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This morning's Gospel story was such an important story to the early Christian community that it occurs within each of the synoptic Gospels.
It’s the first of four accounts in Mark's Gospel of Jesus crossing the Sea of Galilee,
which leaves the reader suspecting the sea crossings might have had more significance to the first-century audience than just a means of getting from one place to another.
Perhaps it was the Gospel writer's intent to attach some sort of symbolism to the crossings.
But before going into the significance the crossing might hold, I want to say a brief word about what I think the story is not about.
I don't believe the message of this story was ever meant to be, "If you have enough faith, God will intervene and protect you from harm."
That's simply not how I think God operates. And that sort of thinking insults the victims of Hurricane Katrina; the 911 collapse of the World Trade Center;
and the Joplin, Missouri tornado. These catastrophes did not occur and the many lives were not lost because of lack of faith.
This sort of fundamentalist interpretation of scripture is a childish reduction of God to a Mr. Fixit figure whose only purpose is to realize our hearts' desires.
So what is the story about? If the story isn't intended as a demonstration of Jesus' magical powers,
why was it so significant to first-century Christians, and does it have any significance for us today?
In order to answer those questions, let's look at the setting of the story and what all of that may have meant to the first-century audience.
The beginning of the chapter tells us that Jesus was really pulling in the crowds. He was so popular and the crowds were so large, that he had to get into a boat to teach,
"while the whole crowd was beside the sea on the land." He had been elevated to celebrity status, enjoying the attention of his adoring groupies.
And so his crossing would have seemed like a moment of insanity to the early hearers. When things were going so well for him,
why would he leave all of this to cross over into Gentile territory? Why would he set out across a sea which was known for storms that popped up without so much as a moment's notice?
And why would he set out at night, of all times? It made no sense. Jesus was seemingly tossing aside the good life, the safe and secure life,
the familiar life, for what was risky at best and dangerous at worst.
The early hearers of this story would have echoed the question that the disciples asked at the end of the account: "Who, then, is this?"
Who is this Jesus who calls us to cross over in spite of our nighttime fears? Who is this wild, untamable Jesus who keeps telling them and us not to stay home, not to stay safe?
Who is it who calls us into uncomfortable places, places of "the other"? The Jews of that location and time had a fear of the sea.
It was a place of chaos and danger. Everyone had heard the stories of sea monsters which hid in the depths, waiting to attack and devour unfortunate travelers.
Crossing over to the other side was a fearful thing to do. Going where everyone said not to go was foolhardy and reckless.
And it still is for us today, especially for those of us who choose to abandon the admonitions of our childhood churches
and, instead, embrace the idea of a God who loves us no matter what. I've had several opportunities to speak to Baylor students
and offer up my perspective as a gay Christian. They are usually surprised to hear that I don't believe homosexuality is a sin or sickness,
and even more startled to hear that it's, rather, a gift from God, just like every *** orientation.
I share with them the biblical scholarship that shows that the Bible’s six clobber passages which have been misused to condemn the LGBT community, in fact,
have nothing to say about 21st century same-sex loving, mutual relationships. And almost always, there is someone who says,
"But how do you know? How do you know that the place where your thinking has led you is a safe place?
How do you really know that God loves you?" You can see the fear in the student’s eyes. She may be straight or he may be gay;
there's really no telling, and it doesn’t matter. It’s the fear that's the point. A paralyzing fear that keeps us in our place.
The sort of fear that imprisons the gay man or lesbian in their closets. A fear that won’t allow Christian fundamentalists to hear the Bible speaking to their hearts
in any way other than what their pastor tells them it is saying. The frightened eyes ask the question, "How do you know?"
Because if we go there, bad things might happen to us. We've been assured that that sort of thinking is a one-way ticket to an eternity in hell.
What makes you really think that God is on the side of the LGBT community, as you say? How do I know that Jesus loves me, too?
I know because when Jesus was asked which one of the 613 laws was the great commandment, he said it was the law of love – love God with every fiber of your being and love each other.
I know because on the night of his death, he told his disciples, "I give you a new commandment to love others the way that I have loved."
And Jesus loved the outcast. His collection of disciples was a motley crew, with not one clergy-type in the bunch, by the way.
His followers were Jews who collected taxes for Romans, political activists, women of ill repute, foreigners, half-breeds, children.
And yes, one special friend who they say he loved, who after supper lay against Jesus' chest, who was the only disciple at the foot of the cross when he died.
Jesus loved every outcast that crossed his path. He loved the Roman centurion who asked for healing for his "special servant."
As a Gentile and a member of the occupying force, the centurion was an outcast in Jerusalem, and his "special servant," almost certainly gay, was an outcast for other reasons.
But Jesus loved them both and healed the centurion's lover. Jesus loved outcasts.
And if for no other reason than that, I believe he loves the LGBT community. But you don't need to be gay or lesbian to feel like an outcast.
People are made to feel like outcasts because of their color, their place of birth, their income, their body, and their gender identity.
And Jesus invites them, Jesus invites us all to cross over. To cross that uncharted territory of fear that threatens to swamp us and take a chance on a God who loves us just as we are.
No improvements necessary. Going there can be a frightening experience. What if we drown in our sea of fear and uncertainty?
What if we have been misled? What if there's no turning back? But the story tells me that if I take that chance,
if I dare to follow the crazy Christ who seems to break all the rules, if I'm crazy enough to believe that God doesn’t condemn me for who and how I love,
but affirms me and even delights in me, if I'm ready to set sail on that frightening, risky, exciting, fantastic journey, then even within all the chaos that will surely occur,
even when my world feels like it's unraveling at the edges, even then, I will discover peace.
And the words Jesus speaks to me are the same he spoke to the wind and the waves. Peace. Be still. He offers peace even in the storms and chaos of life.
And he commands that I be still. Be still and know that God is God and that I am not.
Crossing to the other side at Jesus' command may try our faith, but it also puts us in a position to experience the stilling of our storms,
the restoration of the broken and the marginalized, and the transformation of death to life. Jesus invites you to take a step of faith.
Step out into the unknown. Take the next right step. Believe that God is present and that you are loved beyond your wildest imagination.
And you will find peace in that knowledge. And when you do, may all be well with your soul. Amen.