The Wind and Waves

 

The other day my dog Wesley and I walked down to Tofte Park to watch the waves roll in. They were big and swelling, and aquamarine, powered by a warm southwesterly wind. Though I was enrapt, Wesley doesn’t like water much, so after a few thundering breakers he pulled away. There is something powerful about the wind and the waves.

Researchers have estimated that wave energy off the coasts of the United States could generate as much as 64 percent of the nation’s electricity.

Around the world a number of methods and technologies for capturing this energy are under development. Capturing wave energy would allow us to further reduce our dependence on fossil fuels including coal and oil which not only release climate altering CO2 but are responsible for elevated mercury levels in marine mammals and coral reef killing ocean acidification. Capturing wave energy might also help us to better appreciate one very stunning Bible story.

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus has been teaching crowds of people on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, the largest lake in the region and about the size of Mille Lacs Lake in central Minnesota. He’s exhausted and he and his disciples need a little R&R. Jesus had a regular practice of finding a place to commune with God in the midst of His creation. So, he asks Peter to take them across. Once out on the lake Jesus falls asleep in the stern. But Galilee is notorious for its sudden squalls. Hot air from the Jordanian desert collides with moist air from the Mediterranean to produce volatile weather. The disciples found themselves in an emergency. The wind whipped up waves high enough to begin to swamp the 20 to 30-foot open fishing boat. In fact, Mark uses the Greek word for “earthquake” to convey the enormity of their power.

As I read Mark’s narrative, I imagine the disciples struggling to “keep ‘er bow into the wind” while simultaneously amazed at Jesus’ continued slumber and perhaps each just a bit hesitant to be the one to wake him up. I haven’t experienced really big waves on Lake Superior in an open boat, but I’ve been in some decent sized waves on Saganaga in an open canoe. One misplaced paddle stroke and I might not have made it home.

When they finally wake Jesus, they ask a question I’ve certainly asked when it seems like the waves are about to drag me under, “don’t you even care, Lord?” Whoa. These earthquake waves have become metaphors for when the world crashes down on you and it seems there’s no hope in sight. “Don’t you even care, Lord?” I have a friend who’s battling cancer right now. “Doesn’t he even care?” he asked me. All I could do was hold his hands and pray in silence.

Jesus wakes from his slumber and he “rebukes” the wind and “abates” the waves. The disciples are stunned. They “feared a great fear.” Suddenly Jesus was more than an awesome teacher and friend. “Who is this man? Even the wind and waves obey him!” they asked. Surely some of them must have recalled the psalmist when he wrote in praise of God, “You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them.”

I’ve got a degree in environmental science. I have a pretty good understanding of how differential warming creates pressure gradients and we experience the movement of air molecules as wind. I know how weather systems form. But I also know that the New Testament text is considered the most reliable eyewitness account of actual events in the ancient world. We have better textual certainty that Jesus stilled the wind and waves than we do that Socrates drank hemlock or that Caesar conquered Britain. So, what do I do with this? “Who is this man? Even the wind and waves obey him!”

At the core of Christian orthodoxy is the deity of Christ, the Lord of heaven and Earth through whom all things are created and have their being. He doesn’t just do powerful things. He is power – and that’s something to wrap your head around.

Often in scripture God makes a point of His power in the silences as well as the miraculous silencing. For the prophet Elijah, the Lord was not in the storm or the earthquake or the fire, but in the still small voice. Some translators have, “the sound of sheer silence.” Mendelssohn adds “and onward came the Lord.”

The lake is quiet tonight. Almost like glass. My head is swimming with questions about my friend’s diagnosis, alternative energy transitions, little boats and big waves on an even bigger lake – and the power of silence. Onward comes the Lord. He stills the wind and waves.

Daren Blanck is the Pastor of Zoar Church in Tofte, MN, a Lutheran Congregation in Mission for Christ (LCMC). Pastor Daren holds a BS in Environmental Science from Bemidji State, a MS in Education from UW-Superior, and recently completed his MA in Pastoral Theology from Kingswood University in New Brunswick. In addition he studied theatre in the UK and trained for ministry through the LCMC’s Beyond the River Academy. He’s also a part-time teacher in Silver Bay.