All of theology – every kind of religion – our ideas about God, and our commitment to them: all of these are the result of what you might call (in the playoff season) ‘post-game analysis.’ We have decided ‘who God is and what God is like because we have come through some things, and in the end, we’re still standing (or at least, sitting comfortably) and maybe we learned some things in the bargain. Maybe we got what we wanted but found out we didn’t want what we got. Perhaps we endured a loss – we adapted to change. We’ve tumbled through life and brushed ourselves off and said, “thank God – it looks like we’re gonna be ok.”

And after a number of those encounters, we conclude that God is our refuge and strength – a very present help in times of trouble. Ancient Hebrew poets and writers of modern screenplays give us the perspective we need to try to understand what has happened, and why. We share the story of our encounter with the mystery of the divine. We give credit where credit is due, all while acknowledging that God’s ways are hard to fathom. And we grow stronger when we share the stories – and when others draw strength from them.

And God is at the centre of it all, not because we understand it all, but because God is an explanation that gives us a solid place to stand. This is religion 101. There are nuances – there are exceptional circumstances. But there are these shared stories, that become our stories, which give us confidence.

But that, as I say, is after the fact. After the storm – when the grief begins to subside – when the chance that you took bears fruit, or an unexpected bit of joy takes root and bears fruit.

In the middle of the crisis – at the heart of the storm – when everything is going pear-shaped – it’s harder to find God – to recognize God at work. The question we are taught to ask in seminary is “Where is God in all this?” But in the heat of the moment, it often feels like Jesus is asleep in the back somewhere – oblivious to the danger.

This story feels odd for a few reasons. First: weren’t a few of the twelve fishermen in a former life? Haven’t they spent some time on the water – presumably weathered a storm or two?

Second, what kind of leader is so dismissive of the concerns of his people?

In the end, Jesus comes to the rescue. An unnatural calm and quiet descend – and the disciples are ‘filled with great awe.’ The disciples’ question (and not for the last time) what the limits of Jesus’ power might be. But no one notices the life lesson. No one understands that this moment is a living parable.

We would use Jesus’ power over the elements to affirm his identity as the Messiah – the son of God. But this particular miracle is not the point of the story. Jesus brings the silence so the disciples can hear the lesson. He connects fear and faith in a way that helps us understand our own moments of dread and doubt.

Fear kept them from remembering that they had, in their midst, at least four capable sailors. Fear overwhelmed this otherwise capable group of people so that they were incapable of trusting one another. Their faith in one another was undermined, and so the threat from the storm was magnified.

Yes, in the end, the Messiah saved them. Jesus turned this moment into an object lesson for them and for us. Faith and fear can undo one another.

Jesus questioned their faith, not because it is mandatory for God to save faithful people from every dangerous circumstance – we know that is not what happens. Bad things happen to good, faithful people; this is one of the facts of life that makes faith in God so challenging. Jesus questioned their faith because the disciples had the skills and knowledge among them to weather the storm. And it was fear that kept them from remembering that – fear that kept them frozen. Fear that led them to the conclusion that either God will save us, or we will not be saved.

Fear reduces the situation to an either-or option. Faith opens the doors to a wider variety of solution.

The world seems so horrible – so dangerous – so badly broken right now. And it is made worse by folks who fan the flames of our fear – people in powerful positions who reduce the world to a series of binary options: us or them. Decline or growth. Partnerships or protectionism. And most of us have asked – at least once – ‘where is God in all this?’

Again, there are those who would say God is either completely absent, or right here on “My” side. But maybe Jesus is just resting in the back.

Maybe Jesus would lift a weary eyelid and whisper “faith or fear?’ Maybe the lesson is in that question, and not in the calming of the waves. Maybe, just maybe, the collective wisdom and experience that we have of the goodness of God is enough to sail through this.

We are prone to treating the miracle stories in Scripture almost like magic tricks. Jesus alone knows the secrets, and so miracles are meant to remind us how good and powerful Jesus is. But Jesus spent his life explaining the secret. He took us behind the scenes and gave us the means to manage things. “Love God with all your heart. Love your neighbour as yourselves.” “Be merciful as your father in heaven is merciful.” Don’t be afraid. More than anything else, Jesus would remind us of the devastating effect fear can have. Fear immobilizes, while faith liberates. Fear divides and isolates. Faith fosters relationship. Fear blinds us to the fact that Jesus is still with us – full of the love and power of God. Faith lets us see the image of God in everyone we meet.

Our ‘Christian Faith’ is more than just faith in Jesus or a belief that he lived, died and was raised. Christian faith is the engagement with the stories of every generation of believers – engagement with the gifts of a community that comes together in a common cause – Our Christian faith encourages faith in one another – in spite of our differences – and it is that faith that conquers fears and weathers storms. Even when Jesus is asleep