Peace Be Still

Jul 27

The world feels chaotic and unfamiliar right now. Some of the changes are temporary, and some aren’t. Some of you have lost family members and friends. And not everyone is equally at risk either for catching the virus or having life-threatening complications as a result. Black people are four times more likely to die from covid in the UK. The Navajo nation, many of whom live without running water, had the highest rate of infection in the US, surpassing New York and New Jersey at the height of their outbreak and their numbers remain high. Asian Americans have been harassed and attacked, blamed for a virus they didn’t create. The unemployment rate is the highest it’s been since the Great Depression. Small businesses and the poor are most impacted and we might be headed for a second great depression. Parents have been exhausted and stretched thin as they try to fit in time to work from home while homeschooling their children. Plus, there are still dirty dishes in the sink and it is not ok. And people, even introverts like me, have been going stir-crazy and lonely stuck at home. Even so, please don’t throw a coronavirus themed party for hundreds of people. How we gather for worship has changed and will be impacted for years to come. Everyone has been wondering when or if things will go back to normal. Or if that’s even something worth hoping for.

And then, like a gathering storm, the news of the killing of Ahmaud and Breonna came out. And then Tony McDade. And then, as the world watched in horror, George Floyd was killed on a Minneapolis street. By police who are supposed to be there to enforce laws. He died saying he couldn’t breathe. He died calling for his mother. He died saying his whole body hurt. He died saying, please. But the officer didn’t budge. Not at the pleas of George for his life to be spared. Not when people in watching crowd begged him to move. And people began to say enough is enough. There have been protests all over the country and the world. Some activists believe this is a tipping point toward more racial justice in this country and the world. May it be so.

Which isn’t to say there hasn’t been good news in the midst of these hard and strange times. The planet seems to be breathing a sigh of relief as global emissions are down 17%, skies are clearer with less pollution, and animals move more freely in spaces usually filled with people. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen more kindness and care among my neighbors and even on social media. I’ve seen such creativity in using technology to facilitate connection while social distancing. I’ve seen many sharing what they have with those in need.

Still, there’s no denying this is a dark and confusing season. And in all this chaos, I’ve found myself thinking of a boat in the middle of a lake on a stormy night.

In the ancient world, chaos was often pictured as deep waters. In Babylonian epics, the primeval goddess of the sea Tiamat is called chaos. She goes to war against her children and creates monsters to destroy them and is generally terrifying. The sea is where Jonah gets thrown when he runs from God. It’s where monsters come from in Daniel. And in the story of creation, the world emerges from the primal sea at the word of God.

During Jesus’s ministry, he and his friends were crossing a lake in a fishing boat late one night (Mark 4:35-41). He was absolutely worn out, sound asleep even though there was a huge storm happening. But Jesus’s friends were terrified. Understandably so. Because the waves were high, and the boat had started taking on water. But what they did next is really interesting. They didn’t pray or row harder or put on life jackets (which, in their defense, probably didn’t exist yet). They woke Jesus up, asking him if he even cares they’re all about to die. Maybe it felt less terrifying if they could be mad at him for sleeping.

Sometimes it’s easier to make problems about someone else so that we don’t have to deal with ourselves. There’s no lack of posturing and projection that happens online and among our political leaders. One antidote to cancel culture is to keep doing our own healing and growth work and to begin with curiosity and compassion for others and ourselves. There’s no doubt that the hardest place to do that is right in the middle of something really scary and hard and painful like the global pandemic, economic crisis, and widespread racial unrest we’re living through. But that’s also when kindness and empathy become even more essential.

That’s what Jesus did when the winds were raging, and his friends were freaking out. The danger was real. And in the midst of it, he spoke and enacted peace. “He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm” (Mark 4:39). The word for “be still” is from the word for muzzling. And after he spoke, instantly, there was complete calm. This is important: Jesus spoke to chaos and the chaos obeyed.

We need that kind of peace and that kind of power right now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about a false peace that prefers a veneer of niceness over real healing and justice. I’m not talking about only having everyone who looks like me or thinks like me be welcome. But to a virus ravaging lives, I say with Jesus, “peace, be still.” To the turmoil that threatens to divide families and this nation, I say, “stop, be quiet, and listen.” To the free-floating and internal anxiety we’re all carrying, I invite peace—real peace.

Just before he died, Jesus told his friends that they and those who followed him thereafter would do greater things than he’d done because he was giving us his Spirit. Because he was only putting into motion a world where things flourish as God intends. And we’re living in that unfolding between the now and not yet of God’s good ways. All of which means that we can follow Jesus's good example and tell the storm to stop and actually expect the storm to listen. I wonder what chaos you might need to speak peace into.

Try this practice:

From a comfortable seat, quiet your body and re-center on your breath. Find a picture of a peaceful lake or ocean. If you live near the real thing, so much the better—go there! Bring the most confusing and tumultuous things on your heart and mind into focus. Imagine them as a storm over the water. What do the waves look like? What color is the sky? Can you hear the thunder? Can you see the lightning? Can you feel the water seeping above your ankles?

Now, hear a first-century rabbi say, “peace, be still.” What does his voice sound like? Is it loud or soft; husky or smooth? Notice the water becoming calm. Can you see any plant or animal life though the clearing water? Notice your own body. Can you sense more lightness and calm? Now let your voice join his. “Peace, be still.” Say it out loud or silently. Say it calmly and clearly. Say it boldly. Repeat the phrase as many times as you need to. Take it with you as a breath prayer if that serves you. My prayer is that it will give you courage and hope for this season and help you cultivate a deeper sense of where the Spirit might be blowing in your neighborhood.