The Other Side of the Big Easy

All of the of us 13 so-called missionaries who were in New Orleans last week came away with a host of questions:

where’s FEMA
what are the insurance companies doing
how come the mayor hasn’t fixed the street cars
why is LDR set up in the suburbs, not the inner city
who’s in charge of picking up all this trash
when will this city return to normal?
Strange as it may seem, we didn’t hear many of these questions from the members of Bethlehem. Stranger still, and maybe it’s because so much time has passed and the question is no longer relevant, or spoken aloud, we never heard one soul say, “Why us, why me?”

If you remember anything about the story of Job, you’ll remember that the questions, “Why; why me,” dominate the story.

And the answer Job hears from God, part of which we heard this morning, seems to offer little comfort. Even hearing the whole of God’s answer, from the first verse of chapter 38, mid-way through chapter 42, (which never gets much more consoling than this piece we heard) there’s not much to ease our human anxiety in the face of tragedies we can’t control.

Like Job’s three faith-filled friends, we who are believers in God and followers of God, often quickly come to God’s defense. We, like they, find it easier to blame the victim than to face God directly with questions about God’s wisdom and purposes.

I wish I knew how all this got started. For reasons I can’t explain - and I’m certainly including myself here - most of us operate along a faith-level that goes like this: “Once I’m in relationship with God, I’m on easy street. I’ll lose no more arguments; offend no one; have few financial concerns; experience little emotional upheaval; suffer no more accidents, face no problems, worries, or fears.”

Of course, we know it doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t even work that way on Sunday when we’re surrounded by believers, let alone the rest of the week when we’re swimming against the tide. Worse, no sooner than something “bad” does happen to a noble believer like us, the storm clouds roll in. We become flooded by doubt; we’re over our head with guilt.

In our best moments we tell ourselves that ours are just small concerns and this good, loving, powerful God is taking care of a bigger problem; maybe the Iraq war; or the genocide in Darfur; perhaps to fix New Orleans! In our worst moments we can find ourselves swamped by the feeling that somehow, somewhere along the way, we’ve reversed course and said “No,” to the God to whom we remember pledging a life-long. “Yes.” Now, in retribution for our backsliding, God has gone elsewhere to tend to more worthy believers.

Surely something like this is going on in the minds of Jesus’ disciples. Like Job’s friends, they, too, thought they had an inside track on God’s mind. In the verse just prior to this (4:34) Mark tells us that it was Jesus’ custom to take his disciples aside and explain to them the meaning of his teaching parables. Certainly, these special folk deserve special treatment – even from the forces of nature.

“Do you not care that we are perishing?” It’s an all too familiar question isn’t it? Now to be fair, we’re talking about a storm so fierce that the four of Jesus’ disciples who are professional fishermen are among those who fear for their lives.

Notice, also, that it’s not immediately clear that their waking Jesus is a plea for him to do something, or an expectation that he can change the outcome. Like as not, they simply wanted Jesus to share their panic.

I read an analysis from experts in stress management who found that only two percent of our “worrying time” is spent on things that might actually be helped by worrying. The other 98 percent is spent this way:

40% on things that never happen
35% on things that can’t be changed
15% on things that turn our better that we expected
8% on petty or useless worries.
So what does Jesus’ uninterrupted slumber mean; that he doesn’t care; that he’s above worrying? I’m remembering a conversation in the garden of Gethsemane that’s got an edge to it. I can recall a shout from the cross that sounds more than a little panicky. But in this moment, and what, no doubt, saw him over that edgy time and through that panicky time was trust, confidence. Not self-assurance, not self-reliance, but trust in God. Trust like that found in Psalm 121.

Do you see all that’s going on here – when we trust in the God described in this Psalm?

Just as importantly, can you see what’s not going on here when we trust the God described in this Psalm? There’s no:

free pass
get out of jail free card
free lunch
freedom from temptation.
There’s simply a promise; an assurance that while evil may deal you out, it won’t do you in. Your living here is not the sum and substance of your being on God’s mind and in God’s heart. And while that’s not likely to end your worry, trusting both the promise and the God who makes it can help you put your worry in perspective.

We’re probably not likely to grow a less fearful, less timid, less cowardly faith than the disciples in that boat did. But we can, like they did, stand in awe and wonder at what God gets us over and brings us through when our boat gets rocked.

We could begin to think and act as though the God who speaks these promises to us on Sunday is available to keep them through the rest of the week. We could recall a psalm we heard on Sunday and cease searching the rest of the week across the hills of television for words assurance from Oprah and Dr. Phil. We might recall a Psalm we heard on Sunday and stop probing the heavenly horoscope bodies for a sign that there’s another way out of no way besides God’s way.

Look at how this whole episode began – back to verse 4:35. Understanding God’s desire that Jesus go to the other side, where the land was filled with unworthy, non-believing Gentiles, those who followed Jesus got into a boat to go to unfamiliar, alien territory. And while the disciples lost sight of that goal; that destination; that mission, Jesus never did. So he slept confidently.

Like those members of Bethlehem, New Orleans whose homes we helped restore last week, our walk in faith is not a peril free passage on a cruise ship. It’s a journey with and toward God that takes us across the same geography, the same terrain; the same stormy waters Jesus traveled. It’s a crossing to the other side where those God loves as much as God loves us are waiting to be set free.

When we go to those places on that mission, we can trust that God is with us. We can have confidence that the God who bids us, “Go,” will guard our going out and our coming in, now and forever more.

by Pastor Jeff Iacobazzi