It’s a fact of life, illustrated so graphically in the Gospels when Jesus one days tells his close group of disciples, “Let’s go over to the other side of the lake” (Mark 4:35). He and his crew had just had a long day of teaching and healing and dealing with crowds of needy people, and he wanted to move on.  Maybe he was just looking to get away to a place where they could get some peace and quiet, or maybe he recognized that he was finished where he was and it was time to continue on to a new location. In either case, they climb into a boat, he immediately crashes into a deep sleep, and out of nowhere, a furious squall hits them.

Most of us going through changes in our lives can relate. Whether it’s one messy situation we’re escaping and trying to rebuild our lives, or it may be that we’ve achieved one set of goals and it’s time to step it up and move to the next phase of life, a lot of us are on the move.  And change is messy. Change is hard.  Change makes you vulnerable. And when you’re in transition, that is the point that storms will invariably be thrown at you to knock you off your course.  We can pick up a few survival lessons from this story.

Leaving the Crowds Behind
“Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him” (Mk 4:36). When you’re moving into a new stage of life, you’ve got to leave some stuff behind. Doesn’t matter if it’s just “stuff”, or it’s old situations, former friends or former nuisances. Whatever the case may be, one of the key principles is that there’s gonna be some separation from what you were surrounded with, what you were used to. You’ve gonna have to drop some stuff and some people in the process.

Matthew’s account of this same story adds some interesting details to this point (Mt 8:18-27).  Between the time Jesus gave the order to cross over and the time they actually climb into the boat, two would-be followers drop out. One, initially so enthusiastic, says “I’ll follow you wherever you go.” But Jesus warns him he’ll have to leave his source of security behind, that there will little comfort during the journey. “Foxes have holes and birds have nests, but I have no place to lay my head.” And we hear nothing more from this guy. I guess it was too much for him. Another guy says, “Hey, I want to follow you, but I’ve got to take care of my folks first.”  A valid enough excuse, even an honorable one. But it was an excuse none-the-less to not start the journey RIGHT NOW.  Jesus’ response: “Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.” Sounds harsh to our soft Western ears, but basically he was undercutting the guy’s excuse. “Unh unh, now is the time. Those future concerns will take care of themselves.”  Apparently, that didn’t make the guy very happy, and he vanishes from the scene.  No excuse is good enough.  The time is now. You’re supposed to move. You’ve got the order to cross over.  Stop making excuses.  The good news is that you won’t be alone. Jesus is in the boat with you. But not only that, “other boats” are making the crossing too.  The journey you’re supposed to be on isn’t meant to be traveled alone.  Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of company. But this time, company going in the same direction and with the same goal as you.

Tempest in a Teapot
“A furious squall came up, and waves broke over the boat so that it was nearly swamped.” (Mk 4:37). The Sea of Galilee is a small lake, 7 miles wide by 14 miles long. But it’s surrounded by hills, and wind can whip calm water into roaring waves quite suddenly, like swirling water in a teapot. When you’re out in the middle of that, it can be quite terrifying.  You are at your most vulnerable when you’re in the middle of transition — when you’ve left the secure, familiar ground for a new shore. Sometimes you’ll be so preoccupied with the process of change that you’ll not notice the early signs of the storm, and it will catch you totally off guard and unprotected. (Matthew adds that the storm rose up “without warning.”)  But these guys should have been prepared for this. Several of them were fishermen who’d spent most of their lives on that lake. And we need to learn this lesson: we should expect a storm when we’re out in the boat, even if we don’t see any early signs of it.  That sudden squall will make us want to turn back, quit the journey, and head back to our former safe harbor. And realistically, that’s probably its purpose. To stop you. You’ve got people and unseen forces often wanting you to fail, resisting your every bold step forward.  You may get spooked, you may panic. You may want to quit.  But don’t.

“Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?” (Mk 4:38). Isn’t that our typical response? I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s taken a whole lot of pushing to get me moved out of my comfortable position to venture out in this new direction, and often my first reaction in the face of this unexpected resistance is to question God.  “Don’t you see? Don’t you care?!”  The unexpected surprise of it has thrown off my momentum, and like those disciples I fall back and huddle in the corner of the boat. It’s human. It’s normal. But we need to grow past that and change how we react.

Tell it to Shut Up!
“Jesus got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’” (Mk 4:39). Come on, people. We may not be able to command the wind and the water like the Messiah (or at least not as effectively and immediately), but that wake-up call is to us as well.  We were told to get on the move. We were called up to a new place, commanded to cross over.  Resistance will come. The wind will howl, the waves will crash against us, even to the point of swamping us, overwhelming us. But with that divine command also came authority. And we need to train ourselves to use it.  We need to get aggressive. “Shut up. Stop that!”  Remember the Apostle Paul’s words, “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against powers …”  We wrestle. It may take a little energy. When trouble comes — and if you’re on the move, it WILL come — don’t cower down. Don’t retreat or go back. Stand up, and with an assurance of the authority given to you inherent in your orders to move, resist it. Tell it to stop. And the powers of heaven will back you up. By yourself, you’re no match for the strength of those forces.  But that’s the beauty of authority. It’s not by your strength or by your power. Sometimes all you need to do is speak the word, and you’ll unleash the power of heaven to break into your situation. “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”  You’ve come this far. You can go back if you want, but you’ll forfeit so much.  Don’t lose faith, don’t get spooked by the resistance.  Deal with it.  Get tough with it.  Dispense with it quickly, then press on. Keep going.

After the storm quiets down, they arrive at the other side. They’re finally at the next stage of their journey. And more adventure awaits them.  In the Gospels, when they reach the other side, they’re met by a man possessed with an evil spirit. I’m sure they were thinking: “Crap! This is just what we need right now!”  But the situation gets handled easily, and they continue on.  And so will you.

Many of us are crossing over. We’re in transition, moving on with new things in our lives — new adventures, new purpose. Resistance will come. It’s part of the same old, well-worn strategy to stop us.  But half the battle is won if we’re not caught off guard by it, if we expect it.

That’s kinda tough news for a guy. I was at a men’s bible study last night, and of the nine of us there, most of us had come to this sad conclusion also. Well, perhaps not so sad. For most of us there, it was actually a liberating revelation. (Although I admit, I’m still working to reach that state of contentment.) For the most part, we all tended to be controllers, decision-makers, problem-solvers, fixers. We wanted to impose our order on the situations around us, and make things “right” (at least “right” as we saw it). And maybe that’s a basic human characteristic, not just a guy-thing.

Speaking solely for myself here, I can tell you that trying to be master of your own destiny is exhausting work. And it’s frustrating when reality refuses to conform to your wishes. Most of us at the meeting had come to the conclusion that, contrary to what we tended to think, our way was not always the best way — and certainly not the only way — of doing things. And we don’t have to be in charge all the time. The liberation occurs when we realize that God is actually the grand orchestrator of our lives, and that the best place to be in life is in surrender and cooperation with his plans. If we could do that, we could (almost) sit back a bit and try to enjoy the ride.

This is not an attitude of complete passivity, of course. That’ll get you nowhere. We all have to put some muscle into it, to throw our efforts and energies toward the direction we feel God would lead us. But ultimately the final destination, the final results, are not up to us. Sometimes, if we spend enough time soul-searching and pressing God, we’ll get a glimmer of what our final destination looks like, but it is almost never reached by the way we anticipate or plan. Like that old saying, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”, all we can do it take that next step that is right in front of us, pursue it whole-heartedly, and wait for the next step after that to reveal itself.

I remember one time, a long time ago when I was working for a theological journal in Israel, a woman wrote in asking us to pray that God would show her his will for her life. My first reactive thought was “yeah, you and me both, sister.” But then as I sat quietly for a moment staring at her letter, words in a quiet whisper broke clearly in my mind: “look where you’re at right now. That’s where it begins.”

We can become so lost trying to see through the fog of the future, trying to see the road all the way from where we are to the end the journey. But we’re never shown the entire path. And perhaps that’s an act of mercy on God’s part. If we knew in advance everything we would encounter, we might get overwhelmed, lose heart, and never even want to venture out. And perhaps it’s because that is the nature of our quest: we’re supposed to live in the present, in the here and now, and trust God as we go. Will we trust God — will we have the guts — to take that next step, not knowing exactly what we’re stepping into or what might happen there or where it will lead us to next?

It is a futile effort to try to map out the trip from beginning to end. (And where would the fun be in that?) Our single responsibility is take that next step, whatever it is revealed to be. Our only concern should be to say “yes” and then to dedicate ourselves to that task at hand — not trying to figure it all out. The path will be stretched out before us, but we can only take it — and only see it — one step at a time.

Guys hate asking for directions. We like to know the way and every leg of it. But if we want to finally end up where we’re supposed to be, if we want to have a successful and exciting journey, we have to begin by first throwing out our maps.

A while back I wrote about that famous scene in the Gospels where Jesus comes walking on the water in the midst of a storm to his disciples huddled terrified in a boat, and Peter tried his hand at water-walking too (Walking on Water). I noticed 3 things in Peter’s successful adventure: his chutzpah, the divine go-ahead, and his reckless obedience. Most of us will probably never actually get to stroll across a lake without the help of some floatation device, but we’ve all got our own version of tempestuous seas to deal with. And our biggest hurdle in becoming good at water-walking is almost always taking that initial step out of the boat. It’s the first — and maybe the biggest — test of who succeeds and who doesn’t: who’s got the guts to try? And the invisible ropes that keep people tied to the safety and comfort of the boat are their fears: fear of looking foolish, and fear of failing. Fear is natural. Everybody has it; everybody has to deal with it. But if we want to be like Peter, we can’t let our fears stop us. We’ve got to overcome them or remain permanently stuck where we are.

A few weeks ago, my pastor asked me to do something. Actually, after he casually mentioned one day a new program he wanted to implement, I grabbed the initiative and asked if I could help with it. I have to admit that thoughts of looking presumptuous crossed my mind. We hadn’t known each other very long, and it wasn’t like he was asking for help; it was just a plan for the future. And how do you tell someone you think that job has your name written all over it without sounding a bit boastful or with an ego that could stand some readjusting? But sensing that this project was something related to my particular gifts and calling, I summoned my chutzpah and made the offer. A few days later, after I assume some prayerful consideration, he told he felt I was the right man for the job.

Okay, great. Now I’m stuck; no backing out now. I was excited about the prospect: a new door, a new opportunity, room for growth, and a bold step in the direction I’m looking to take my life. But I was (and am) also terrified. It’s going to take a lot of work on my part; it’s going to take a lot of time, and it’s going to be inconvenient. And it could bomb. I could fail miserably. Then, not only would I look a little foolish, but it could also throw open the door for a lot of confusion and self-doubt about my abilities, my gifts, my calling, and my dreams for the future. In reality, it may be no big deal, but from my perspective here and now, at the very beginning of this journey, it has the intimidating look and feel of my own personal little stormy sea. Do I step out of the boat and risk putting my weight on that one foot dangling in the water, or do I jerk back, withdraw my offer, and pretend like it all never happened?

But I’ve been asking God for bigger things, for a life that is more impactful, more helpful, and more fulfilling. How ever this thing may ultimately turn out, I’m committed to doing it. And if I fail, I fail. But I will fail spectacularly and aggressively. And if I succeed, well, I’ll have taken that long sought after “next step” into my future, others will be better trained and equipped to deal with their own gifts and callings, even more people will be touched in turn by them, and God’s presence and power will penetrate more aggressively on this planet.

“The Kingdom of Heaven is forcefully advancing, and forceful people lay hold of it” (Mt 11:12) — but only if we overcome our fear of failing and take that first tenuous step out of the boat.