"Don't You Care?" - Mark 4: 35-41

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

“Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Among the disciples were seasoned fishermen, but even they were frightened by the windstorm that had blown up. The boat was taking on water and starting to fill. Drowning is a frightening way to die. In that day and age, it was magnified by the idea that if you drowned, you were going into the abyss, the realm of the demons. Drowning was not only physical death but had eternal implications as well.

If you need help imagining this scene, the artist Rembrandt painted a picture about 400 years ago with his idea of what it looked like. He called it simply “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” In his picture some men fight the ship, some appear to fight the storm, some, it seems, are fighting Jesus, waking him from sleep, while collectively, they all fight for their lives. “Do you not care that we are perishing?” The question isn’t just reserved for passengers on a boat in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. It’s one of the existential questions of our time, perhaps the greatest question of all time, and it’s a question that is asked still today, even by those of us who never get in deeper water than a bathtub.

We ask it in our personal lives when the waves of crisis break over us. Dad’s doctor says that he has only a few hours left to live; a day or two at max. I’m over-extended, the savings are gone, and I’m going bankrupt. It’s been 22 months and I still don’t have a job. What do you mean, you don’t love me anymore and you’ve found someone else? Ours is a modern day story of Job, and like him, we turn to the heavens and cry out to God, trusting He promises to hear, but wondering why He is so slow to answer, “I’m perishing, here! Do you not care?”  

We ask it as the winds of the world blow and threaten to knock us over. Nations practice brinksmanship to see who will blink first. Three more shootings this past week. True story, our oldest daughter was just a block or two away from where the bullets were flying in Austin last week...kinda takes the breath away finding that out.  The virus seems to not want to quit, and the very topic drives wedges between family, friends, and coworkers. There is terrible drought along the west coast while the upper Gulf coast cleans up from another flood event. All the while, society seems to slide further and faster toward Gomorrah.

We ask the question as storms swell and threaten to overwhelm, even in the church. We see brothers and sisters in Christ speak in anger and not in gentleness. We hear people assume the worst from what was done in love. There is gossip about others, talking and texting behind people’s backs and listening with itching ears, hoping for something to save for a later day. Some hearts grow hard, refusing to repent until the other one apologizes first, our Old Adam’s game of sanctified brinksmanship. Polls tell us that nationwide, the Christian faith is on the decline with church attendance, participation and offerings are all at record lows. Churches close, pastors resign, and parishioners are left wondering.

As the storm swirling around and, water poured into the boat; as hands fought to save the boat and crew while other hands were wringing in worry, the disciples found their Lord Jesus was asleep, resting comfortably, completely unconcerned and unencumbered by the roaring chaos. Their eyes see what is happening, and their hearts are filled with dread while also angry at his complete peace. It’s almost as if they are rebuking the Savior, as they demand of him, “Do you not care?”

It feels that way for us, too. In our losses, and our hurts, and our fears, and our experiences, we turn to the Lord, our words echoing the disciples, “Do you not care that we are perishing? Do you not care that mankind is perishing? Do you not care that your church is perishing?”

Why? Why were the disciples so afraid? They were afraid of the wind and the waves. But, why? The God of Creation is literally mere feet from them, in the stern of the boat. They are afraid of dying. But, why? They have the Lord of Life resting comfortably and peacefully, literally entrusting His own life into the hands of His Heavenly Father. All the while they scramble like – well, like drowning men. They were afraid of going to the other side, to the Gentile world, to the Decapolis, where bad things and bad people lived. They have the One who speaks and even the demons obey.

Jesus speaks, rebuking the wind and ordering peace to the sea. In the Scriptures, rebuke is a call of repentance. Peace is a word of restoration and wholeness. It may seem strange to us, to hear Jesus rebuking the wind and pacifying the seas, calling creation to repentance and restoration, but He is restoring creation. Literally, Jesus, who is the Word made flesh, who once spoke order into the nothingness of nothing in Genesis again speaks order into the chaos of the storm. With the same powerful voice that taught and healed and drove out demons, He calms the storm. From the great storm comes great calm.

Jesus speaks again, this time rebuking the disciples. “Why are you so afraid,” He said. “Have you still no faith?” This is interesting: Mark uses the word “great” three times in these verses: in v. 37, it was a great windstorm; then, in v. 39, there was great calm. Now, Mark says the disciples were filled with great fear and questioned who this was standing before them. They were afraid before, of the wind and waves, of drowning, even of their Gentile destination. But this…this was different. They way Jesus spoke to creation, the way Jesus calmed the storm, it was reminiscent of the Old Testament. Why were they so afraid? Their question was rhetorical: they knew exactly who He was. They knew the Scriptures. They knew the Psalms. They knew the prophets. He spoke with the power of God as of old because He was, is, and will forever be God. And they missed it. With faith absent, they had rebuked God and with the storm now dissipated and dissolved, there was God standing with them in the boat with nothing to protect them from their own foolishness.  

If you don’t know that the answer to the second question, “Who is this?” is Jesus, the Christ, then the first question, “Do you not care?” becomes even more terrifying. All he could be is a man who has empathy for his friends. But when this Man is also God enfleshed, when it is Jesus, the Savior, when it is the One who is the fulfillment of all of God’s promises to His people of old, then it is obvious.

Teacher, don’t you care? Of course, I do. I have rebuked the wind for you. I have delivered peaceful seas for you. I have rescued you. And, more than that, I am with you – both in storm and in calm. But, teacher, don’t you care? Of course, I do. What if I told you that you are already perishing in your sins and trespasses. The entire reason I became incarnate is because I care. The reason I teach about the kingdom of God being fulfilled is because I care. The reason I am heading to the cross is because I care. The reason I will rise from the grave is that I care. I care now and into eternity, and that care for you will never end.

Now, let me turn the question to you: why are we so afraid? There are lots of excuses: we are afraid of losing our property, our health, our lives; we are afraid of losing our status, our jobs, our families; we’re afraid of what people think of us and how they might treat us; we are afraid of losing our place in society, our place in the world, our tax-exempt status. We could extend that list ten-fold without even working up a good sweat. They are all excuses; they are all symptoms of the real issue. The real issue, the core sin that leads us to cry out, “Teacher, do you not care?” is that we do not trust Jesus and the power of His Word of promise, of life, and of rescue.

As He rebuked the winds, and spoke to the sea, and asked the disciples, so also Jesus calls us to repentance. He calls us away from all those excuses that get in the way between Him and us and He calls us back to His Word. He calls us to lift our eyes from things temporal and instead to look into eternity. As the metaphorical storms of this life swirl around us, know that He is with us no matter if they rage or if they are silenced; if they are great or small. So, what do we do when we feel like we are about to be overwhelmed, or as if Jesus doesn’t care?  

If you look at Rembrandt’s painting this afternoon, notice all of the details: The boat is riding high on a wave, with whitecaps crashing against the hull of the ship and spraying into the air. At the front of the ship, four professional fishermen are fighting, tooth and nail, to save the ship. Two other men are hanging on to guy ropes, clinging for dear life. One is hanging over the side, feeding the fish. One man has his back to Jesus but is hunched over, as if in prayer. If you look closely, in the shadows, there is a ghostly figure; one gets the idea he is praying to an unknown diety – strange, since Jesus is only a few feet away. One man is steering the boat, and Jesus is sitting at his feet. Three men, all with differing body language, face Jesus – one wringing his hands while looking out over the wind-swept water; one grabbing Jesus’ robe, as if demanding something; one with hands outstretched, as if pleading. It’s interesting – furthest away from Jesus, the storm rages: waves are huge, white-capped, foaming monsters, men are fighting creation for survival; nearer to Jesus, the storm is less intense but the men seem to be fighting against Jesus Himself.

Count the men in the boat, and you discover fourteen men: four up front, two hanging on, one steering, one getting sick, one praying to a strange diety, three facing Jesus – that accounts for the 12 disciples. Number 13 is Jesus. So, who is mystery man #14? Art historians tell us that Rembrandt liked to paint himself into his religious paintings, but in an unassuming way so that it would be easy to overlook him if you didn’t look closely. His robe is dark brown and blends in to the boat and the various accoutrements – ropes, buckets, and so on. But if you look closely, you notice two things: one, he is bowed at Jesus feet in prayerful homage and faithful reverence. You know this because, two, Rembrandt painted a faint halo around his head.

Rembrandt was pointing his viewers, reminding them, urging them to humbly sit at the feet of Jesus. Even if it seems He is asleep, He is not; He is fully aware of what is happening. Even if it seems He does not care, He cares deeply – enough to be with us, even in the midst of our suffering and struggles. Even if it seems we are perishing, Jesus will care for us into eternity.

There is one more detail I want to draw your attention to: Jesus is looking ahead. Ahead is the cross. There are two crosses in Rembrant’s painting: the first is the mast of the ship and it’s yardarm. But at the peak of the mast is a flag flapping in the wind. It’s also emblazoned with the cross. The cross is the place where Jesus demonstrated His great love for us by giving Himself as the world’s sacrifice for sin. The cross marks us as children of God in our baptism. And, as children of God, we live – we sail, so to speak – under the cross of Jesus, following it wherever Jesus leads us.