“They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” Mark 4:41
Sargasso, streams of yellow or brown carpet seaweed grapes, entrapping an area of the North Atlantic Ocean – defines the so-called ‘Sargasso Sea’ with no land boundary where four oceanic currents conjoin; known mythically as a place of great mystery.
Life can sometimes stray into such places of perplexity where there is no safety of shore and we find ourselves adrift in a sediment of pain. Normality ripped away by a sequence of unanticipated events, leaving us with no choice but to trust God as the boat manoeuvres around the seaweed and then ploughs down sharply in the pull-down of a gigantic wave, which is terrifying in itself and from which there is no respite but to trust the Lord will get you out the other side.
Nearly 30 years ago, I went white water rafting on the Zambezi River near Victoria Falls, located at the borders of Zimbabwe and Zambia. It is a grade five category water stretch, with dizzyingly dangerous rapids but many tourists, myself included, still enjoyed the challenge of getting through the currents.
On the day of the rafting, our boat leader told us our first rapid was known as “the window washer.” He said there was a high chance we’d be thrown out of the boat. As the vessel neared the rapids it seemed to sink down and the furious, violent, regurgitating water cliffs towered above our heads. I felt well and truly terrified. And then the boat pulled straight into the middle of this chaos and an invisible arm knocked me and three others sideways.
I was under the boat and felt a knock on my head from the vessel above as my body pulled underwater and thrust through the turmoil. I had just about lost my breath, on the point of inhaling water, when the rapids threw me out the other side and I emerged above the surface next to a fellow adventurer, a German tourist who couldn’t swim and was panicking. I could see a bask of baby crocodiles not far away on the river bank behind him.
I thought of that extreme Zambezi experience this past week when I became unexpectedly unwell with Influenza A and Pneumonia – admitted to hospital for nearly a week – with my family also unwell at home. One moment at home feeling fine and the next finding myself in an isolated, windowless room attached to an oxygen machine and IV drip, at the mercy of doctors and nurses under pressure from a failing health service.
I had no visitors (praise God for phone calls!) but I am thankful for the help I received there. I found myself drawing close to God as the hours and days went by. Everything worldly had been taken away and it was just me and the Lord spending hour upon hour in this simple room. I prayed.
The Lord heals us from the various traumas we suffer in life. I am fascinated by the breakfast Jesus gave his disciples after the events of the death and resurrection (John 21). These men had seen their Lord nailed to wood and left to die. All the savagery of those hours – the violence, the blood, the sight of corpses and baying crowds, and just seeing dear Jesus being beaten and hung on a cross – must have ripped them emotionally and that followed by the strange events of the resurrection. Trying to make sense of it all. How?
No wonder Peter tries to reach for normality. “I’m going fishing,” he declares, trying to get back to regular routines and find a place to heal. The others readily want to join him but they fail to catch any fish. The real healing and real space needed is only found in Jesus himself – I can testify to that from my own experience.
Firstly the Lord, appearing on the seashore, orders dozens of fish into their nets, just as he did when they first met him three years before. Peter, once afraid of walking on water, then jumps out of the boat and ‘plunges’ into the water to reach his Jesus. And then there’s this beautiful picture, after all the trauma, of the Lord meekly inviting the beaten-down apostles to breakfast and serving them. Giving them time needed to simply be with him, to eat and talk and rest: ‘Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”’ It’s simple and illustrates the lovingkindness of salvation.
All the Sargasso and storm thus washed away for the disciples. No doubt more storms would come – Jesus even tells Peter that he is due a violent death. But the Lord spends time restoring and recommissioning; giving his friends space to remember and experience just how dearly loved they are by him.
We don’t navigate our lives. The Lord alone is navigator, helmsman and captain too. We sit cowed in the boat as the gale howls and he sleeps near us, still in perfect control of the situation. That’s right, even in his apparent slumber he still oversees everything and loves us. We just have to be patient and trust him: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28).
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