☊ My sister recently bought a cabin near the Buffalo River outside the town of Gilbert. It’s in a gorgeous location, perched on the banks of Tomahawk Creek in Mud Hollow, nestled in a maze of hills and cut off from the rest of the world–a classic Ozark landscape. Every time I’ve gone up for a visit and passed the Gilbert General Store and canoe launch, I’ve dreamed about how great it would be to float the Buffalo from there, down to the mouth of Tomahawk Creek and walk up through the hollows to the cabin. Maybe six miles all told, it would be a proper journey.
So, a few weeks ago, having been fully captured by the spirit of adventure, my son, Nate, and I decided to go for it. I wanted the trip to be lightweight–no canoe rentals or shuttling–so I purchased a couple of heavy-duty river tubes and bright orange telescoping emergency paddles. We packed a dry bag of snacks, water, long-sleeved shirts, and flashlights just in case. My other son, Luke, drove us up to Gilbert and dropped us off then headed up to the cabin to await our arrival.
The water level was perfect–not too low that we’d be dragging the bottom, but also not so high that we couldn’t control our tubes. The temperature was perfect as well. We couldn’t have asked for better conditions. The only flaw in my plan, and it was a big one, was that it was 7:30 p.m. when we finally set out on the river. The sun was supposed to set a little after 8, which meant we’d probably be paddling in the dark. I had minimized this fact in my mind as we prepped for the trip that afternoon, but as we unloaded our tubes and waded into the river under a twilight sky, I began–ever so slightly–to question this scheme.
I forgot my worries, though, once we pushed off and found ourselves gently floating through some of the most beautiful country in the state. The beavers were out, eyeing us from the shore and splashing out of sight when we drifted too close. Great blue herons soared above, homing in on the unsuspecting small mouth bass swimming the shallows. It was a blissful evening in backwater Arkansas.
Then, I started getting texts. We were remote, but I guess not so remote that the outside world couldn’t keep tabs on us. My wife, my mother, and my sister had caught wind of what Nate and I were up to and their better judgement started to blow up my phone. “Um, what are you guys doing? It’s getting late. What time do you think you’ll arrive? Do really think you’ll be able to find the turnoff to Tomahawk Creek in the dark?” I’ll admit, these were all fair questions, and I responded with as many reassurances as I could through the sporadic cell coverage–which probably didn’t help. Continuing on, we began to encounter “reasonable” canoers and kayakers setting up camp, and we fielded the occasional dubious comment: “You guys know where you’re going? Everything OK? You sure about that?”
To be honest, at that point I really wasn’t so sure. Night had fallen and, doing the math, we still had hours to go. Clearly everyone else thought this was a bad idea, and I’ll admit they were probably right, but there wasn’t much Nate and I could do about it. The river only flows one direction. Despite whatever fears were beginning to creep into the edges of our minds, we knew that the only way out was through.
Later that day, when evening came, Jesus said to them, “Let’s cross over to the other side of the lake.” They left the crowd and took him in the boat just as he was. Other boats followed along. Gale-force winds arose, and waves crashed against the boat so that the boat was swamped. But Jesus was in the rear of the boat, sleeping on a pillow. They woke him up and said, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re drowning?” He got up and gave orders to the wind, and he said to the lake, “Silence! Be still!” The wind settled down and there was a great calm. Jesus asked them, “Why are you frightened? Don’t you have faith yet?” Overcome with awe, they said to each other, “Who then is this? Even the wind and the sea obey him!”
I’ve always loved this passage. It’s one of the great adventure stories in the gospels. You can picture the scene so clearly: the gale-force winds, the frightened disciples, the sleeping Jesus, the power of a calming word. There are so many directions you can take this for interpretation. It’s a miracle story, yes. Just as Jesus heals the sick, feeds the multitudes, and walks on water, he can command the elements. I also think that at its root, this passage is a metaphorical snapshot of what it means to be a disciple.
There are choices we make in life that lead us to encounter extraordinary beauty: The choice to travel. The choice to get married or to raise kids. The choice to nurture a friendship. The choice to stand up for what’s right. The choice to join a church. The choice to get baptized and “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.” The catch, though, is that there’s no guarantee that these choices will result in a safe, easy life, or even a pleasant one. Occasionally we will find ourselves on the water in a boat–or an inner tube–at night. God forbid gale-force winds start to blow. And our choices come into question. I guarantee that if the disciples had cell coverage out on that lake they would have been getting worried texts from all their loved ones: “What’s Jesus gotten you into this time? Is this really what you signed up for when you said, ‘I will, with God’s help?’”
Jesus’ response is an interesting one. He doesn’t try to justify the disciples’ choice to follow him into danger, and he doesn’t deny that the danger is real. What he questions is their fear. After giving orders to the wind and the lake to be silent and still, he says, “Why are you frightened? Don’t you have faith yet?” I believe Jesus asks the same of us whenever we face storms in our lives. He is present in the midst of our fear always working to transform chaos into calm. Fear will get us nowhere, but faith will move us forward.
As Nate and I continued our ill-advised journey down the Buffalo at night, our fear began to increase. We tried our flashlights but found that they only attracted bugs, and the thick river bottom air limited our visibility to only a few feet, so we decided to go without. We had to feel our way down rapids and around obstructions, and we were ever cautious of the deeply shadowed trees that overhung the banks.
I remember, though, when our fear began to lift. After quietly drifting by some sleeping campers around the bend at Red Bluff, we were suddenly surrounded by the most vibrant firefly display I had ever seen. The trees on either side of the river were blinking Christmas lights, and the frogs regaled us with carols to accompany the show. Nate and I watched and listened in awed silence as the dark forest came alive to light the way.
The experience calmed our thoughts and gave us the mental clarity to get serious about moving forward. We started to problem-solve. We tethered our tubes so that we wouldn’t be separated, and we occasionally got out of the river to walk along the bank to speed things up. About an hour later, we had made it to the mouth of Tomahawk Creek. Breathing a collective sigh of relief and shouldering our tubes, we hiked the last half a mile up the hollow to the cabin to find a very relieved sister and aunt.
When storms have arisen in your life, where have you noticed Jesus reaching out to calm the chaos? What has he shown you? What have you heard? Who has he tethered you to? What will it take to move forward? Fear gives way to faith, and faith to awe: “Who then is this? Even the wind and the sea obey him!”
Proper 7, Year B