Rembrandt van Rijn, 1633
Now that the heat of summertime has arrived, I walk my Cavalier pup, Molly, first thing in the day. I would prefer to move slowly into the day sipping coffee. Walking Molly early is sensible though and does have lovely pleasures. The symphony of birdsong is amazing, children are out and about, bright blossoms are opening to the rays of our daystar. Furthermore, the morning paper is still in the driveway, unopened.
I return home peaceful and invigorated. I sip my coffee, usually iced now, and open the newspaper. Too soon, the urgencies of the world, and my day, take over. The storm of pressures and emotions necessarily spark calming practices of deep breath pauses and prayer on various levels. The rhythm of the day is now begun, a rhythm of intensity and stillness. It is a difficult rhythm, with an intensity of its own.
Intensity and stillness remind me of Rembrandt’s dramatic painting of Jesus stilling the storm, “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” My favorite thing about this story told in Mark* has always been that it begins with Jesus sleeping in the storm. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to do that? Fierce winds and a wildly rocking boat! I am a sailor and have never been able to sleep through a storm, even a mild one. If Jesus were in my boat, I would certainly do what his crew of disciples did: wake him up and ask for help.
Of course, he helps. He, the calm one, calms the storm. But he seems annoyed, too, saying, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
Rembrandt portrays the disciples in different ways. Some are urgently battling the wind and waves, straining to control the sails and lines. Some are huddling in fear, doing nothing but tremble. One is simply staring at the storm, apparently stuck in shock. Some are reaching toward Jesus, beseeching him to change things. I relate to each of these responses in the storms of my life. I often experience these responses before getting past the news on the front page.
When I ponder each person in the painting, there is one who calls me to further attention, the one at the tiller. Luring me to a deep place of desire and hope, that disciple inspires me. That one appears to have a unique stance. It might be called a faithful stance. That one is gazing at Jesus, holding the tiller steady, relaxed and at ease.
Unafraid.
