One day Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So they got into a boat and set out. As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped, and they were in great danger. The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. “Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples. In fear and amazement they asked one another, “Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.” (NIV)
Apparently there was a prayer said by Breton fishermen as they went out to sea. “Dear God, be good to me. The sea is so large and my boat is so small.”
We don’t have to be those who put out to sea in boats to get the message. For each of us, the sea of circumstance, of world disorder, of personal hardship, is threatening enough. Will we be overwhelmed by all this? Is it all too much? Do we have enough faith or strength to not only face but survive this all encompassing sea?
The answer to that lies in the “boat” we are in. It may seem small, but that doesn’t mean it will capsize or sink. It may be tossed about and we may have a bout of seasickness as the storms swirl around us. But we can stay afloat.
The “boat” is our helpless clinging to God in the midst of it all. Our fragile yet real faith that somehow our God will get us through even if we don’t know how. Our perhaps dim consciousness that he has seen us through storms in the past and will do so again.
But it is not so much the nature of our “boat” that matters. It is who is in the boat with us.