, particularly this week. Fairly certain that we were getting on the boat WITH Jesus, that leaving home behind was His idea, that He will preserve our souls . . . yet grabbing onto the tossing, wet, nauseating ride with real tension.
Our storms include Kenya, which has descended into some sorrowful chaos in the last week. Since this is the country where we have the most teams and people these days, and the location of our Area retreat for 180+ people due to start this coming Monday, with multiple traveling into and through hot spots . . . . hard timing for an implosion with massive popular marches to protest new tax structures being met by harsh repressive security (police and military) in downtown Nairobi, resulting in at least 23 young people killed. Today even the American embassy closed and sent warnings to stay out of the city.
Which is complicated by storm number two, a team leader in DRC sick enough with pneumonia to feel unable to cough and breathe, justifying a medical evacuation to Nairobi. As the city in our Area with the most resources, it makes sense to access the highest levels of complex care there, but again rough timing. The combination of significant illness and uncertain security tosses the proverbial boat towards crashing.
And the background of darkness and cloud and thunder too . . . both of our families in America have had a difficult Junes. We wish we were there with Scott's mom, and with my nephew (who was critically injured in a motorcycle accident and is on a long rocky path of recovery). Not to mention that this is our first month post-normal-Bundibugyo-team, with all the realities of keeping the school, the water project, nutrition, and an environmental education outreach afloat (plus the local mission staff) falling now to only Ann and us.
All of those waves throw us into a disoriented desperation. Does Jesus see? Care? Probably more likely to doubt His intentions than His capacity. Why is He asleep?
Jesus seemed more surprised by the fear than by the storm. Perhaps he didn't expect to be immune to weather patterns any more than to tiredness or hunger, He was a fully human participant in a world where things go wrong. Or perhaps He also expected supernatural ripples of trouble anywhere He went, and knew that none of that could ultimately divert Him. In any case, he saw their fear and responded with calm.
We can't see as He does, yet, the importance of every wave to create the better-than-ever outcome of an all-things-new world of beauty and grace. We can't parse each storm and justify it, or know when we will be suddenly out of danger and into an unexpected starlit sheen of smooth water, versus when we'll be thrown overboard to gasp for a whale's rescue. We can only know that Jesus is present, and paying attention, and able to bring good from even the fiercest storms.
Praying that this week turns into a calming of the waters, for Kenya, for our DRC team, for my nephew and mother-in-law, for our upcoming retreat, for our messy life. But even before that, join us in praying we would all sense Jesus' in the boat, awake and full of love.
