The Other Boats

The sun slips behind the hills.
The air is thick with salt and smoke.
Your clothes cling with sweat from the day.
The sky is bruising purple.
It has been a good, but long day and you are ready for a much needed rest.
So is Jesus.¹

He says, “Let’s go to the other side.”

No one argues.
You’re already untying the ropes, pushing off from shore.
The wood creaks beneath your feet.
The lake stretches wide and open.
It feels like freedom to be out on the water.
The lake feels like home.

Other boats move out with you. Their silent shapes sway to the same rhythm nearby on dark water. No words. Just the sound of a gentle wind hitting the sails and the rhythmic lap of water against the hull that sings like a lullaby.

You smile (maybe even giggle a little) at Jesus, snoring in the back of the boat.

A slow rain cools our faces, along with the spray off the bow of the boat. It feels good on our skin after the oppressive heat of the day. But the wind picks up, and the once subtle rain now stings like needles on our skin. A storm is coming, but no one panics. We’re used to being on the water. We’ve been in storms before. Suddenly, lightning explodes just off the port side and a violent gust of wind whips the sail back and forth and the ropes burn through our palms as we fight to keep the boat on course.

Dissonant waves pound against the hull and the wind roars like dragon’s breath, terrifying and fowl. Peter and Andrew are shouting instructions that no one can hear. Matthew empties his stomach over the side of the boat and Thomas follows close behind, both of them wishing they hadn’t had a second helping at supper. Panic swells like the waves on the sea.

The boat is taking on water now. Your heart is pounding, but you look across the water, trying to see the other boats. But the night is too dark; the rain is too heavy. And where is Jesus? He’s asleep.

“Don’t you care that we’re drowning, Jesus?”

You don’t mean to shout.
But what else is there to say?

That’s where this story begins.
A storm.
A sleeping Jesus.
And an entire sea of boats full of people wondering if anyone cares.

You aren’t the only one caught in the storm.
You never were.

Boats crowd the sea; some carry people you love, others carry people you ignore.
Some boats are full of friends and others carry people you’ve never known or noticed. But every single one of them is fighting waves they didn’t ask for.
All of them are wondering if help will come, and asking the same question:

“Don’t you care that we’re drowning?”

And maybe the question isn’t just for Jesus. Maybe it’s for us, too, as Jesus’ followers.

Do we care?
Do we see the other boats?
Are we so focused on surviving that we forget to look around and notice?

What would it mean to stay close and drift a little nearer to the ones with torn sails? What would it look like to help secure those whose hands are slipping on the ropes? How might we shine like a beacon for those whose eyes are scanning the horizon for any sign of help?

Maybe the miracle isn’t just that Jesus showed how much he cares by speaking peace to the wind and the waves; quieting fears and calming the sea.
Maybe it’s that none of the boats sank because they stayed together.

What if faith isn’t about pretending the storm isn’t real?
What if faith is learning to trust that God is with us and cares immeasurably for us… and invites us to see and care for each other?

• Who do you know that's fighting through a storm right now?

• How can you stay close to them?

• What could it look like for the people of God to carry each other through the waves?

What if this story isn’t just about Jesus calming your storm?
What if it's about seeing someone else's storm and staying close, sitting with them in and through it?

You know people whose lives feel like they're falling apart:

• The friend who never laughs like they used to.

• The kid who sits alone but says they're fine.

• The sibling who acts angry, but you know it’s really fear.

They might not say the words, but maybe they’re wondering:

“Does anyone care that I’m drowning?”

You don’t have to be the savior. Jesus has that covered.
You don’t have to calm the sea. Jesus speaks peace to the wind and waves.
Just stay close. Don’t leave one another behind.

The disciples took Jesus with them in the boat.
But what if we started asking: Who are we bringing with us?
Who’s in the boat next to us, and are we paying attention?

“Does anyone care that I’m drowning?”

Jesus cares.
He didn’t stay asleep. He woke up and spoke peace over the chaos, and he still does. Not just then. Not just there.

Here.
Now.
For you.
For the boat next to you.

He hears the cry of every voice, even the ones that can’t get the words out.
He sees the fear behind every brave face.
Jesus calms storms you can’t even name yet.
The weight of the world is not on your shoulders.
You don’t have to fix what’s broken.
You don’t have to quiet every wave.
But you can sit beside someone in the storm and they can sit beside you in yours.
You can hold their hand until the wind dies down and they can hold yours.
You can remind them they’re not alone, and they can remind you of the same.

Beloved child of God, you can be a living sign… a walking, breathing reminder that Jesus is near and that peace is possible because Jesus (who is peace) cares.
And Jesus’ care moves through people like you and me. So when someone cries out,

“Don’t you care that I’m drowning?”

Our presence can be one way Jesus answers.

You, in the boat beside them, close and calm and still holding on.
Still holding them.
Still holding Jesus.
Still held by grace.

Peace be still.

1. A few years ago I wrote and published a book using Mark 4:35-41 as the framing story. This week I’m hanging out with middle-school kids at confirmation camp and this same text is the daily theme. They asked me to share a message around the campfire tonight, so I wrote this narrative to invite everyone into the story from a different angle than the one I wrote from a few years ago.