This poem is inspired by the story of Jesus calming the storm present in the gospels (See Mark 4:38-40). There’s a wondrous beauty in how the creator of the world once again speaks to it, and creation obeys. Jesus’ humanity is present throughout all of this scene, and it’s humbling to think he had to endure the same discomforts we do when faced against the elements. Finally, I take to heart the tiny fishing boat as a metaphor for our own soul, and how it battles through the storms of life, with us (the disciples) frantically trying to hold it together. Meanwhile, Jesus is at the stern, asleep –always with us. Sometimes we just have to reach to him to witness His power over our lives.
Clap of thunder strikes, winds howl fierce in the dark,
Mountains of water rise, fall from on high and crash.
Swaying side-to-side is the tiny craft of rotting bark,
the fishing boat that carries my precious Lord,
his eleven friends all aboard,
and twelfth who gave him up to sword.
Peter’s curled up in the hull, immovable as stone,
Thomas cries up to heaven, having lost all hope,
Tired, Mathew reefs the main, cold to the bone
James and John descend to the stern,
Asleep on a cushion rested Jesus all alone,
“Master, don’t you care we will die?” they cry.
The word made flesh stirred and rose,
But the waves smash the craft
and throw the King on his back
to the dirty, flooding hull.
Three times he rises—now behold:
Exposed to the ocean’s spray,
The voice that spoke from the beginning
Calls out to the winds gently singing,
“Quiet! Be still!”
The ocean blushes, the winds are shamed,
All is still, being bows and is contained.
loving eyes that see through worlds,
turns to His friends and tenderly asks,
“Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”
“Lord,” Peter replies, half relived and half aghast,
“The winds were too strong, we would have died,
Why didn’t you quiet the storm before our toil,
When you heard us start to cry?
“My hour’s not yet come, don’t be afraid,
the debt of death is yet to be paid.”