Jesus had been teaching a crowd by the lake all day. When evening came, he asked his disciples to get into the boat with him and go to the other side of the lake. Being quite tired, Jesus crawled into the stern of the boat and fell asleep on a cushion. Part way across the lake a squall erupted, and waves began filling the boat. The disciples were terrified and convinced they were going down.[1]
Thanks to their screaming, Jesus woke, stood up, and said, “Quiet! Be still!”[2] The sea became still as glass. Moreover, so did the disciples.
Every teaching I have ever heard on this encounter focused on two things: the disciples’ disbelief and Jesus’ ability to calm the sea. I believe these lectures missed something very crucial.
The souls in the boat were in upheaval. Minds were full of noise. The present overwhelmed any awareness of a future. How could Jesus be sleeping when they were sure they would all perish? Nevertheless, Jesus used the situation to teach yet another lesson. He was not just speaking to the wind and sea: he was speaking to the disciples. “Be still . . .”
Our lives are battered with noise, motion, stress, worry, facts, news, and doubt. Insecurities prevent stillness from birthing peace in our souls. Furthermore, the lack of peace accentuates these insecurities. The downward spiral drills deeper and deeper as the boat sinks.
The spiral can be reversed. The boat can be saved. It takes time and discipline. It is a choice to give up the noise we are addicted to and allow quiet stillness to enter our minds and bodies.
I started practicing stillness about 20 years ago. I had mixed motives for the venture. Firstly, I wanted to quiet my mind, hearing less of my repetitive voice. Secondly, I have a mild case of Tourette syndrome and wanted to experience calmness instead of continuous muscle contractions. It was difficult at first, but over time, I have come to revere and cherish my sessions away from the din and motion of life. Sometimes it is so quiet that God’s still small voice penetrates my dimensional barriers. I find that my insecurities are fading. They are not gone, but have less and less of a voice. Prayer has become silence. Silence has become prayer.
I wish for you a stillness that births peace, quiets insecurities, and brings a knowledge of who God is and who you are in God. As God said via the Psalmist, “Be still and know that I am God . . . “[3] Be still. In the midst of the storm, be still.
– Sam Augsburger
[1] Rembrandt’s portrayal of this encounter.
[2] Mark 4:39, NIV.
[3] Psalm 46:10, NIV.
