Heavenly Father, send your Holy Spirit to open our ears to hear your preached Word. In the midst of our storms, comfort us by your Word, and bring to eternal life, a safe harbour of never-ending rest. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

One of the pictures of church is a ship tossed by the waves. The ancient Christian writer, Hippolytus of Rome (circa 170–236AD) compared the church to a boat tossed about in the stormy ocean. ‘The world is a sea in which the church, like a ship, is beaten by the waves, but not submerged.’ In fact, when we return to our church building, take note that the large section where the congregation gathers is called the “nave.” “Nave” is the Latin word for “ship.” Also, in some church buildings, stained-glass windows are made to look like portholes. So the church is a boat.

The Gospel of Mark (chapter 4) tells a story of a boat in the midst of a storm. Jesus has been teaching by the side of a lake. Then he says to go to the other side by boat. Imagine jumping in the boat with the disciples. See, the disciples represent the church — we are disciples of Jesus, we hop in the boat. As we cross the water, the wind stirs up a storm. The howl intensifies, blowing stronger and stronger. The wind, in turn, whips up the waves. Imagine wave after wave crashing against the hull of the small boat. One wave hits, then another, and another. The waves grow larger and dangerous, a tempest teeming and raging around the boat. Soon we’re drenched to the bone from the pelting rain. The boat is swamped to sinking point. We sit white knuckled, hanging on for dear life. Psalm 107 says that the ship goes up and down on the crests of the waves, up to the heavens, then down down down to the depths. And as the storm rages around us, we’re forced to wonder: “God, are you asleep?! Don’t you care if we drown?!”

(1) So the first thing we learn about church is that it’s dangerous. Being a Christian is dangerous. It means sailing stormy seas. Some flavours of Christianity claim that when Jesus is the captain, you’ll have calm seas and plain sailing. Life will be a yacht gentling cruzing in the breeze. But this is not the picture Scripture paints for us. Being church is to be in stormy seas, a boat tossed by the waves. It means questioning and doubting if God is at the helm or asleep in the back. The world is the sea raging around us, and the church is a ship beaten by the waves.

I once heard someone say that there are two types of people who listen to a sermon: those in the midst of a storm, and those who are sailing into one! Are you in the midst of storm at the moment? Has wave after wave crashed against you? Does the world rage and teem around you, tossing you up and down, left and right? Are you sitting white knuckled, hanging on for dear life?

At the moment, it seems that most of my pastoral visits or phone calls are another wave crashing against God’s people. There’s the gale force assault of sickness and cancer. The turmoil of estranged families. The squall of stress and anxiety. The thunder of conflict at work or school. The howling wind of relationship struggles. The up and down of uncertainty due to COVID or health. The battle with wave after wave of mental health issues. There’s the occasional beam of sunlight breaking through the dark storm clouds, but it is dark and cold, the winds roar, the rain beats down, and waves toss this little boat called church like a cork. “God, are you asleep?! Don’t you care if we drown?!”

And on top of these individual woes, we have collective concerns. The church in the West is facing massive decline. In particular, the Lutheran Church in Australia is teetering on the edge of a wave about to crash down. Numbers are dwindling. We don’t have enough pastors. “God, are you asleep?! Don’t you care if we drown?!”

(2) But the second thing we learn about church is that Jesus is in the boat too. Being church in the world is realizing that though the ship is tossed by the waves, Jesus is with us. Jesus suffers the same storm. He was born as a helpless baby, placed in a manger in the midst of political turmoil. He grew up under oppressive leaders. He encountered conflict. His family doubted and questioned him. His friends got sick and died. He was rejected. He was unjustly beaten, tortured, and murdered. Jesus is in the boat in the midst of the storm.

So the disciples shake Jesus awake. They cry out to his person with them. “Teacher, are you asleep?! Don’t you care if we drown?!” God does care! God may have sent the boat out on the waves knowing the storm was coming, God may have even whipped up the wind and waves (see Psalm 107:25), but God also sent Jesus to be with the church in the boat! God listens to our cry, and Jesus sits up. As the psalmist writes: ‘Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed.’ (Psalm 107:28–29). Jesus says, “Hush” to the wind, and it stops. Jesus says, “Be still” to the waves, and they subside. For the LORD is ‘mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea — the LORD on high is mighty!’ (Psalm 93:4). Jesus, the one in the boat with us, is God himself. God with us. The one with authority over all creation is sitting next to you in the boat!

(3) The third thing we learn about church is that we are in the boat with each other. Jesus was together in the boat with all the disciples. We hear that: they cried out. They shake him awake. They marvel and question together. They ask each other, “Who is this man?” So church is the people together with each other and with Jesus. It doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, rich or poor, black or white, we are church together. Together we hold each other as the ship rocks to and fro. Together we take turns bucketing out the water. Together we grapple with our doubts and questions as we hear God’s Word and weather the storms. During these COVID restrictions we’ve not been able to gather as a larger group of disciples, but I pray that you have been able to gather together as two or three in your homes as families, neighbours, and friends. We are church together, and with Jesus.

One day the thunder and lightning will cease. The wind will be hushed, the waves stilled forever. The dark storm clouds will part and light will pierce the darkness. And our battered boat will come into a safe harbour. It will be a peaceful port of eternal rest. Our weary sea legs will feel strange walking on solid rock, firm ground. But the warmth of the light will soon dry our rain soaked clothes. And the Harbour Master will welcome us with a deep laugh, warm hug, and a mug of hot soup. But until we come into this safe harbour, we face the storm together.

Challenge: My challenge to you this week is to practice the presence of God. Jesus is with you — the church — in every moment, of every day, no matter if the winds are howling, the waves crashing against you, whether you’re up to the heavens, or cast down to the depths. So practice God’s presence. One day this week, every hour, on the hour, stop to notice God’s presence with you. If you have a phone, choose a suitable day, and set the alarm to ring every 60 mins. When the alarm rings, take a photo. At the end of the day, review how Jesus was with you, thank God in prayer for his presence. I actually did this on Wednesday. Here are my photos:

	8am. I had breakfast and coffee with my wife Jenny, a wonderful gift from God who often speaks God’s wisdom to me.
	9am. I read a report about an opportunity to reach young people with the good news of Jesus through our local schools.
	11am. I visited our local Lutheran school to meet and pray with some of the other disciples in our boat.
	3pm. I studied God’s Word and prepared the order of service for this Sunday.
	5pm. I spent time with my puppy dog, Rose. Rose can be a bit naughty at times. Like all people, there are times of stress and times of joy.
	6pm. I served my family by doing the dishes. As I was splashing the water over the dirty bowls, I thought about God washing me clean in my baptism.

We are church. We are a ship tossed by the waves. Being church is dangerous. Yet Jesus is with us in the midst of the storm. So may you, together with Jesus and with each other, be carried safe to shore. Amen.

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