_And He saith unto them_, _Why are ye fearful_, _O ye of little
faith_? _Then He arose_, _and rebuked the winds and the sea_; _and
there was a great calm_.
IT was after a day of laborious teaching, that our LORD to escape for a
time from the crowds that thronged Him, to obtain rest and quiet, perhaps
to exercise His ministry in other places, commanded the disciples to
steer the ship, in which He had been teaching, across the sea of Galilee,
and to convey Him to the other side. Immediately, it would appear, that
they set out, He laid Himself down and fell asleep. Partaking of human
nature in its infirmity, though not in its sin, He was worn out with
labour, and absolutely required, yea, hastened to rest. He sunk into a
deep sleep, then, as soon as He assumed the posture of repose. But anon,
a storm arose. One of those squalls (which so often come down upon lakes
surrounded by mountains) suddenly filled the air with boisterous wind,
and so upraised and agitated the waves, that they dashed over the ship,
and threatened it with destruction. The disciples, many of whom were
fishermen, and others accustomed to occupy their business upon or beside
the water, must have been too familiar with storms to be easily
frightened. The darkening clouds, the howling wind, the troubled water,
would, of course, arouse them to energy, warning them that they were in
danger, and requiring them to watch and labour to save themselves; and so
we can well imagine them running hither and thither, with anxious looks,
loosing or furling the sails, as might be necessary; avoiding quicksands,
and rocks, and shallow places; lightening the ship of dangerous burthens;
directing their course by the safest way, to the haven where they would
be. But either they must have been sorry sailors, with coward hearts,
which we are not willing to believe, or their courage must have been
overcome by very unusual and imminent danger, ere they would have rushed
to their Master, and cried to Him, in terror, “LORD, save us, we perish!”
or, in rash reproach, “Carest thou not, that we perish?” Yes! I say,
there must have been unusual and imminent danger, and even something
more—some supernatural portent—thus to strike with terror, thus to fill
with despair.
However this may be, they cried unto the LORD, and the LORD heard them.
He had slept calmly through the roar of the wind—yea, even while the
waves washed over Him; but the cry of distress entered quickly into His
ear, and He awoke to answer it. “Why are ye fearful, O ye of little
faith?” were His awakening words. This is not a rebuke for coming to
Him; they had done right therein. He would presently prove it by the
miracle He would work for them. Neither is it an assertion that there
was no real danger, that they had been too easily alarmed: for an
inspired Evangelist, St. Luke, writing long afterwards, in the light of
what CHRIST now said and did, expressly states that the vessel was filled
with water, and that they were in danger. No; it is an acknowledgment of
the danger, but it is also a pledge that it should be averted, and it is
a tender reproach for not being confident of deliverance. “Why are ye
fearful, O ye of little faith?” Am not I with you? Do not I know your
wants? Have I not power and will to relieve them? Where is your faith,
in the prophecies of what I have yet to do, that you suppose I am now to
perish? Where is the confidence which becomes my followers?—which
others, with less knowledge and encouragement, less ground of hope, have
so fully shown. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.” Yea, though He slay
me, yet will I trust in Him! Thus He reproves, and calms, and assures
them in their trouble, and then He proceeds to deliver them out of it.
“He arose”—we read—“and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a
great calm.” It was a wondrous manifestation of His Majesty. It was a
gracious condescension to infirmity. It was a proof, too palpable to be
resisted, too marvellous to be forgotten, that He is able to keep, and
that He will keep, in safety and in peace, those whose minds are staid on
Him, who commit themselves to His keeping. Well may the disciples, in
the awful stillness of that calm, have been filled as much with
reverential fear as with admiration. “They feared exceedingly, and said
one to another, What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the
sea obey Him?” They had witnessed several of His epiphanies: they had
tasted of the water made wine; they had seen the leper cleansed; and had,
at least, heard on reliable testimony, that the centurion’s servant was
restored—yea, in the early evening of this very day, just before they
left the shore, JESUS had been casting out evil spirits, with His word,
and had healed all the sick that were brought to Him: but in their eyes
(whether they were right or wrong concerns us not now) this was a greater
miracle, greater in extent, greater in power, greater in the suddenness,
the certainty (felt by themselves, remember, as no other had been) and
the peace and joy of its effect. Much must it have informed their
worship, much must it have increased their faith. Power did it give them
to proclaim hereafter that they knew in whom they had believed, patience
to endure for His sake, in His strength; peace in persecution, comfort in
sorrow, hope amidst otherwise confounding terrors and dismay, that they
had actually experienced CHRIST’S salvation from destruction; that the
experience had been vouchsafed them as a pledge of His constant care;
that they had been told, on its account, to trust—never henceforth to be
fearful, and of little faith!
Of great importance, then, was that miracle of the Stilling of the Storm,
if it meant no more, and accomplished no more than this: if it only
showed, that on a large, as on a small scale, over elements, as well as
over diseases, on the sea no less than on the land, JESUS was “mighty to
save”; if it only furnished the eye-witnesses of His ministry with a
great instance of His gracious power; if it only prepared them for their
life of storms and difficulties, and supported them in their dangers and
distresses, and kept them faithful and joyful.
But, surely, it has more meaning, and more worth, than this.
First, it reveals to us, if I mistake not, a contention between spiritual
powers (the Son of GOD on the one side, the Devil on the other), followed
by a victory of the good, and a conspicuous defeat of the evil. That was
no accidental raging of wind and waves, that was no operation of the GOD
of providence using the elements to accomplish good purposes which was
rebuked by the voice of the Son of GOD. Rebuke would be meaningless
addressed to mere wind and wave: it would be blasphemous addressed to
GOD. It is only when speaking to the Devil, to fevers and distempers,
the effects of demoniacal possession, to Peter or others, prompted by
Satan, speaking his words, doing his work, that CHRIST uses rebuke. Here
then, surely, Satan was at work, and here he was confounded! The enemy
of souls had never ceased to watch and seek to destroy the Saviour. He
had stirred up Herod against Him in His infancy. He had personally
assailed Him in the wilderness. He was now using the elements, over
which much power is often allowed him, as we see in Job’s case, as his
agents of evil. But with all his wisdom and perception, he knew not what
was in JESUS. He thought once that he could as easily have made Him
sceptical as he did Eve, “hath GOD said,” “If Thou be the Son of Man.”
He thought now that while the Son of Man slept he was unconscious and
powerless. And so in his folly he sought to wreck the vessel, and
overwhelm Him whom it carried in the depths of the sea. Attempting this,
he did but give occasion for an additional manifestation of CHRIST’S
mission and power to destroy him and his works. On the shore, before He
started, CHRIST had cast out devils. On the shore for which He was
making He would again cast them out. On the sea He now meets them, and
confounds them. O what a mighty, what a galling conquest! Satan had let
loose all the powers of the winds, he had lashed the waves into utmost
fury, the disciples were dismayed, the Saviour was asleep, the ship was
sinking. “Only a few moments,” doubtless, he exultingly thought, “and
there shall be a second destruction of man, the kingdom shall surely
become mine, for there will be none to dispute it”—when, lo! the LORD
arose, and, with a word, made him undo the work he had done. “Peace be
still;” and the wind ceased, and there was a great calm! O signal
defeat! O earnest of the promise that the head of the serpent shall be
bruised, that Satan himself shall be bound and trodden under foot, and
cast into the lake of fire, and shall deceive and vex no more. Surely,
this is one of the chief scenes, one of the most mysterious and important
events, one of the most glorious manifestations of CHRIST’S life on
earth.
But this is not all its significance. The miracles of our LORD were
acted parables—types of spiritual things—rather outward signs, not
themselves to be given up, but thereafter to be accompanied by inward
grace.
The ship on the sea of Galilee represents the Christian Church, or the
individual member of it. The sea is the world; the storm, with its
adverse wind and difficult waves, figures the trials, the buffetings, the
persecutions, the fears of this mortal life; the disciples are the types
of weak yet willing human nature—both our warnings and our examples; and
CHRIST is Himself, yet, so to speak, but a figure of the true, dwelling
in His Church in each faithful member, often apparently unheeding,
unconscious, yet always our sure defence and deliverer, prompt to hear
when called upon, able to comfort, mighty to save.
That entry into the ship, and sailing forth into the sea, represents our
first journey, and each renewed journey to CHRIST, in Baptism, in
Confirmation, in Holy Communion, in every fresh repentance, every vow,
every act of worship. Forth we go with Him. All is calm and hopeful.
We seem to have to journey over quiet waters. The shore of Heaven is
straight before us, and we are making for it. But, as soon as we set
out, our envious, deadly enemy, hating our LORD, and hating us, plots our
destruction, and assays its accomplishment. Soon trouble takes the place
of peace, winds of adversity toss and try us, hope begins to pale, terror
to dismay, the waters go even over our soul, and He who should calm us,
and sustain and cheer us, seems to have fallen asleep, to help us not, to
take no notice of us. It is the hour of GOD’S trial, of the Devil’s
temptation! What shall we do? If we are wise sailors, like as I have
supposed the disciples to have done, we shall meet the occasion with
well-directed energy; we shall keep the vessel away from the quicksands
of pleasure, the shallows of pride, the rocks of offence, and the
whirlpools of sin. We shall cast out the weight that drags us down,
sloth, indifference, besetting sin. We shall bear up against the
boisterous winds of adversity. We shall resolutely and perseveringly
pursue the straight course through the waters, making for, looking for
the shore. Unless we do all this, we have no right to hope. But we must
take care, lest in, ay, even by doing it, we lose our hope. Satan
destroys many because they make no effort to save themselves; but he
destroys quite as many because they rely on their own efforts. It is a
fact that we can do nothing by ourselves; that human wisdom,
self-reliant, is sure to be confounded, and human effort, independent, to
be paralysed. But even if for the time we see what is right, and are
successful in doing it, he will enshroud us in such horrible darkness, he
will fill our ears with such dismal sounds, he will so toss and bewilder
and overwhelm us, that presently weariness, perplexity, and despair will
cause us to give up, to consent to our own destruction. The disciples in
that storm-tossed ship seem to have been bringing themselves well nigh
into this ruin, first to have relied on themselves, and then to have
despaired of themselves, all the while forgetting Who was with them, Who
should have been their guide, Who was their sure protector, when, all at
once, before it was too late, they remembered and aroused Him, and called
Him to their aid. It was their bliss to find that “the saint’s extremity
is GOD’S opportunity;” that it is never too late, before destruction, to
call upon Him and be saved; but they were not allowed to enjoy this bliss
unmixed with reproach for self-confidence and for want of confidence in
Him. In all the storms and dangers which beset us on the sea of life,
let us take example from the disciples to call upon Him who can save us,
and let us also take warning from them, not to forget His company, or to
suppose that He forgets us.
Such seems to be a sketch of the interpretation of the meaning and
instruction for us of this acted parable.
And now, brethren, having learnt the general truth, let us pick out and
dwell upon some of its particulars.
And first, in setting out with CHRIST, expect storms and dangers. We are
too apt to suppose that the war of life is to be waged only with men,
that the storms of life are only encountered in temporal things. We can
well understand that it was otherwise, that it must have been otherwise,
with the first founders of the Church, with confessors in the face of
unbelieving Jews and heathen Romans, with the Reformers, with
missionaries now: but in our own case we calculate on a smooth and safe
journey over the sea of time to the shore of eternity, ay, and after many
days, experience, we say, confirms our calculation. No sore temptations
try us; no conflict of good and evil principles tosses and tears us; no
despair threatens to drown us. We have trouble enough in the world, in
earning our daily bread, in claiming and maintaining our own, in becoming
rich, or powerful, or famous, in ruling those who rebel against our just
authority, who would gainsay our words, and frustrate our efforts. But
in spiritual things this is not the case. We find it easy (I speak that
which the manifest lives and apparent feelings of what are called
respectable men justify my speaking) to follow the course which we would
in religion—we worship in church, we read the Bible and pray at home
without opposition. It costs us no trouble to keep the letter of GOD’S
chief commandments. We know nothing of spiritual wrestling, spiritual
fear, spiritual despondency. Why should we? Our ways are mainly
upright; our consciences not afraid, our duty plain and simple; and in
CHRIST, therefore, our hope sure. I know that men think this (at least
they do not think otherwise), and in their lives they act it, even if
they dare not shape it into words. But, brethren, if it is so with you,
look to it, for the calm is more deadly than the storm. The Devil is the
inveterate enemy and the untiring assailant of CHRIST and Christians.
His whole being and energy are concentrated in the aim and effort to bury
the ark of CHRIST in the sea of eternal destruction. If, then, you pass
over that sea, and are enshrouded by no darkness, beaten by no winds,
tossed by no billows, be sure that it is because CHRIST is not in your
company. That Church has had its candlestick removed, which dwells in
security, peaceful and prosperous; and that individual has not CHRIST for
the tenant of his heart who experiences not what the storm-tossed vessel
typified. Satan is intent upon destroying every one that is CHRIST’S.
If he attempts not your destruction, it is because he does not consider
you CHRIST’S—and, remember, though he is not all-wise, he is as an angel,
and an archangel in perception—because your vessel bears not CHRIST;
because you are on no journey with CHRIST to cast out evil spirits and
drive them over steep places into the sea. O, my brethren, it is an
awful sign, a death-boding distinction, when Satan lets us alone in this
sea of life, and deems it unnecessary to keep us by violent efforts from
reaching heaven. It is the expression of his informed and deliberate
judgment that we are not going thither! O ye who dwell at ease and glide
smoothly along the journey of life, put back, take CHRIST on board, and
joy when you find in yourselves the signs of His presence, the assaults
of Satan, the warring within you of good and evil, the stirrings of
conscience, the flutterings of spiritual fear. I do not mean become
morbid, and delight in what is mournful and terrible; but suspect and
refuse the peace which Satan offers without contest, and determine to
have only that which in CHRIST’S strength you win and maintain.
Next, consider the meaning of CHRIST’S lying asleep in the storm, and
interfering not to control it, till so earnestly called up.
In providence and in grace GOD delights, so to speak, to hide Himself,
though He exhibits the results of His works. He is the Author of every
gift, and the Ruler and Promoter of its use; but He puts it into our
hands as His agents, and bids us with it accomplish His will. As the
heart is the fountain of the blood which flows through our members, as it
is bone and muscle that give strength to the arm, so is GOD the Source of
grace to the soul, and the prevailing Power of our efforts. Still, it is
not Himself prominently and foremost that does the work in the world, but
we from and by Him. The explanation of this economy seems to be, first,
that He would have us walk by faith—remembering Him, relying on Him,
working for Him—rather than by right, constrained, whether we will or
not, without feeling or desire, or dependence, to see, and admit, and
feel His power. And, secondly, that He would give us an individuality, a
certain dependent independence, which shall make us feel personal
responsibility, and allow us to deserve (in a sense) the recompense of
personal effort. Thus, He leaves the fool to say, There is no GOD, and
rewards the faithful by revealing Himself to belief. Thus, while there
is a GOD, while He is not far from us, while in Him we live and move and
have our being, we are required and stimulated to seek Him, to feel after
Him, and find Him. Besides, or more properly _therefore_, we have to
call upon Him before He answers. Even when He had determined, and
declared His determination, to bless the Israelites, He made the
condition, “Nevertheless, for these things I will be inquired of.” He
would have us live by spiritual dependence. He would have us communicate
to Him our wants. He would have us draw down by prayer the supply. And
this He effects by making it a law, that He will know nothing of us, at
least know nothing so as to heed for our good, but what we tell Him, and
will give us nothing but what we ask. I have so lately enlarged upon
this subject that I will add nothing upon it now, but to bid you remember
the necessity and the power of prayer.
Lastly, consider what is taught by that remonstrance, spoken in the
interval between awaking and acting, “Why are ye fearful, O ye of little
faith?” I have already said that CHRIST did not disapprove the prayer,
but only the fear which had preceded it, the poverty of the faith which
accompanied it. Neither did He demand of the disciples the impossibility
of being undisturbed in the midst of such perturbation. It is
natural—natural even to the Christian full of grace, to be affected by
the circumstances which attend him. CHRIST was so affected Himself, as
His prayers, and shrinkings, and watchings, and open teaching assure us.
He, who wept at human misery, though He was just going to put it to
flight; He, who shrank from the trial which He had deliberately and of
choice encountered, has sanctioned and recommended (shall I say
enforced?) by His example the same feelings in His disciples. He does
not forbid us to be human, but only requires us to leaven humanity with
godliness. Trials we are to have, and trials we ought to feel. To be
stolid and callous is to be unchristian, for none ever felt trials as
CHRIST did. But in our trials, while we feel, and weep, and shrink, we
are not to be faint-hearted. We are to know in Whom we have believed.
We are, therefore, to bear them, and submit to them; but we are not to be
overpowered by them. We are not to allow them to exercise such an
influence as to make us forget that there is One greater than the storm,
Who rules it even in its wildest raging, Who will cause it to cease when
it is fitting, Who will not allow it to overwhelm us if we are dependent
on Him in its continuance, if we hope in Him to stay it. Terrible is the
darkness of the sky, powerful is the violence of the wind, drenching are
the waves, but the ship shall not sink, for CHRIST is in it. Whatever,
then, the terrors and the trouble of the present, we have hope, we have
confidence in the future. “Why art thou so cast down O my soul, and why
art thou so disquieted within me? Hope in GOD for I shall yet praise
Him, Who is the health of my countenance and my GOD.”
Such is the teaching of CHRIST’S remonstrance. And the time of its
utterance, the delay to assuage the storm, teaches this further lesson,
that in this life CHRIST will give us comfort in trouble, but not
necessarily deliverance out of trouble. By and by He will indeed deliver
us. But the best blessing here is not immunity, but trust and support.
There is a peace in war, a joy in sorrow, a strength in weakness, with
which the world and the Devil cannot intermeddle. Seek we this, and be
sure we are wanting in what CHRIST delights to afford, if we have it not.
But having it, bear we patiently, thankfully, all outward commotion,
faithfully expecting the time, when openly, as already inwardly, CHRIST
shall arise and command “Peace be still,” and there shall be a great and
abiding calm.
SERMON XII.
UNITY WITH PEACE.