Daddy in the Storm

It was one of the loudest storms all year long. Hurricane season down south formed with the unreal heat of a New York city summer to create a thunderstorm over our house of biblical proportions. I laid in my bed with a familiar presence during storms - my 4-year old child, Calvin. I’m not completely sure when he entered the bed. When he was very young I had to go retrieve him from his crib during the storm - his cries revealing his fear of the violence outside. When he graduated to a “big-boy bed” he would come in on his own - this time the cries requesting an invitation to the comforts of mom and dad. Now, I suppose, the confidence of the source of his comfort has put aside all need for announcement. Here he was, curled up next to me, fast asleep as the skies seem to be ripping apart.

Storms this season have collected a grave toll. In the last two weeks of this writing, six people have lost their lives being dragged out to sea from the hidden undercurrent caused by weather hundreds of miles south. The cost to those who live in the heart of the hurricanes has been so much more. Yet, here is my son, fast asleep while the source of the fear of many pounds on the door.

I laid awake for some time pondering all of this. What was it about the proximity to me that suddenly made this violent aggressor suddenly seem as inconsequential as fourth of July fireworks? Maybe he does hold the hopelessly false belief that I can do anything and protect him from anything. I think it’s simpler than that. I think he realizes, on some level, that I know stuff. At least I know more than him. If my knowledge of the situation allows me to sleep - then so can he.

At each loud thunderclap Calvin would momentarily wake, reach out to make sure I was still there, and then fall back to sleep. Me being fast asleep was his assurance that all was still well. He doesn’t for a minute think that I’m asleep because I’m ignorant to the realities of thunderstorms or that my slumber reveals a callous insensitivity to the need around me. He trusts me - and takes my calm to mean that everything is still O.K.

For those of you familiar with the stories of Jesus’ life, you are undoubtedly reminded, just as I was, of Jesus’ calming of the storm. (Mark 4:35-40 among others). In the story we have Jesus and a boat full of disciples - the men he is trying to teach about himself. Jesus, after a lengthy and exhausting period of ministry, chooses to take the time to catch some sleep in the bottom of the boat - probably the ship’s hold where caught fish were stored. A storm rose up in the middle of the sea and the disciples were doing everything they could to keep the ship from capsizing and all drowning.

Then, in the first and only recorded instance of the disciples scolding Jesus, they woke him. They accused him of not caring. What they were doing didn’t seem to be enough. Every hand on this effort was required and Jesus seemed to be acting like a wealthy passenger on a luxury liner. The least he could do would be to help bail.

The rest of the story has been told countless times to demonstrate the power of Jesus. Even the disciples commented “who is this man - even the wind and the seas obey him?” In their defense - this isn’t something to be expected. It’s not every day that you survive storms by shouting down the wind. This being true - I don’t think that the power display was Jesus’ point. Notice what He says about the situation:

“Why are you so afraid? Don’t you have any faith?”

The faith in this passage has been the subject of sermons and debate since the words were written. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean we have the power to shout down the storms of our life? Does that mean instead of panic we need to simply ask Jesus and he will calm our life storms? I don’t think the storm is the point at all. I think the story is about Jesus asleep.

We work so hard in life to escape storms. The weekend of our storm I was violently sick. Out of all the regular sick you can get - I hate stomach illnesses the most. The helplessness of expelling the contents of your stomach over and over, long after there is nothing left to expel is torture. I would do anything to make it stop. The only thing that allows me to get through it is constantly telling myself that I will make it, that soon it will be over. That doesn’t stop my from trying to avoid it. I try meditating, drinking pepto, applying cold cloths to the back of my neck - whatever scheme I can find on the internet. None of it works. Only time. If I could find something to stop it I would.

I wonder how many of the storms in life we work so ferociously to avoid are simply designed to be gone through. While Jesus obviously has the power to stop them, I think we are meant to learn from how Jesus went through them. That is what Calvin was doing by checking to see if I was next to him. He knows that I’ve been through these before. He knows that I know storms. Enduring storms is what he was learning from me that night. People who panic in storms do so because they haven’t made it through one.

It’s a regular joke on late-night TV during storm season. There is the clip of the poor reporter who was sent down to the most violent part of the hurricane or flood or whatever storm is reeking havoc and does his piece live - outside in the storm. Usually you can hardly hear the report over the sound of the wind and rain. The comedians laugh at the person being buffeted by 70 mile an hour winds and annually raise the question of why this person has to stand in the storm to convince us that there is a storm. I used to agree with the observation until I realized that only a person who has stood in the storm is qualified to inform me about the storm. I know that reporter has been there - so I trust him.

Jesus has been in the storm. Jesus’ message of hope to us is reported live from the storm.

Enduring storms is what I need to be learning from Jesus. When the storms come, I want to learn to reach out my hand and see what He is doing. As long as He is O.K., I will be too.