Have you ever wondered why Jesus led His disciples onto the Sea of Galilee, knowing that there would be a giant squall that nearly sank the boat?

That was the question I proposed last week as I preached to a lovely congregation in Guanajuato, Mexico.  But little did I know that I was going to live the message I preached.

The story begins with the church generously asking me if I would preach the following Sunday.  There were so many reasons to decline the offer –  my Spanish is rusty, I’m shy, there are so many others who could give a much more dynamic sermon, we had to leave on the following Sunday around noon.  But I knew these were just excuses.  I knew that this was something God was requesting of me.

And so I began my sermon preparation, asking the very important first question, “What should I speak about?”

Amidst the ferocious, night winds that pounded our hacienda in the mountains surrounding Guanajuato, followed by peaceful calm mornings, the Lord whispered the story of Jesus calming the storm into my heart.

I read the story anew, taking note of how the disciples worked to keep the boat afloat until suddenly they were forced to wake Jesus.  I saw how they treated their Rabbi as their last resort and then how they accused Him for not caring about their well-being.  The Lord opened my heart to how prayer changes everything – how God sent them into this perfect storm to demonstrate to them how perfect He is – how a big God can calm big storms.

I had enough material to write a book.  Oh, if only I were going to preach in English.

As the week carried on, and we traveled and filled our days with activities, it was clear that I wasn’t going to be able to have my typical 15 – 30 hours of sermon prep time.  A couple of times throughout the week, I even had dreams of showing up ill-prepared to preach with no visual presentation (my equivalent of dreams where you’re naked in a public place).  I began getting nervous, wondering how I was going to possibly get this done.

I decided I needed to consult the Rabbi sleeping in the bottom of the boat.  “Jesus, I’m not sure how this is all going to work out, but I’m trusting you.  You asked me to do this – to cross this sea, so I’m trusting you to get me through it.”

By the time Saturday rolled around, I had most of my message written out.  Writing out sermons is something I never do, but I trembled at the thought of standing on the platform, stuttering through a microphone as I reached for long-forgotten vocabulary words.  That Saturday night, Estela Price selflessly put her packing and sleep on hold to help me fix mis-conjugated verbs and poor word choices.  We finished at 2 AM, but by the time we left for church around 9 AM the next morning, I hadn’t even fully read it over once.

The waves began crashing against my brain.  “You’re just going to read this?  Didn’t you see the dynamic preacher last week?  This is how you’re going to follow it up?  This is how you’re going to represent American pastors?”  I wanted to sink.

I paused.  “Jesus, this is your work.  This is your message.  Speak through me.”

Armed with no striking visual slides to take the attention off my nervous fidgeting, I stood in front of this beautiful congregation.  I simply read the script – walking them through the story of the little boat that almost sank, telling them about the peace that Jesus offers, encouraging them to have a life filled with prayer.  I prayed with them – a little anxious that I didn’t have any notes – but trusting that God would put the words in my mouth.  I encouraged them to invite Jesus into a fear that they had in the past, the present, or the future.  One of the things that came to my lips was, “Maybe your fear has to do with a death of a family member or friend.”  My eyes were closed, but I could hear sniffles – the sound of Jesus calming storms.

After I sat down, the Elder that invited me to preach very graciously thanked me and then asked if there was anyone who wanted to invite the Prince of Peace in their life.  People didn’t hesitate.  Eight or nine people rushed forward.  I learned later that some of them were from a family that experienced a death in the past week and decided to come to church for the first time.

In an amazing act of generosity, the Elder asked if I would lead them to Jesus, and so I prayed with and for them.  “Jesus, I give you my life.  I want you to be my Lord and my God.”

Everything about what happened last week should conclude with me telling you that I gave a very awful sermon, put a congregation to sleep, and embarrassed myself.  Never have I been so uncomfortable and so unprepared in relation to preaching.  But something different happened.  I understand Paul’s words from 2 Corinthians 12:9 when he said, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

This story isn’t about a dynamic sermon given by a confident pastor.  Oh no, quite the contrary.  This is about a God who takes our weak efforts and blows away our expectations.  I’ve never given a sermon followed by people running forward to receive Jesus; there’s no logical reason why it should happen while I was reading a message in my rusty second language.  Sometimes there is no human logic behind what God does and how He does it.  There are only miracles.  This story is not about a perfect vessel.  It’s about a perfect God resting inside the stern.

As we flew home from Dallas to Washington D.C., I looked out the window and saw an enormous, beautiful moon.  It appeared thousands of miles closer, but I knew it was merely an illusion.  Moons don’t change size or come closer.  It’s a matter of perception, for when they’re on the horizon next to objects that seem large to us, we appreciate their grandiose size.  So it is a true with God.  The waves of our circumstances and trials seem overwhelming.  God often brings us to those enormous storms to show us just how big He is.

Mark 4 tells us that the disciples weren’t the only ones on the Sea of Galilee that day.  There were a lot of little vessels being tossed and inundated by the tumultuous waves.  And just as they were all affected by the storm, they were all blessed by Jesus’ miracle.  While I faced my own storm and saw Jesus’ work, there are some that will forever tell the story from their vantage point about how Jesus showed up one Sunday morning in the middle of the storm and said, “Peace.  Be still.”