The Lord of the Storm Text: Matthew 8:23-27
Introduction: The World in a Tizzy
We live in an age of manufactured panic. Our headlines scream, our politicians bluster, and our culture is in a perpetual state of high anxiety. We are constantly being told that we are on the brink of some unprecedented catastrophe, whether it be climatic, political, or viral. The world is in a tizzy, and it wants you to be in a tizzy right along with it. The goal of the world, the flesh, and the devil is to get your eyes off of the sovereign Christ and onto the churning waves of circumstance. If they can get you to fear the storm more than you fear God, they have won.
This is nothing new, of course. The names of the storms change, but the underlying spiritual reality does not. The temptation is always the same: to believe that the created thing, the storm, is more powerful and more ultimate than the Creator who holds that storm on a leash. The temptation is to look at the water coming over the side of the boat and conclude that the one sleeping in the stern does not care, or is not able.
The story before us is far more than a simple account of a weather event on the Sea of Galilee. This is a Christological lesson, taught with wind and waves as the visual aids. It is a story designed to answer the most important question anyone can ask: "What kind of a man is this?" The disciples, in their terror, stumbled upon the central question of all reality. Matthew places this account here in his gospel, right after Jesus has demonstrated His authority over disease and right before He demonstrates His authority over demons, to show us that His dominion is total. It is absolute. There is not one square inch of the cosmos over which Christ does not say, "Mine." And that includes the howling wind, the raging sea, and the frantic palpitations of your own heart.
The Text
And when He got into the boat, His disciples followed Him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being covered with the waves; but Jesus Himself was sleeping. And they came to Him and got Him up, saying, "Save us, Lord; we are perishing!" And He said to them, "Why are you so cowardly, you men of little faith?" Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm. And the men marveled, and said, "What kind of a man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?"
(Matthew 8:23-27 LSB)
The Obedient Disciples and the Raging Storm (v. 23-24)
The scene begins with simple obedience, which, as we will see, is often the pathway into the storm.
"And when He got into the boat, His disciples followed Him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being covered with the waves; but Jesus Himself was sleeping." (Matthew 8:23-24)
Notice the sequence. Jesus got into the boat, and His disciples followed Him. They were in the dead center of God's will. They were not out on some rogue fishing trip; they were following their Master. And it was precisely in this place of obedience that the storm hit. This is a crucial lesson for us. We have a sentimental, syrupy kind of Christianity today that assumes that if you are truly following Jesus, your seas will always be placid. But the Bible teaches the precise opposite. Following Jesus does not get you out of storms; it often gets you into them. But the glorious difference is that when you enter the storm in obedience to Him, you enter it with Him.
And what a storm it was. The Greek describes a "great shaking," a seismon megas. This was not a summer squall. This was a violent, boat-swamping tempest, the kind that even seasoned fishermen, which many of these disciples were, would fear. The waves were covering the boat. This was a mortal threat. And in the middle of this chaos, where is Jesus? He is sleeping. This is a profound detail. On one level, it shows us His true humanity. He was weary from a long day of teaching and healing, and He fell asleep. He is not a phantom or a ghost; He is a true man, with a body that gets tired.
But on a much deeper level, His sleep is a picture of perfect, sovereign rest. It is the rest of absolute trust in His Father. It is the rest of the one who knows that not a single wave can crash without the Father's permission. His sleep is a silent sermon on the peace that passes all understanding. While the disciples are panicking, He is at peace. Why? Because He knows who is in charge. The disciples think the storm is in charge. Jesus knows His Father is. His sleep is a rebuke to their frantic fear before He even opens His mouth.
The Panicked Cry and the Piercing Question (v. 25-26a)
The disciples' reaction is entirely natural, and entirely faithless.
"And they came to Him and got Him up, saying, 'Save us, Lord; we are perishing!' And He said to them, 'Why are you so cowardly, you men of little faith?'" (Matthew 8:25-26a)
They rush to Him, wake Him, and cry out, "Save us, Lord; we are perishing!" Now, on the surface, this looks like prayer. They are coming to Jesus for salvation. And it is certainly better than not coming to Him at all. But their cry is saturated with unbelief. The phrase "we are perishing" is not a question; it is a statement of fact from their perspective. They have already done the math. They have assessed the wind, measured the waves, and concluded that their destruction is imminent. Their prayer is not, "Lord, we trust you, help us." It is, "Lord, we are doomed, do something!" Their faith is in the storm, not in the Lord of the storm.
Jesus' response is not an immediate "hush" to the sea. His first action is to address the storm in their hearts. He asks them a sharp, diagnostic question: "Why are you so cowardly, you men of little faith?" The word for cowardly here means timid, fearful. And He connects it directly to the state of their faith. He calls them "oligopistoi," men of little faith. This is a recurring diagnosis He gives His disciples. Their problem is not a lack of evidence. They had seen Him heal lepers and paralytics. Their problem is not a lack of proximity; He is in the boat with them. Their problem is a failure to connect what they knew about Him to their present circumstances.
Their fear was the direct result of their little faith. Fear is what happens when faith is small. When your faith in the power and goodness of Christ shrinks, your fear of circumstances will grow to fill the void. He rebukes them not for waking Him, but for their cowardice. He rebukes them for allowing what they could see, the waves, to deafen them to what they should have known, that the Creator of the waves was taking a nap in their boat.
The Word of Command and the Great Calm (v. 26b)
Having dealt with the greater storm, Jesus then turns His attention to the lesser one.
"Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm." (Genesis 8:26b)
Notice the verb: He "rebuked" the winds and the sea. This is the same word used for casting out a demon or rebuking a fever. He speaks to the elements as a master speaks to an unruly servant. He does not plead with them. He does not negotiate. He commands. And the result is immediate and total. Not only did the storm stop, but it became "perfectly calm." The Greek says a "mega calm," a great calm. The churning sea did not just gradually subside; it became instantly placid. This is not how storms work. This is how creation works when its Lord speaks.
This is a direct revelation of His deity. The Old Testament is abundantly clear about who controls the sea. In Psalm 107, it is Yahweh who "made the storm be still, so that the waves of the sea were hushed." In Psalm 89, it is Yahweh who rules the raging of the sea and stills its waves. The disciples, steeped in these Scriptures, were witnessing something that only God could do. The one who was sleeping like a man now stands and commands like God. He is the God-man, and the creation knows its Master's voice.
The Right Question at Last (v. 27)
The miracle has its intended effect. It drives the disciples from a lesser fear to a greater one.
"And the men marveled, and said, 'What kind of a man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?'" (Matthew 8:27)
They were afraid of the storm, but now they are filled with awe and wonder at Jesus. Mark's gospel says they "feared a great fear." They have moved from a creaturely fear of a created thing to a holy fear of the Creator. Their question, "What kind of a man is this?" is the pivot point of the whole story. They are beginning to understand that the categories they have for "man" are not sufficient to contain Jesus. He is in a category all by Himself.
This is the question that Matthew wants every reader to ask. You cannot read this account and walk away with a tame, domesticated Jesus who is merely a good teacher or a moral example. A good teacher cannot rebuke a hurricane into silence. This man is the one through whom and for whom all things were made. He is the Logos, the divine Word that spoke the universe into existence, and that same Word is now spoken from human lips to bring it back into line. The winds and the sea obey Him because He is the one who wrote the laws they follow. They are not breaking their own laws to obey Him; they are obeying their Lawgiver.
Conclusion: Faith in the Boat
So what are we to do with this? We must see that our world is that boat in the storm. We are beset by cultural tempests, by political squalls, by personal trials that threaten to swamp us. And the temptation is always to run around in a panic, crying out, "We are perishing!" We look at the waves of secularism, of moral chaos, of economic uncertainty, and we conclude that the situation is hopeless.
And in the midst of it all, Jesus asks us the same question He asked His disciples: "Why are you so cowardly, you men of little faith?" He is not asleep in the sense of being unaware or uncaring. He is at rest in His sovereign authority. He is in the boat. This is the central, glorious truth. He has not abandoned His church to the storm. He is with us. And because He is with us, the final outcome is not in doubt.
Our task is not to have a faith that keeps us out of storms. Our task is to have a faith that is robust and confident in the midst of storms. It is to look at the howling winds and crashing waves and to remember who is in the boat with us. He is the Lord of the storm. He is the one whom the winds and the sea obey. And if He can command them with a word, He can certainly keep His own. The question for us is not whether the boat will make it to the other side. The question is whether we will make the journey in cowardly fear or in confident faith.