Why the Storms

It’s one of those Bible stories that you’ve heard a million times if you grew up in the church. It’s at the end of Mark 4: Jesus calming the storm. But Alistair Begg preached on the story the other day on my way to work, and I was reminded once more that the Word is “living and active . . . discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

God has already used the calming the storm stories in a mighty way in my life (thus the name of this blog -- you can read about that here). So, I was listening to Brother Alistair with a calm smile. Yes, yes. He calms our storms. Hallelujah, thine the glory. Jesus saves, Jesus saves.

But then Alistair took a detour that was new to me. Although we may wonder, he said, why the Lord allowed this sudden storm, perhaps it is more profitable to ponder the things that we know are not reasons for the storm. For instance . . . 

The storm did NOT happen because they were being disobedient.

Jesus specifically told them, “Let’s go over to the other side.” Getting in this boat on this lake at this time was exactly what he told them to do. They had not wandered from his will. They had not wandered from him at all – he was right there in the boat with them.

But aren’t we so apt to fall right into that bleak line of thinking? Wondering what we did wrong to deserve this? Even when we know better. I had dinner this weekend with some friends, one of whom is going through storm after storm right now. We were sympathizing with her likely feelings in the midst of this. “Why, God? What did I do?” And the truth is, she didn’t do anything. Yes, there are times when we cause our own problems through our own foolishness and sin. But sometimes, the trials just happen. They’re not a punishment. They aren’t consequences of anything but a fallen world.

Another verse stood out to me as Alistair spoke. When the disciples woke Jesus up to ask for help (he was sleeping through it all, folks – that’s fodder for another post altogether), they didn’t scream (as I likely would have), “HELP!! Lord, help!! Help us!” The words that came out of their mouths – which Matthew recorded here very specifically – were, “Don’t you care if we drown?”

Don’t you even care??

And there’s the other pit we often sink into as the tempests rage – feeling abandoned and unloved. Not just by people, but by God himself. If you really loved me, God, you would have stopped this. If you really cared about me, Lord, you’d take this away. I have a student struggling right now with severe anxiety, and her mother tells me the poor girl asks her in tears why God won’t take the fear away. I don’t know, sweet little sister . . . I don’t know. But I do know this.

The reason is NOT because he doesn’t care about us.

I refuse to believe that Jesus watches us in our pain with cold callousness. The raising Lazarus story taught me otherwise during a crisis time in my life (again, you can read about that here). I believe he sits with us in our pain. He cries with us. He cries FOR us . . . even when he knows exactly how and when he will be silencing the wind and waves.

So, why does he allow the storms?

I have an answer he’s given me. It may not satisfy those of you in the midst of crisis at the moment . . . and I may need one of you to remind me of it when the cyclones strike in my life again someday. It is expressed well in an old Kathy Troccoli song:

How would I know you could deliver . . . how would I know you could set free?

If there had never been a battle, how would I know the victory?

How would I know you would be faithful to meet all of my needs?

We can talk a good game. We can say in our hearts that God is mighty and faithful and loving.  But how do we know it's true? We only know his might when are too weak to fight our own battles. We only know his faithfulness when others prove false.  We only know his love when other loves are found wanting.

I can testify that I know God today in a way I did not forty years ago . . . and it took the storms of life for me to truly know him. And let us never forget, friends, that this is what we exist for. To know him.