Carla J. Bailey, Senior Pastor

Mark 4:35-41

My mother tells me that my father was an old man already at the age of 19, when she first met him at North Central College.  He carried many burdens, even from his earliest years.  I can vividly recall the times when he was playful with the five of us because they were so rare.  He was kind, always ready to talk about a book or an idea, play a round of bridge, look for just the right word in an essay, but his heart was very heavy.  When we lived in northern Wisconsin, my parents bought some lakefront property and we spent most of our summers there, my father commuting.  Even when we moved to Minnesota, adding a few hours to his commute, he would drive to the cabin as often as he could.  My father had an incredibly interior mind.  We didn’t get much from him in direct conversation, but we watched for physical clues and one of the happiest, was the way his face and shoulders would relax, the closer he got to the cabin.  Serenity simply came over him there.

Serenity can be an elusive thing.  It doesn’t come by fighting for it but rather, by relinquishing the struggle.  It isn’t something you can buy but it is something that can be chosen.  In fact, though this is difficult to believe, you can choose serenity, even in the midst of absolute chaos, even when the forces against it are strong, even when the threat is loss of life itself.

There are several stories in the gospels about Jesus on boats with his fishermen disciples.  There is one about Peter trying to walk on water like Jesus, only when he began to sink, he panicked.  There are several stories about Jesus calming storms, stilling the waves, settling the wind.  There are stories about Jesus telling his disciples to cast their nets just one more time and having them come back filled with fish.  The story just read is one of these type.  Jesus was in a boat with the disciples.  A storm blew up and Jesus was oblivious to its danger.  The disciples were afraid.  Jesus stilled the storm, then scolded the disciples just a little bit for being afraid.

The world is a dangerous place.  There are threats all around us, physical threats, psychological threats.  The means to annihilate the planet are stockpiled in several countries.  The specter of a heating planet and all the repercussions are familiar to us.  Financial investments have dipped so that some of us who once felt wealthy, now feel as if we’re just getting by.  Any day, several of us will be told our jobs have been eliminated because of budget cuts.  Routine physical exams turn into diagnoses of cancer.  Kids get lost.  Parents get old.  There are earthquakes, tornadoes, mudslides, avalanches, flooding rivers, heat alerts, air quality alerts, missing children alerts, terrorist activity alerts, alarms, sirens, watches, warnings – a hundred ways, no, a thousand ways life can suddenly change direction, or come screeching to a halt.

What can you do about any of these things?  Not a lot.  In some situations, not a blessed thing. 

Threats to our emotional well-being are equally if not more perilous.  We make emotional commitments to other human beings and those commitments are betrayed.  We work as hard as we can and discover that there is still more to be done.  Our parents are slipping into physical fragility and we’re caught between respecting their independence and worrying over their safety.  Our children are angry or depressed or oblivious or just teen-agers full up with teenage angst.  But they are entering a world of instant communication in acronyms, scarce jobs, on-line dating services, persistent military recruiters, and a national debt with so many zeroes who knows how much it really is?

What can you do about any of these things?  Not a lot.  In some situations, not a blessed thing.

I’m a person who craves quiet.  I’m going to Philadelphia tomorrow for a few days to be with my daughter as she interviews for several jobs and looks for a possible place to live and the thing I’m most excited about is the five hour drive on the New York coach.  There are probably easier, less-expensive ways to get some quiet time but they are sometimes not available when you’re working and raising kids, so I’ll take them when they come. 

I crave quiet so as to bolster my serenity.  How do you do it?  Do you read Bible verses?  Go for walks?  Talk to your friends?  Go on hikes?  Garden?  Or do you simply relinquish the things over which you have no control and concentrate on those things over which you do have control?  That’s the more reliable method, but it is also the method we most resist.  We hear ourselves make excuses for manic behavior and we get sick of the sound of our own voices.  We make lists, do just a few more things before going to bed, and then wake up at 3 am, filled with dread.

But here’s the thing, everywhere in the gospels, Jesus reminded his disciples that there was nothing to fear, nothing worth their worry, nothing beyond of God’s reach.  If we are worried or afraid or certain we are absolutely alone in our despair, well, we’re wrong.  There are threatening things in the world but they will not cease because we fear them.  There are sorrows and losses and disappointments and perils but they are not diminished by our worry.  And when we are certain we are alone, that is the time to pray.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.  Amen