The storms Jesus calmed

The sun slowly ebbed on its course toward the horizon creating a warm reflection off the Sea of Galilee. Water lapped gently against the small fishing vessel, and the familiar cry of seagulls echoed sleepily overhead. A young rabbi, Jesus of Nazareth, slept peacefully in the stern of the boat as his disciples conversed among themselves in low tones. The exhale had finally arrived after a busy stretch of ministry.

Then, in a moment, everything changed.

Lightstock.

Thunderclouds formed out of nowhere, and the gentle breeze transformed into cold, gale-force gusts. The deep blue of the Sea of Galilee that had only moments ago beautifully reflected the setting sun was now a rolling, churning picture of chaos. Waves crashed over the side of the boat, filling the hull and soaking the men’s clothes, leaving them shivering in the chaos. Terrified shouts and curses were muffled by the roar of gale-force winds, ear-splitting thunder, and crashing waves.

But amidst the chaos, Jesus still slept peacefully. His head gently rocked back and forth on his cushion like an infant being rocked in his mother’s arms.

“Teacher! Wake up! We’re going down!” came the chorus of panicked voices from all corners of the boat. “Don’t you care that we’re all going to drown!? Help us! Save us!”

The rabbi’s eyes opened gently, and he lifted his head off his pillow. Hair dripping and clothes sodden with water, he slowly stood up, gathering his balance while taking in the scene before him. He looked out over the wind and waves as a teacher looks out over her rebellious students, then said in a clear, confident voice, “Peace! Be still!”

It really was just that simple. No coercion was necessary. The water and wind listened and in a matter of moments, what had once been towering waves become gentle ripples. The moon came out from behind the clouds, reflecting beautifully off the calm sea as the disciples looked at each other in awestruck wonder.

Their heads churned almost as violently as the waves had churned only moments ago. Who was this man standing in the boat with them?

Many of us have heard this story on repeat since childhood, either through the wonder of flannelgraph as children, on the pages of the gospels or maybe even in some dramatic cinematic re-telling. It’s a beautiful picture of God’s power over nature, and a bold proclamation of Jesus’ divinity. But I wonder if one of the most profound theological elements in this story is, for the most part, missed by many modern western readers due to our unfamiliarity with the first-century Jewish understanding of the sea.

Allow me an illustration.

Many of us can remember the wonders of the overhead projector. A simple lightbulb in a box would direct its luminous glow through a clear sheet of plastic called a transparency. The words or designs on the transparency would then create shadows which reflected through a series of mirrors, projecting the image from the clear sheet of plastic onto a wall or screen. Incredible. (For any Gen-Z readers, you’ll just have to take my word that something so magnificent once existed.) Here was my favourite part about overhead projectors. You could layer transparencies to add various elements to whatever it was you were wanting to show, slowly creating a more complete image from what you started with.

Most of us are familiar with what I’ll call the first two transparencies of the story above. The first transparency is the simple facts. Jesus and his disciples are out on the Sea of Galilee when a terrifying storm arrives. Jesus speaks to the storm. It immediately ceases. The disciples are amazed at what they’ve witnessed.

The second transparency highlights that because only God can control the weather, clearly this is a reference to Jesus’ divinity. Jesus is doing what only God can do. True. Powerfully true in fact. But there is a third transparency that more fully completes the picture.

Early Hebrew conception of the universe illustrating the waters above and below (Tom L, Wikimedia Commons).

For an ancient Jew, the watery depths were a terrifying place. They perceived the earth as existing in an “expanse” between the waters above and the waters beneath (Genesis 1:6–8). This expanse was sheltered from the chaos of the watery abyss surrounding it, so that life could flourish in God’s good, ordered world. In their cosmology, the seas—or any large body of water for that matter—were not just glorified puddles, but bottomless, terrifying chasms that led to the watery chaos that surrounds the “expanse” we call home (and you thought you were afraid of deep water!). The sea was the picture of the universe’s pre-formed, chaotic state. It’s where monsters lurk, it’s where the beast in John’s apocalypse ascends out of (Revelation 13:1). Nothing good happens in or on the sea.

To add to the fear and trepidation, throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, the watery depths are the places from which God unleashed his wrath on stubborn peoples.

In the flood account, when humanity had degraded to a place of complete obstinance towards God, “the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened” (Genesis 7:11). When God wanted to finish his task of humiliating the Pharoah of Egypt and pronouncing his greatness over their counterfeit gods, he caused the entire Egyptian army to be swallowed up by the waters of the Red Sea (Exodus 14:27–28). Later in the story of Israel, we find a stubborn prophet named Jonah fleeing from God across the sea. When a violent storm materializes out of nowhere, Jonah doesn’t hesitate one moment in pronouncing what the cause is. He’s read Genesis, he’s read Exodus, he knows what chaotic waters mean. God is angry, and God is sending the chaotic depths to swallow up his rebellious servant.

Now, with the third transparency laid on top of the first two, let’s revisit our story.

Jesus and his small band of followers are out on the Sea of Galilee, a body of water that at least some of them were very familiar with. They had spent their lives fishing this sea. They knew it forward and backward, undoubtably having navigated a few harrowing tempests on its unpredictable waters. But when this storm erupts, seemingly out of nowhere, it’s like nothing they have ever encountered. They panic. They are sure they are about to drown. And as good Jewish young men who had grown up on the stories and teachings of the Old Testament, what is surely going through each of their minds?

God is angry.

We’ve missed the mark.

His wrath is coming for us.

Then, in the midst of their fear, they cry out to Jesus for help—for salvation. And to their shock, their rabbi stands up in the boat, looks out over the chaotic waters—the Hebrew picture of chaos and the agent of the wrath of God—and transforms it into perfect peace.

They could never have known how profound that moment was as a picture of the Messianic mission of Jesus. He had left his place of rest to enter the storm of human life under the curse of sin and would eventually absorb it fully into himself on the cross so that any who called out to him for help—for salvation—could receive in full what those 12 water-logged and wind-torn men received only in part.

“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we stand” (Romans 5:1–2).

Now fast forward to the second last chapter of the Bible, where John is trying to put into words the vision he has received from Jesus pertaining the final, redeemed state of creation. I imagine him peacefully smiling, relaxing his shoulders, and letting out a contented sigh as he wrote down the words, “and there was no longer any sea” (Revelation 21:1). No more fear, no more anxiety, no more sin. No more churning, tossing agent of wrath needed to punish the stubborn and rebellious people of earth.

Just peace. Perfect. Unending. Peace.

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20).