Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 12 B)

July 28, 2024

Text: Mark 6:45-56

            Perhaps you received the answer you were hoping for today.  Then again, perhaps you didn’t.  Either way, here is what you did receive, what, in fact, you are receiving… Christ’s Promise: “Take heart;” and then, not just, “it is I,” as our translation has it, but “I AM!”  That is, YHWH, the God of the Old Testament, the one true God, is now present with and for you in the flesh, not as a ghost, a phantasm (φάντασμά in Greek) out to get you, but as a gracious God come to save you, and make His dwelling with you.  And that, in the very midst of the wind and waves that seem to be blocking you from making any headway, and that may, in fact, be threating your life.  Therefore, “Do not be afraid,” He says to you (Mark 6:50; ESV).  He has you.  And if He has you, this Christ Jesus… nothing else really matters in the end.

            In the Bible, the boat is the great picture of the Church.  Swirling in the sea of chaos, the formless void.  Battered and blown about.  Tossed and troubled.  The disciples of Christ often find themselves within an inch of their life, or so it seems, as they sail the sea.  But when the Lord is present, with or in the boat, they need not fear.  We can think of all the great biblical images.  Noah’s ark.  The ship in which the Prophet Jonah, the Christ figure, must be thrown into the Sea and buried in the belly of the fish for three days and three nights, before he is resurrected on the shore.  Think of the sea voyages in Acts, the great storm and shipwreck, in which Paul tells the soldiers and sailors they cannot be saved unless they stay in the ship.  What do all of these images have in common?  There is salvation only the boat.  Outside of the boat, there is certain death.  Because Christ gathers His people in the good ship “Church,” there is salvation only in the Church, where Christ is.  Outside of the Church, there is certain and eternal death. 

            We see what is outside the Church, the formless and void chaos, and that is why we fear.  Why, it even makes Jesus look like a sea demon.  But we can’t trust our eyes.  We have to trust His voice.  He speaks to us in His Word, and all is well.  He gets into the boat, and the winds cease.  As long as Jesus is with us, we will make it to the far shore.  And from the boat, from Jesus, who is in the boat, comes healing and release for the whole world.  The people come running.  They beg Him that they might touch even the fringe of His garment.  And when they do, they are immediately made well.  That is faith, reaching out for Jesus.  And that is to say, they are loaded on board with us, to sail in the ship.  To sail with the disciples.  To sail with Jesus.

            I may be the pastor of this Church, but as a sinner, I have my fears.  I hope you aren’t surprised by that.  I do find some consolation in the company I keep, namely, the disciples, who mistake Jesus for a ghost.  Now, Jesus, in so many places, rightly calls them, “O ye of little faith.”  It is, to be sure, a sin to doubt Jesus.  But if He can do with them what He did with them, at least I know He can do with me whatever He will.  And He forgives me.  And strengthens me.  And grants me His Spirit.  Thank God. 

            I’ll confess to you, though, some of my fears and doubts, because maybe they are similar to your own when it comes to His Divine Majesty’s Ship “Augustana.”  Will we all hang together?  Who is in danger of panic, and jumping overboard?  Who is upset with the captain and officers of the ship?  I don’t really fear a mutiny, to be honest (and perhaps naïve), but conflict is the sea serpent’s tactic in breaking apart the ship.  I do sometimes wonder if we have the provisions to make it from point A to point B, from here to the place our Lord wants us to go.  Money, you know.  And manpower.  And will.  And I worry whether the swirling chaos out there, the temptations, the social pressures, the threatened and real persecutions, just might swallow us alive.

            All of which, really, is to mistake the Lord Jesus for a phantasm.  I know it.  I just don’t know it.  “Lord, I believe.  Help Thou mine unbelief.”  As though Jesus doesn’t actually have all of this under control.  As though the chaos has any power over Him.  As though the wicked serpent stands a chance against the Savior’s heel.  Remember, He is our Jonah.  Hurled into the Sea of Death to be swallowed up by it.  And after three days, vomited forth from the tomb, risen, victorious, and alive forevermore.  He is our Noah, who saves us from the Flood.  Saves us, in fact, through the Flood in the Ark of the Christian Church.  “Baptism, which corresponds to this,” St. Peter says, “now saves you” (1 Peter 3:21).  Do not fear, Jesus says, to all His disciples, and to me, and to you.  Take heart… I AM!

            St. Paul had his own apostolic and pastoral fears.  After cataloging for the Corinthians all the various kinds of trials he had suffered for the Gospel… five times, the forty lashes minus one at the hands of the Jews; three times, beaten with rods; once, stoned pretty much to death; three times, shipwrecked, and a day and a night adrift at sea; the dangers of travel; the threat of persecution; toil; hardship; and sleepless nights… well, the list goes on, but at the very end of it, he has this curious statement: “apart from other things, there is the daily pressure on me of my anxiety for all the churches” (2 Cor. 11:28).  I guess I should be thankful I have only one congregation to be anxious about… though I did have two up until this moment, called to both places, and I hope it’s okay that I share this with you… my heart breaks to have had to tell the people of Zion, “no.”  I told them from the beginning, “If you call me, you’ll be breaking my heart, because I either have to tell you no, I’m not coming to be your pastor; or I have to say goodbye to my beloved Augustana congregation.”  Well, you’ll excuse my lamenting on a day like this, but I really came to love the members of Zion, as well.  And I’m asking you to pray fervently for them, that God would provide them a pastor.  And we know He will.

            Anyway, Paul is just like the other Twelve.  And like me.  And like you.  Anxiety.  Fear.  It’s probably because we don’t know what Jesus is doing.  We don’t know the future.  Of this congregation.  Of our own lives.  As if we were capable of grasping that, anyway.  In reality, it is enough to know, simply, that He IS… “I AM!”  And that He is with us.  And that all that He is doing, whatever it may be, is for our good, and for our salvation, even when it appears otherwise to our fallen eyes.  Paul knew that.  And so, here is where he ends up in our Epistle: God “is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us” (Eph. 3:20).  This is why our fears are so silly.  The problem isn’t God.  The problem is our inability to ask, or even think.  “O ye of little faith.”  But God is faithful, and He still does more abundantly for us that we could begin to imagine.  So, do not be afraid.  We ask that God would strengthen our faith, and give us courage to believe that in His love, He will rescue us from all adversities, and provide for all our needs of body and soul.  He will.  Because He Is.  “I AM!”  The past, the present, and the eternal future, are in His hands.  And so, to our gracious God “be glory in the church”… in Augustana… “and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever.  Amen” (v. 21).  In the Name of the Father, and of the Son X, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.