Day 30 of Lent: April 8, 2025

Ashes to Alleluia

Matthew 8:24–27 NRSVUE

24 A windstorm suddenly arose on the sea, so great that the boat was being swamped by the waves, but he was asleep. 25 And they went and woke him up, saying, “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” 26 And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, you of little faith?” Then he got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a dead calm. 27 They were amazed, saying, “What sort of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?”

While I have never been to the Holy Land myself, my college advisor, teacher, and great influence, Rev. Dr. Jack Presseau, once told us of his visit there. He spoke of the young boys who would sell you boards to stand on in the Dead Sea and take a picture of you as if you were walking on water. He passed the picture around class, and we all got a good laugh.

Later, as he was preparing for a boat tour of the Sea of Galilee, they were delayed by a sudden storm. He said the storm came on amazingly fast.

He used that experience to explain that this is simply life on the Sea of Galilee—clear skies one moment, storming chaos the next.

The disciples, many of them seasoned fishermen, knew what a deadly storm looked like on this sea. And the one from the text above was obviously no joke. Waves crashing. Water filling the boat. Hearts racing.

And Jesus?

Zzzz… Asleep.

It’s such a deeply human moment, isn’t it? Fear flooding in. Panic rising. And a sense that maybe this is the end and God is not even paying attention.

“Lord, save us! We are perishing!” these men cry.

It’s a prayer that we’ve all prayed in one form or another—when grief swells, when the future seems uncertain, when the world feels like it’s falling apart.

This is a Lenten cry—raw, honest, desperate.

But Jesus wakes—not with panic, but with peace.

He rebukes the wind, silences the waves, and turns to the disciples with a question:

“Why are you afraid, you of little faith?”

I used to think this was a scolding—until I heard someone suggest it wasn’t.

Instead, they believed it was an invitation.

An invitation to remember who is in the boat.

Friends, the promise of the gospel isn’t that we won’t face storms.

It’s that we won’t face them alone.

Lent reminds us of that truth. As we journey through the wilderness, we’re reminded that Christ is with us—even when it seems like he’s sleeping. He doesn’t always calm the storm on our timeline. But he is present. And in his time, there will be peace.

“What sort of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?”

He is the One who brings order to chaos.

The One who speaks calm into our anxious hearts.

The One who does not abandon the boat—even when we feel like it’s sinking.

So today, whatever storm you’re facing—whether loud and violent or silent and creeping—remember that Jesus is in the boat with you. He is not unaware. He is not distant. He is not shaken. And when the time is right, he will rise and speak the words your soul needs most:

“Peace. Be still.”

Let the storm rage—Jesus is still in the boat.

Prayer:

Good and loving God, we confess that we are quick to panic and slow to trust. The storms of life feel overwhelming, and it’s easy to believe we’re alone. But you are here. Help us to trust your presence, even when we can’t yet see your hand at work. Speak peace to our chaos. Calm our fear. And remind us, again and again, that you are Lord—even over the wind and the waves. Amen.