As I embarked on my morning walk, the words to a song that I sang as a four-year-old sitting in a small wooden chair around a little wooden table erupted in my heart. Every week we would end the Sunday School hour by folding our hands, bowing our heads and singing:
“Into my heart, into my heart,
Come into my heart, Lord, Jesus.
Come in today, Come in to stay,
Come into my heart, Lord Jesus.”
It seems eons since I had even thought of those words and yet what a precious memory it evoked some six plus decades later. And so quite naturally I began singing, first silently in my own mind until the thoughts gave way to voice. Over and over I sang it as I rounded corners. “Into my heart, Into my heart, Come into my heart, Lord Jesus….”
That morning’s Gospel reading had taken me to Mark 6:45-52, a scene with which many are familiar. The disciples are in a boat, a storm is brewing, they are doing everything possible to stay afloat, and Jesus is no where to be seen.
I don’t know about you, but I can relate to that. Anxiety, fear, the need to hold everything together — or at least try to. In fact, sometimes it can be so overwhelming there’s a sense to just give up. To go down with the ship. Maybe you know those feelings as well.
And then the disciples see Jesus. He is not flailing His arms, He is not panic stricken, He is not overwhelmed by the waves, He is not even running toward them in alarm. He is simply walking in the midst of the storm … a storm that seems to be overtaking them and their boat. And what does He say? “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” The Passion Translation reads, “Don’t yield to fear. Have courage. It’s really Me — I Am!” If we listen closely, we might even hear Him say, “I AM the Lord of the storm.” Ask Me in to the boat with you.”
From our perspective, it might seem that Jesus can say these words so calmly because He’s not the one in trouble. He’s not battling the winds or trying to stay afloat. After all, He IS the I Am. Yet He seems so distant.
Then Mark tells us that Jesus climbed into the boat with them and the stormy winds immediately became still. No doubt “they were completely and utterly overwhelmed with astonishment.” I think I would have been as well.
No doubt the miracle of walking on the water was pretty impressive, and it’s the part of the story we remember and talk about. But could it be that the real miracle occurs when Jesus climbs into the boat and stills not only the outward storm but maybe more importantly the storms going on within the hearts of His disciples?
Maybe like me, you have had your own storms of the heart. Fear of the future. Resentment over past hurts. Anger that keeps a grip. Control issues. Or the daddy of them all: pride that shows itself in a thousand ways. The list is pretty endless. The question is are we going to keep battling the storms by just rowing harder and harder? Or are we going to ask Jesus to climb into the boat with us?
Thankfully, the disciples let Him in. Despite their fear, and confusion and utter astonishment, they made room in their wind-tossed,sinking boat. And what happened? The winds calmed. The Word actually uses the word “ceased.” Why? Because Jesus had taken His place in the boat. And where He is there is peace.
So about my childhood prayer, “Into my heart”? I changed a word and as I rounded the block, I sang:
Come into my boat, Lord Jesus.
Come in today, Come into stay.
Come into my boat, Lord Jesus.”
“Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” Words not spoken from a distance, but from the edge of the boat to be welcomed inside.
Won’t you sing the invitation with me? We each just might find “stillness.”
Just an ordinary moment.
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