FAITH IS NOT THE ABSENCE OF FEAR BUT THE PRESENCE OF SOMETHING GREATER

John Dương's meditation on Mark 4:35-41, June 18, 2024

The salty spray stings my eyes as the wind howls, a banshee screaming across the churning sea. My heart mirrors the erratic rhythm of the waves, a frantic drumbeat of terror against my ribs. Around me, the once-proud vessel, a mere toy in the ocean's fury, creaks and groans in protest. Fear, a cold serpent, coils around my throat, squeezing out any semblance of reason.

We were disciples, chosen to follow a man who spoke of love and hope. Yet, here we are, adrift in a storm that seems to mock our faith. Where is the peace he promised? Where is the calm that should reside in the heart of a believer?

A flicker of movement catches my eye. Jesus, serene amidst the chaos, sleeps soundly nestled against the stern. How can he be so unbothered? Does he not see the imminent danger? Does he not feel the terror that claws at our souls?

Anger, hot and bitter, rises within me. Is this just another test? A cruel game where our faith is the plaything of the elements? My voice, hoarse with fear and indignation, breaks the storm's symphony: "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?"

Jesus awakens, not with anger, but with a question that cuts deeper than any storm: "Why are you so afraid? Do you have no faith?"

Shame washes over me, as hot and stinging as the spray on my face. Have I truly forgotten everything he has taught us? Have I forgotten the miracles, the compassion, the unwavering belief in the power of love?

With a quiet authority that stills the storm within me as well as the one outside, Jesus speaks to the wind and waves. "Quiet! Be still!" The words hang heavy in the air, a command infused with an otherworldly power.

And then, silence. An unnatural, profound silence descends. The wind, like a scolded child, slinks away. The waves, tamed giants, lie prostrate. The boat, once a frantic plaything, settles gently on a surface as smooth as glass.

We stare, mouths agape, at the sudden transformation. Awe, a feeling far surpassing the terror that gripped us moments ago, fills the vessel. Jesus, with a single sentence, had not just calmed the storm; he had calmed the tempest within our hearts.

Looking at him, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, I understand. Faith is not the absence of fear, but the presence of something greater. It's the knowledge that even in the fiercest storms, a hand of love and power rests upon us. It's the whispered peace that cuts through the howling wind, reminding us that we are not alone.

As we sail towards a calmer horizon, a newfound strength courses through me. The storm may return, but the memory of that quiet power, that unwavering faith, will forever be my anchor.