On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm.

He said to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

–Mark 4:35-41

2020 is here. And with it, overwhelming optimism. Resolutions abound. Hope is reborn. A new decade. But sometimes what we need after the confetti falls is dose of reality. It usually comes anyway, whether you want it or not. And the one thing you can count on for sure in 2020 is that there will be storms. What does that mean for the Christian? And what types of storms do we need to be aware of? So far, we’ve looked at the storms that are on the outside of us and the ones that are on the inside of us. Today we conclude with the storm that leads us through both: the storm of faith.

The Bible ends with a picture of renewal. Death is no more, the earth is renewed, and God dwells in peace with humanity. However, one of the more interesting parts of that description in the book of Revelation is not something that is there, but something that isn’t. In that description, there is no sea. Knowing what we know now, we know this is no throw-away observation. The sea, the place of chaos and home to evil, is no more. Yet, in the story here in Mark 4, Jesus doesn’t eliminate the sea as much as he makes it passable. He doesn’t lead the disciples around the chaos, but right through it. Chaos, fear, doubt, and suffering are thus part of the story even when Jesus is captaining your ship. Some are apt to check out at this point. “Why does there have to be suffering at all?” they might ask. It’s a good question to be sure. If the end game is to eliminate suffering, what’s the holdup? Humanist thinkers conclude at this point that there must be no God because of suffering, following in the steps of philosophers like David Hume.

However, as poignant as the arguments are, they fail to address the product of such thinking. If there is no God, then your suffering and mine—not to mention the suffering of countless millions who have died at the hands of starvation, disease, and war—is not only meaningless, but also best explained as bad luck. There is no redemption, no justice, and no one with the power to stop it except for a bunch of frightened and confused fishermen. The promise of faith, however, is that even if we can’t see through the storms of our life now, their true meaning and nature will be revealed in the end, and that this Jesus will have the last word to all storms that threaten us with death. Thankfully, that final word is always no.

Which brings us to the heart of the matter. The disciples, like us, have the tendency to ask the wrong questions. Could it be that the real question—the best question—to ask here is not, “Who is this that even the wind and sea obey him?” but rather, “Who is this who sleeps through storms?” What does he know that we don’t? What can he see that we can’t? Why, in the face of the storm, is he not frightened? Could it be as simple as the fact that he’s already looked behind the curtain and seen that the monsters in the basement are not as powerful as they would have us to believe?

Faith is thus believing that Jesus knows not only where he is going but also where the whole story is headed. In this story, Jesus and his disciples cross the chaotic sea so they can minister to a demon-possessed man in the next chapter. In your story, if you believe Jesus loves you, you can not only weather any storm but also become a healer on the other side of whatever you are going through. Yes, some storms are longer than others, be they cancer or divorce, and some are more subtle, be they racism or militarism, but none of them are meaningless. As Jesus used the chaotic waters of the sea to reach a demon-possessed man (Mark 5:1-20), he can lead us through our storms to the people who have been tossed mercilessly ashore by the waves. It is important to note then, that Jesus doesn’t cause the storm here; he stills it. Jesus, thank God, is on our side.

The question of faith then is primarily one of goodness. Is this God worth believing in? Who is this Jesus? Earlier in Mark, Jesus is called the Lord of the Sabbath, the God who brings rest. Here we find this Jesus is also the Lord of the Storm. To have faith means standing on the shore of life, knowing both these things, and being willing to cast off into the darkness with this Jesus. In him you will find meaning and security, but you have to give up control. Dare we sail into the suffering of the world with the hope that with Jesus all can be well despite all the evidence to the contrary? The question is, “Who do you think is better suited to tell our story? The Lord of the Sabbath and the Storm, or we?” The irony is not lost on Jesus that the wind and the waves listen to him quite well, while men and women often seem hard of hearing. This invitation to faith is, therefore, for the Christian and the non-Christian alike, for Jesus will keep sailing into the storm as long as there are people to save on the other side, until the monstrous forces of death are dragged into the light, and, as Emerson says, the wind of heaven blows us home at last.

In that way, 2020 really is about perfect vision. For how we see Jesus will define this year’s storms and the journeys on which they take us.