When Storms Rage

Sunday, June 23, 2024 – Gospel, Mark 4:35-41. Also Job 38:1-11, Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32, 2 Corinthians 6:1-13

In 1991, a fishing boat called the Andrea Gail set out for the Great Banks of Newfoundland from Gloucester, Massachusetts, for a late-season sword fishing trip. Having just returned with an empty vessel, Captain Billy Tyne convinced his crew to join him for one more last-ditch fishing expedition.

They eventually get to a place called Fleming Gap, where they catch thousands of pounds of fish, but then their ice machine breaks so they have to make a mad dash toward home. On the way, they sail right into the “perfect storm,” a meeting of Hurricane Grace and a northern weather front.

The storm batters them with 40-foot waves, doing extreme damage and preventing the Coast Guard from refueling and rescue. Captain Billy at first successfully steers the ship to potential safety, but then they hit a massive rogue wave.

A movie called The Perfect Storm was made about the event and released in 2000. You may remember it. All I really remember – other than George Clooney – is the horrifying sight of that rogue wave that looked to be about the height of the Empire State Building compared to the boat (“mounted up to the heavens,” as our psalm describes).

I’m sure it wasn’t that big, but I found the image so terrifying that I thought if I was ever in a storm like that, my heart and brain would both just explode from fear. I’d never make it.

In fact, the story of the Andrea Gail ends in tragedy, with everyone on board killed in the churning sea.

Job was no stranger to the storms of life. The satan or Adversary, seemingly given permission by God, took the life from his crops, his animals, his wife, and his children, and then ruined his health, leaving Job raging against the injustice of it all on an ash heap. He wishes he’d never been born and demands that God meet him in court to hear his case about his righteousness and undeserved suffering.

The first lesson we heard today is part of the long speech from the whirlwind that God delivers to Job, basically asking Job what gives him the right to question God’s world and the way it operates. God asks Job,

Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding.”

After God lays out all the ways in which God’s knowledge and understanding of the intimate workings of the cosmos are far superior to Job’s, Job is left with his hand clapped over his mouth and says no more (though Job is finally honored for his questioning of God as righteous and faithful, and his wholeness is restored to him). I often say that thinking humans can fully understand suffering is like asking a dog to understand calculus. It’s just not possible no matter how hard we try.

But that isn’t a very satisfying answer when the storms of life hit us full in the face with a rogue wave that threatens to completely destroy us.

We began this service today with the hymn “When Peace Like a River” (“It is Well With My Soul”). Horatio Spafford, who wrote the lyrics to the song, was also no stranger to the deadly storms of life. He was married with five children but lost his only son in 1871. Just a few months later, the Great Chicago Fire consumed his real estate investments, and he lost all his savings.

Then, in 1873, the recovered family planned a vacation to Europe. Spafford sent his wife and daughters on ahead so he could tie up some loose ends before joining them a few days later.

The ship on which they sailed collided with another, and 226 people lost their lives. When she reached safety, his wife sent him this heartbreaking telegram: “Saved alone. What shall I do?” He left immediately to bring her home, and when his own ship crossed the waters where his daughters drowned, he wrote these words:

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

At the end of this service, we’ll sing another beautiful and striking hymn. I was amazed several years ago to learn the story of Thomas A. Dorsey (a Georgia native, and no relation to the big bandleader) and his writing of the song “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.” Dorsey had been a blues pianist, working in bars, until a spiritual healing after a nervous breakdown led him to commit his life to God. The result was the creation of modern gospel music.

In 1932 Dorsey left behind his pregnant wife to perform at a faith revival in St. Louis, Missouri, but after he finished singing, a telegram informed him she had died in childbirth. He rushed home to learn he had a son.

Dorsey held that baby all night, but by morning the boy had died. Dorsey was so bereft that he withdrew completely from music and from life. But then one day a friend left him in a room holding only a piano. In those quiet moments, the notes to “Precious Lord” – one of the most beloved gospel songs ever – came pouring out.

Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light:
Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.

In our gospel lesson from Mark, a big storm with crashing waves threatens the disciples and they are understandably terrified. Jesus sleeps through it, and when the disciples wake him, he calms the storm and brings peace to the water, asking about the disciples’ faith.

But Jesus didn’t calm the storm for the crew of the Andrea Gail. Jesus didn’t calm the storm of the shipwreck that took the daughters of Horatio Spofford, nor calm the storm of childbirth that took the wife of Thomas Dorsey.

God didn’t calm the storm of Jesus’ crucifixion.

Clearly, Jesus doesn’t always calm the outer storms in our lives. In this life, it seems, there is no way to avoid the storms. In this world, storms are just part of the deal. And I can’t explain why that is. I may have some theories but I can’t know for sure.

We can rage against the storms, like Job. We can quake with fear as the storms rage against us, like the disciples.

But maybe there is a way that Jesus can help calm our storms.

Maybe the storms that Jesus can calm are the ones inside of us, if we give them to him. Maybe that’s the kind of faith we can have. Faith in the presence of Jesus to calm our fears and the storms inside our hearts.

Note: After delivering this sermon, I learned from one of our members that her father had served as captain of the Andrea Gail prior to Capt. Billy Tyne, and she was related to many of the crew members that died.

I also learned of the connections to our own local fishing village of Cortez, FL, some of which is detailed in this story.