Silent Participant

Up until a few years ago, when I read the Bible, I read it as one it dimensional: black and red words on white pages. Then I watched a new series called The Chosen, which is about the calling of 12 disciples.

As I watched the actors act out the stories familiar to me, something happened: the theater in my mind was activated and the stories came alive. That experience prompted me to change the way I read Scripture, to read it as if I’m a silent observer or even a silent participant.

For instance, in Luke 8, starting in verse 22.

V22) One day Jesus got into a boat with his disciples and said to them, “Let’s go across to the other side of the lake.”

During that time period, the boat wasn't beside a dock, it was out from shore, which meant everyone had to take off their sandals, hoist up their tunics, and wade into the water to climb into the boat.

Then they set out...

This wasn't a pontoon party boat with a motor, or even a canoe, it was a heavy wooden boat loaded with people. It would take several men to paddle—a labor-intensive task in perfect weather conditions. I imagine there was loud conversation among the disciples, perhaps discussing what they had witnessed that day.

Until, as verse 23 says: Jesus fell asleep.

I imagine the disciples started elbowing each other, nodding in Jesus' direction so their conversation quieted so as not to disturb him.

The verse continues: Now a violent windstorm came down on the lake and the boat started filling up with water, and they were in danger.

Picture it. They’d been paddling in silence across the calm lake. A routine trip suddenly becomes life threatening. The water is angry, the boat is cresting on the top of the wave and then plummeting. Water is pouring in over the sides into the boat. The men paddling the boat are battling against the waves, desperately trying to steer. Perhaps some of the disciples are trying to bail out the water—a futile attempt because as they dump a bucketful out, more water rushes in. Others are clinging to the sides, hanging on for dear life. Maybe some are cowering in the hull, and maybe one or two would be like me—hanging my head over the side, seasick and terrified. Remember, some of these men were experienced fisherman— brave men—and navigating storms was not a one-time occurrence. So for them to be fearful in this storm, it had to be really bad.

And all the while, Jesus is asleep, seemingly oblivious to what's happening. At some point, someone realized they needed to wake Jesus. After all, they had watched Him perform countless miracles. Surely, He could do something.

Humorously, I wonder if—even in all their distress—if there was a bit of reluctance to wake Jesus. The Bible doesn't say who woke him, but I can picture a conversation. Peter calls to someone, perhaps Thomas, who was in the back of the boat near Jesus: "Wake up Jesus!" Thomas, not wanting to be the one to disturb Jesus, shakes his head, "I'm not going to wake Him, you wake Him." Peter calls out to another disciple, and shaking their head, says "Nope, not me." Perhaps, in frustration, Peter shrugs his shoulders and makes his way to the back of the boat and awakens Jesus.

Or perhaps it wasn't like that at all but it was the collective, frantic yelling of "Master, Master, we are about to die!" that woke Jesus.

Verse 24 continues: So, He—Jesus—got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waves; they died down, and it was calm.

Just like that—in an instant—and with three powerful words: “Silence, be still,” the sea obeyed Jesus. The angry, crashing waves became like glass.

Can you picture the disciples' reaction? The sudden stop—the stillness—may have caused them to stumble to regain their balance. Mouths were gaped. In awestruck wonder, they try to process what they had just experienced.

I, too, am awestruck by this miracle.

So, for me, when I insert myself in the account of this storm, pondering the plausible, unmentioned details, it makes the miracle all that much more profound. It’s more than ink on paper. It has depth. It provokes emotion. It is alive. It makes the miracle of Jesus' speaking to the storm—and the storm obeying—all that much more powerful.

It certainly reminds me that in the midst of my storm, when I am wrestling the waves and battling the fear, that while Jesus may be silent at the moment—He is in the boat with me. And if I call on Him, one of two things will happen: Either He will either calm my storm or He will calm me and give me the strength and courage to keep paddling. Either way, He will get me to the shore.

So, when I slow down to read as a participant in these stories, I become a witness to the authority, power, compassion, and love of Jesus. I'm not just reading His word, I'm experiencing it. And that is life-changing!