The storms of our Life - May 21

Today’s Readings: AM Psalm 72; PM Psalm 119:73-96; Wisdom 13:1-9; Rom 13:1-14; Luke 8:16-25

A little over five years ago, a group from Saint Stephen’s spent some time in Israel following in the footsteps of Jesus and several days in the region around the sea of Galilee. We even took a boat ride as part of tour. It was a beautiful and slightly overcast day. We were spared from any inclement weather, but I remember the guide sharing how quickly storms arise in this region. A person who made a living fishing on the sea of Galilee would know this, and maybe would even be prepared for uncertainty. 

In the Gospel for today, the wind picks up and the waves rise. And even though some of the disciples were seasoned fishermen—men who knew these waters—they are terrified. “Master, Master, we are perishing!” they cry out.

And Jesus? He’s asleep.

It’s a moment we recognize. Maybe not with literal waves crashing over us, but certainly the emotional, spiritual, or existential ones. We know and are even prepared for the uncertainty of our earthly existence and yet change or unfavorable weather (metaphorical and literal) has the capacity to drastically change our outlook.

But then Jesus wakes, and with just a word, there is peace. Calm. Stillness.

And then the question: “Where is your faith?” It’s not a rebuke so much as an invitation—a reminder that Jesus wasn’t absent. He was always in the boat.

That’s the heart of our sacramental life. Week after week, we gather. Sometimes in joy, sometimes in exhaustion, sometimes in quiet desperation. We bring all of it to the altar. And the gift we receive isn’t flashy or loud. It’s bread and wine. It’s the simple promise that Jesus is still with us—in the boat, in the storm, in the stillness.

The rhythm of showing up each week doesn’t stop the storms from coming, but it anchors us. It gives us eyes to see Jesus—not just when everything is calm, but even when the winds howl and the waves rise.

Maybe the miracle isn’t just that Jesus calms the storm, but that we can learn to trust he’s with us before the storm is even over. If you feel a level of uncertainty due to the storms in your own life, might I suggest that our commitment to kneel (or stand if unable) at the altar rail to receive the gift of God’s presence can be our sustaining hope.

John+

Question for Self-Reflections: What areas of your life can faith help ground you? Where are the storms in your life?