Nearly three summers ago we were standing at the dock at Capernaum (Kefar-nahum, the “Village of Nahum”) at the northern end of the Sea of Galilee in Israel.  It was here that Jesus began his ministry; it was here that he began to call together his disciples; it was here that he stayed in the house of Peter’s mother; it was here that things began to change.

Jesus had come from a little farming village, some 2000 feet higher, hidden up in the hills to the West, to this bustling lakeside town.

Capernaum also had much better agriculture than Nazareth. Not only was it warmer at 700 feet below sea level, there was fertile volcanic soil rather than the chalky soil of Nazareth.

Capernaum had two others factors in favor of its growth that were not present in Nazareth at all: fishing and trade. Its location on the main branch of the international trade route between Egypt to the southwest and Mesopotamia to the northeast was significant.

Our little touring group of friends, Jews and Christians, had been to the place where Jesus preached his Sermon that we call the Beatitudes, just a half-day’s walk from Capernaum … where the people had gathered in a natural amphitheatre in the hill and Jesus (as the Gospel tells us) “looked up at them and began to speak.”  We had visited the ruins of the Synagogue in Capernaum, walked into the rather new and architecturally out-of-place church that sits directly over Peter’s Mother’s House, and now we were at the dock … waiting.

The Sea of Galilee can be one moment still and peaceful (the word the New Testament uses, in the Greek Koine is Siwpaw) and at the next moment can become a raging storm with huge swells and crashing waves.  It’s all because the winds that come from the West (from the Mediterranean) gather strength as they rush over the highland around Jerusalem, and then as they drop those 700 feet below sea-level, turn into a rushing blast.

We stood and watched the boat come to the dock, the boat that was to be our transport across the lake to a large kibbutz where we were going to dine on St. Peter’s Fish.  The wind was blowing, the swells on the Sea of Galilee were rather intense.  The people who disembarked from the boat were looking a trifle green and were quite damp obviously from the sea spray that had come upon them.

We asked, “How was it?”  Mostly people shook their heads … not only because they maybe spoke another language, but because it had not been all that smooth a ride.

Beverly turned to me and said, “What do you think?”  I said, “Did you bring your Dramamine™?”  “No.”  “Well, it’ll be just fine.”

We got into the boat which was rocking and rolling and the captain took us out toward Tiberius first (on the Western side of the lake) and then headed across to the kibbutz.  He did this, he said, because it would make for a little smoother crossing.  (I don’t really know if that’s what he said, because it was of course in Hebrew, and my Hebrew isn’t that good … but that’s what my friend and brother Rabbi Schwab told us.)

It was really fun, actually.  And we got safely to the other side and had a wonderful meal and a great time.

But it gave those of us who live on the Jesus’ side of the biblical story a chance to think about the reading from the Gospel where Jesus tells the storm to be quiet.  It’s today’s Gospel portion.

We are, by the way, in our liturgical Year of Mark, actually back reading from the gospel of Mark each Sunday … at least for the next 5 weeks.

Mark places this story in his Gospel account of the life and times of Jesus after the series of teachings/parables which he has taught his disciples.  I think it’s intentional.

In Mark’s telling, Jesus faced the demons in the desert, began his ministry with an exorcism, performs more healings of those possessed with demons, banishes the demons to the deep and now is sleeping in the back of the boat that is tossing about on the Sea of Galilee and worse than that, it’s nighttime.  It’s a night crossing.  Pretty scary.

Another ¾ … or more likely 5/16 Sermon, meaning that it “finished” in the pulpit, a bit differently at both Services, but something like this:

I told a story about sitting in Quaker Worship at the Friends Meeting in Santa Fe on Canyon Road as a part of my first sabbatical in memory of my Grandmother, a Quaker … that for Lutherans, being silent for 30 seconds is asking a lot, for Benedictines 15 minutes is normal, and for Quakers … one hour is done as simply as breathing.  And that, after 35 minutes of talking to God, saying all the prayers I could think of, praying for all the names I could remember … I finally sank into what we call the “First Rule of Spirituality”: listening!  What came in that listening time was strength, the presence of the Holy One, courage, an understanding of what I needed to do in order to love God, love neighbor, and much, much more.

Then I pondered that the whole story today was about the very small taking control of the seemingly very large … David and Goliath; the 2 words (Peace! Still!) by Jesus in the Boat.  And that the Gospel itself is found not in the talking endlessly, but in the listening and speaking quietly.