Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Growing up can be dangerous. We hear far too often, as we did this week, of young people taking risks that end in tragedy. The quarries have claimed another young life—one treasured by many in our community, including some of our members.

It seems ironic that this death was by water, given the story that is our gospel text today in which our Lord demonstrates power over wind and wave. Still, the gospel story calls to mind a time of danger in my own youth.

I was perhaps 7 or 8 years old. My mother had taken "the boys"-my older brother, my twin brother, and me—swimming. It was at Springwood Lake in Richmond, one of my favorite places way back then. And I had not yet learned at the local YMCA how to swim.

I was tall for my age even then. And I got to wondering how far I could go out from the beach. As you might guess, it was quite far. And, I might add, too far. I quickly got to the point at which nearly all that was above the fairly calm surface were my nose, eyes, and forehead.

Why the lifeguard didn't notice, I'll never know. As I found myself on tip-toe in order to breathe, the thought of drowning entered my mind; but I never thought to raise my arm and try to get someone's attention. I did think of trying to grab something—another person, a rope, or a buoy. I was in over my head, but there was nothing to cling to.

With the many people swimming between me and the beach, currents began to make it difficult for me to hold my footing—or, more accurately, "toe-ing." I was really scared. And how I managed, finally, to bob up and down, moving against the flow of water and the slant of the bottom, I'll never know. But I did make it back.

My mother never knew. In fact, I have rarely mentioned it since. I was ashamed of my stupidity, and I was terribly frightened. I have never thought of water in quite the same way since.

Water is the most prevalent material on the earth. Our bodies are primarily made of water. It is essential to life. Indeed, it is our sacramental sign of adoption as children of God, but too much water can be threatening. Witness the flooding that has taken place in several States in recent days. Even our story of creation says that God's Spirit brooded over the chaos of the water and formed order and dry land. The sea is an ancient symbol of chaos for good reason.

Water is very powerful. The constant threat to those who dared travel along the water's surface was that the power of the deep might swell up and overtake them. Those who live near the water know that flooding is always a possibility. Storms and squalls keep even landed creatures from being secure. It takes only the force of water to carve vast canyons.

But water is also the source of life. And it is in the sea that life first arose. The sea—a symbol of both danger and nurture—forms the backdrop for our gospel story. From the fourth chapter of Mark's Gospel when Jesus gets into a boat to teach until the eighth chapter, when Peter recognizes him as the Messiah, the sea is always nearby. Mark addresses readers who know the sea well. They know water to be the substance of life. They know wind to be the energy of life and wave to be the nature of life. Sometimes the nature of life—those waves of life—are overpowering. That's something I learned early at Springwood, and we all learn it through life's ebb and flow of joy and sorrow.

This wave pattern is present in the story for today. The disciples and Jesus have had a hard day, but it's almost over. Jesus is finished teaching, and they're ready for rest. They set out for the other side of the sea, but a storm arises and the waves beat into the boat so that it's almost swamped. The disciples panic.

It's been suggested that they have the same fear that Noah had when he realized he was on a wooden ark with at least two termites. That's funny, but the disciples weren't laughing. They were afraid that they would be in over their heads.

Just as I did so many years ago, the disciples were looking for something or someone to hang on to. And where is their Lord? In the stern on a cushion, asleep.

The disciples wanted to know that Jesus was there for them, that he cared. And, of course, he did. The story takes that caring one step further. After Jesus woke, he speaks to the winds and the waves. "Peace! Be still!" And they obeyed.

In telling this story, Mark is assuring us that Jesus is stronger than the chaos of life. Jesus both cares and acts to demonstrate that caring. The winds cease and calm is restored. "Peace! Be still!"

That truth applies to us personally. It also applies to the church. Whenever we read stories about boats in scripture, we know that there is an element of relevance for the church. We call this sanctuary a "nave"; it's the Latin word for "boat." And the words of Jesus are spoken to a church always beset by storms. "Peace! Be still!" When we feel rocked or shaken, when our way is not the one chosen by the majority, when the church calls us to discuss issues we would rather avoid, we cling to Jesus.

In an editorial, Martin Marty berates the church for its incivility in the face of conflict. He writes:

"[One may] go to churches or synagogues to observe the twitching and yawning, eye-rolling and frowning that qualify congregants for the Hall of Fame of Incivility. Talk to bishops, overseers, superintendents, visitors, fixers or conflict resolvers and they will report on scowls and growls as congregants battle over "contemporary" versus "traditional" worship. They will suggest that you be ready with Band-Aids and casts when the pipe organist and the lead guitarist or drummer fight over the structure of the next service...

"In some divided congregations labor still sits on one side of the aisle and management on the other, 50 years after a sundering strike. "Everyone Is Welcome," says the sign out front.

"Watch a congregation debating the hymns to be sung, the architect to be employed, the arrangement of pots at a potluck supper, the response to a prophetic or, conversely, a bland sermon and whether or not to fire the pastor, and you will yawn at the milder gestures [in the world of politics and commerce]...

"Congregations have better models, such as the one invoked at the end of worship when members ask for benedictions from a Lord who would make his face shine upon them. They ask the Lord to "lift up his countenanceand give peace." After which they depart for the safer secular world." (Christian Century, 5/31/03, 55)

That kind of behavior on the church-boat, as Marty asserts, is far from helpful. I'm glad he doesn't call it un-Christian. For we Christians know that we're no better than others; we have all sinned and fall short. We should not, however, leave our mutual respect and civility as people of God in the parking lot as we enter the House of God.

What Marty describes is not the kind of place we need in the shifting sands of a world gone mad over material goods, popularity, appearance, and bank accounts. We need a place where we hear from our Lord and speak to one another those glorious words that come to us from Mark's gospel today. "Peace! Be still!" We need a place where we all know that the water is churning around us and our toe-holds may not be reliable. We need to know our grounding in faith and the fundamental things that bind us together. We need to recognize that we are all in the same boat, and that it is to Christ that we cling.

Note, though. It is not the church that is our rock; this gets too easily confused. The church, in the story-become-analogy before us, is the ship that is tossed and battered. The rock, the anchor, the place of identity and security is Jesus Christ. The rock is the God who stands, even on the shakier foundation of water, holding on to us, speaking to us a word of peace and stillness.

Fear imprisons, faith liberates;

fear paralyzes, faith empowers;

fear disheartens, faith encourages;

fear sickens, faith heals;

fear makes useless, faith makes serviceable. (Fosdick)

The church is "not a luxury liner, granting passage and comfort to all who qualify and clamber aboard" but rather "like a rescuing lifeboat, sometimes listing, or even leaking, but always guided by the captain, Jesus, at the helm." (Bishop Lyle G. Miller)

Perhaps this story provides a fitting bookend for the one with which I began:

A father was observed holding his little child in his arms and standing in a swimming pool. As the father waded deeper into the pool, the child began to struggle more and more. The child feared what might happen if the father let go. Had the child been able to analyze the situation, he would have realized that the water was already over his head, no matter where in the pool the father stood. (Rev. Stephanie Weiner, "In Over Our Heads," The Protestant Hour, 6/22/03)

So it is for us, when times seem chaotic and the waters and winds and waves of life threaten and we know we're in over our heads. We, like the disciples, are tempted to pull back, to distance ourselves crying out "Jesus, don't you care?"

The truth is that we are held in God's arms, no matter what the depth of the water. We are already in over our heads, but if we hold still for a moment, we may recognize that we can trust completely in the One who brings peace and calm.

When the toe-holds seem to be giving way, there is One to whom we may cling. Amen.

May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.