Just as He Was
Second Sunday after Pentecost - June 22, 2003
By The
Very Rev. James Hubbard
- Psalm 107:1-32 or 107:1-3, 23-32
- 2 Corinthians 5:14-21
- Mark 4:35-41;(5:1-20)
(From The Lectionary Page)
Jesus had been speaking to a very large crowd of folks by the Sea of Galilee. In order that he might be seen and heard by all of them, he sat, most probably, on the high afterdeck of the fishing boat. The impression I receive from reading Mark 4 is one of a long day of teaching. He had begun earlier teaching of the kingdom, a most remarkable series of teachings about sowers and seeds. Today’s Gospel begins with the words, “On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’” The ‘them’ in the story refers to his new disciples, the twelve, or a portion of them. Here they have been all day sitting quietly in this boat. What else could they do? They have been there in the beating sun, while he spoke in parables, perhaps alternately to the crowd and to the disciples. They are puzzled, tired, and hot, albeit impressed. Now he wants to go. Now he wants to go!
In Jesus’ place, I probably would have wanted to stay. That’s where the action was. And besides, I would have been exhausted after the long day in the sun also. I suppose the disciples were too. Having said that, I must confess that I don’t really know how the disciples felt. Mark’s Gospel says, “And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was.” That phrase has haunted me, “just as he was.” Well, how was he? Was he dirty, tired, and hungry? Was he dressed for shore rather than the treacherous sail across the lake? Was he continuing to be an enigma to them? That little phrase, “just as he was” could be left out of the story without any damage to it, and no one would have to speculate as to what it meant. But whatever it means, I want to lift it out at face value and say, “Taking Jesus just as he is, faces you and me as surely as it did those men in the early 30’s of century one.”
Taking someone just as she is, is not strange to us. We do it all the time. Relationships grow and we discover the warts on the other person. We can try to change that person or we can accept them as they are. A middle-aged opera fan fell in love with the coloratura soprano while he sat in the third balcony. Night after night he came to her performance buying seats in the very front when he could. Convinced that he could live happily ever after with anyone who could sing like that, he pursued the woman; and after a few times out convinced her to marry him, which she did. That first night together, she began to prepare. She plucked out her glass eye, plopping in into a container on the nightstand. She pulled off her wig, ripped off her false eyelashes, yanked out her dentures, slipped off the glasses that hid her hearing aid, and headed toward him.
The gentleman was horrified. Glass eye, wig, dentures, hearing aid…this was not what he had expected. So as she approached him he yelled at the top of his voice, “Sing, woman, sing! Please, sing!”
Accepting him as he was. Wonder what it meant? The men did that, however that was, and a storm came up, a stiff, fierce squall. Why is it that the boat was filling with water? It is not as if they were inexperienced at sailing, as I am. I climbed into my sailing canoe one Saturday in a stiff breeze and couldn’t get back to the dock. But why did they panic?
One of the details in the lesson points out that Jesus was asleep on the ‘cushion.’ The word used here for the ‘cushion’ is a technical word referring to the wooden or leather seat upon which steersman sat; and Jesus was on it asleep. One tempting interpretation for me is to suggest that taking him ‘just as he was’ on the high afterdeck meant that they left him there as steersman while they handled the sails. The storm came up and they were hesitant to chide the capable young teacher about his poor judgment in guiding them through those increasingly treacherous waters. Instead, they did everything they could to keep the boat aright and dry without going to him. Finally, about to capsize, they panicked, ran up to the after deck and found him sound asleep over the tiller. No wonder they shook him awake in their panic, saying, “Teacher, do you not care if we perish?” Is it a strange response? One familiar to you? When was the last time you asked that question? “Son of God, Master, my brother is dying, do something;” or, “This just friend is in unremitting agony over her child’s behavior; “ or, “I’m in pain—HELP! Don’t you care?” Job, in a preface to today’s lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures, said it this way:
“My thoughts today are resentful, for God’s hand is heavy on me in my trouble. If only I knew how to find him, how to enter his court, I would state my case before him and set out my arguments in full; then I should learn what answer he would give and find out what he had to say.” Job 23:2-5 (NEB)
Job, like you, said, “Why me?” Why him? Why her? It is not an unfamiliar or strange response. It is the normal response of a man, woman, or child who thinks one ought to be free of the threat of tragedy or pain or death.
Elam Davies, a notable Presbyterian minister, was pastoring in Chicago, when he went to his physician. He was placed in an examining room, and the assistant, a young woman named Dawn, came into the room. Introducing herself, she identified him and indicated that she often came to hear him speak. Then she quickly added, “I’m a member of the Assemblies of God church. I want to tell you about my experience.”
In short sentences the story came out. “God saved me…I gave my life to God…and guess what?...it tumbled in! I developed a heart problem. My husband lost his executive job…and recently died of cancer.”
Dr. Davies tried to mumble a few words of sympathy, but she cut in, “So what? What’s new?” All his theological training was reduced to impotence by her two-word logic. “What do you think God told me?” she asked. He told me, “Why not! Why should you be spared the crises of life that everyone else must go through?”
Perhaps that’s why Jesus responded to the fear of his disciples by saying, “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” It is in these times of crises that God is with us most clearly, not always to end the storm, as in our Gospel story, but to be there as he was with Job, as he obviously was with Dawn.
People often ask, “Why me?” It is such a familiar question and it can come so readily that I have begun to realize that we must deal with that question when we are fit and whole. A sick or dying person often cannot then answer it satisfactorily. So here you are. Think about it. Why not you? In the first place, God doesn’t deal out the cards of tragedy. Those are left to chance, or a speeding adolescent driver, the drunken friend, the abusive parent or the government with its bombs. God does not make you successful, or bring you tragedy. God is simply here for you and me in good times and in bad. God wants us to turn, to have faith, to trust God’s love and care. Yes, God cares if we perish. God takes us as we are, as we must do with God. We act as if God is not in charge when we are well; but when crises comes, we want to believe that God is in charge and will do something for us.
At all times God is there, loving, caring, having suffered and died himself, having given us the gifts and resources to face life as it comes. In good times God will enable us to put our priorities straight, if we will but attend to them. In bad times, God will help us through with faith and courage, so that those bad times become opportunities for joy and understanding. We want to believe that God is in charge, so that we can blame God when life goes awry. Experience and the Holy Scriptures, Job and the suffering Jesus, tell us otherwise. Life is a stage for suffering as well as triumph. In the midst of his suffering Job could say, “Though he slays me, yet will I trust him.” That is what Jesus wanted from his disciples that day on the Galilean Sea.
“They took him with them in the boat, just as he was.” That’s the way Jesus loves us, just as we are. That’s the way we must love him—just as he is. Amen