The Sleeping Lord of the Waves Text: Luke 8:22-25
Introduction: A Test on the Water
We come now to a passage that is familiar to every Sunday School student, which is precisely why we are in danger of misunderstanding it. We have domesticated this story. We have turned it into a gentle flannelgraph lesson about how Jesus will make all our troubles go away if we just ask nicely. But this is not a gentle story. This is a story about cosmic authority, raw panic, and the kind of faith that is supposed to function in the teeth of the gale, not just in the calm of the harbor.
The disciples are about to get a lesson in Christology, and the classroom is a storm-tossed boat on the Sea of Galilee. This is not an abstract lecture. This is a final exam, administered by God, on the nature of His Son. And as we shall see, the disciples fail spectacularly. But their failure, and the Lord's response to it, is filled with glorious instruction for us. For we too are in a boat, on a sea, and the storms are a regular feature of the Christian life. Discipleship is not safe. If you signed up for Christianity because you thought it was a pleasure cruise, you have been seriously misinformed. Jesus does not promise to keep us from storms; He promises to be with us in them. The question is whether we will believe Him.
This account is a direct confrontation with the ancient pagan mind, and with our modern secular one as well. The pagan world was terrified of the sea. To them, it was a realm of chaos, ruled by capricious and monstrous deities. For the materialist, the storm is just a meaningless collision of atmospheric pressures and water molecules, a blind and purposeless force. But for the Christian, the storm is a creature. It has a Master. And that Master is in the boat with His people. This story forces a fundamental question that every soul must answer: Who is in charge here? Is it chaos? Is it blind chance? Or is it the Man sleeping on the cushion?
The Text
Now it happened that on one of those days He and His disciples got into a boat, and He said to them, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So they set out. But as they were sailing along, He fell asleep, and a windstorm descended on the lake, and they began to be swamped and in danger. And they came to Him and woke Him up, saying, “Master, Master, we are perishing!” And He woke up and rebuked the wind and the surging waves, and they stopped, and it became calm. And He said to them, “Where is your faith?” They were fearful and marveled, saying to one another, “Who then is this, that He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey Him?”
(Luke 8:22-25 LSB)
Sovereign Intent and Human Exhaustion (v. 22-23)
We begin with the simple command that sets the entire scene in motion.
"Now it happened that on one of those days He and His disciples got into a boat, and He said to them, 'Let us go over to the other side of the lake.' So they set out. But as they were sailing along, He fell asleep..." (Luke 8:22-23a)
Notice the glorious and understated sovereignty here. Jesus says, "Let us go over to the other side of the lake." This was not a suggestion. It was a declaration of intent. The Lord of heaven and earth, the one through whom all things were made, has stated the travel plan. This simple sentence ought to have been the anchor for the disciples' souls when the waves started breaking over the bow. The destination was fixed by the Word of God. The only question was whether they would get there in faith or in a state of shrieking panic.
The fact that they were in the storm at all was a direct result of their obedience to Jesus. This is a crucial lesson. We often fall into the sentimental trap of thinking that if we are in a trial, we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. But here, the disciples are in the dead center of God's will, and they are about to be swamped. Following Jesus does not lead you away from storms; it often leads you directly into them. God is more interested in training His sailors than He is in guaranteeing them a placid sea.
And in the midst of this, Jesus falls asleep. This is a beautiful and profound detail. It demonstrates His true humanity. The eternal Word, who upholds the universe by the word of His power, had taken on flesh. He got tired. He had spent the day teaching the multitudes, healing the sick, and pouring Himself out. And so, He slept. This wasn't a feigned sleep. He was genuinely exhausted. This should be a great comfort to us. He is not a distant, unfeeling deity, but one who has experienced our weakness, yet without sin. His humanity means He can sympathize with us. But as we will see, His divinity means He can save us.
The Test Begins (v. 23b-24a)
The placid scene is shattered by the sudden violence of the storm.
"...and a windstorm descended on the lake, and they began to be swamped and in danger. And they came to Him and woke Him up, saying, 'Master, Master, we are perishing!'" (Luke 8:23b-24a LSB)
The Sea of Galilee is notorious for these sudden, violent storms. It sits in a basin surrounded by hills, and the cool air from the heights can descend rapidly, churning the water into a frenzy. These were not novice sailors; many of them were professional fishermen who knew this lake like the back of their hands. For them to be afraid, for them to conclude that they were perishing, means this was no ordinary squall. This was a monster.
Their reaction is pure, unfiltered panic. "Master, Master, we are perishing!" Their cry is a mixture of desperation and accusation. Mark's gospel adds the touch of raw insult: "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" (Mark 4:38). Their fear has completely eclipsed their faith. They have forgotten His power, which they had seen on display countless times. They have forgotten His promise to get to the other side. All they can see are the waves, the wind, and the water filling the boat. Their circumstances have become their god, and it is a terrifying one.
Fear is a liar. It whispers that God is asleep, that He is indifferent, that He is powerless. It screams that your problem is bigger than your God. And in this moment, the disciples believed the lie. They looked at the sleeping Christ not as their sovereign Lord in repose, but as an irresponsible captain sleeping on the job. Their faith was not entirely absent, they did go to Him, after all, but it was a panicked, desperate, last-resort kind of faith. It was the faith of men who had exhausted all their own options.
The Rebuke and the Calm (v. 24b)
Jesus' response to the chaos is one of supreme and effortless authority.
"And He woke up and rebuked the wind and the surging waves, and they stopped, and it became calm." (Genesis 1:3 LSB)
He does not wake with a start. He is not alarmed. He rises and does two things: He rebukes the creation, and then He rebukes His disciples. Notice the order. He deals with the presenting problem first. He speaks to the wind and the water as one would speak to an unruly dog. The word "rebuked" is the same word used for casting out demons. He is addressing the elemental forces of His own creation, and they are subject to His command. He doesn't plead with the storm. He doesn't negotiate. He commands.
And the result is instantaneous. "They stopped, and it became calm." The Greek indicates a "great calm." Not only did the wind cease, but the churning waves, which would naturally take hours to subside, were immediately stilled. This is not a natural phenomenon. This is a creative act. The one who said "Let there be light" now says "Let there be calm," and reality rearranges itself to obey Him. This is a direct display of the power of Yahweh from the Old Testament, who alone rules the raging of the sea (Psalm 89:9). Jesus is not just a prophet or a teacher; He is the Lord of creation.
The Piercing Question and the Terrifying Answer (v. 25)
With the water now like glass, Jesus turns to the storm raging inside the disciples' hearts.
"And He said to them, 'Where is your faith?' They were fearful and marveled, saying to one another, 'Who then is this, that He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey Him?'" (Luke 8:25 LSB)
His question is sharp and to the point: "Where is your faith?" He does not ask, "Did you have faith?" He knows they have some, or they would not have woken Him. He asks where it was. It was present, but it was not active. It was in their back pocket, not in their hands on the oars. Their faith was theoretical, not functional. They believed in Him in the abstract, but when the water was pouring in, they trusted in their own fear. This is a question that echoes down to us. Where is your faith when the medical report comes back? Where is your faith when the pink slip arrives? Where is your faith when the culture rages against the Lord and His Christ? Is it a doctrine you affirm, or is it the very lens through which you see the storm?
And look at their response. The storm is gone, but now they are filled with a new kind of fear. "They were fearful and marveled." The Greek implies a much greater fear than what they felt during the storm. This is the holy terror of being in the presence of unmediated divine power. They were afraid of drowning before. Now they are afraid of God. They thought they were in a boat with a man, a remarkable man, but a man nonetheless. They are now beginning to realize they are in a boat with the one whom the winds and the sea obey.
Their question, "Who then is this?" is the central question of all the Gospels. It is the question every human being must answer. They are grappling with the sheer otherness of Jesus. He is a man who gets tired and sleeps. He is also the one who can command a hurricane to sit down and be quiet. He is fully man and fully God, and in this boat, the two natures are on stunning display. They are beginning to understand that the chaos of the storm was far less dangerous than the holy power of the one who was sleeping peacefully in their midst.
Conclusion: The Greater Storm
This event is more than a nature miracle; it is a parable of redemption. The condition of the disciples in the boat is the condition of every man outside of Christ. We are in a boat, swamped by the consequences of our sin, perishing in the storm of God's righteous judgment. We are utterly helpless to save ourselves. Our best efforts at bailing are a joke against the deluge.
And in that boat is the Son of God. But for our salvation to be accomplished, He could not simply sleep through the storm of judgment. On the cross, Jesus faced a far greater storm than the one on Galilee. He faced the full, unmitigated tempest of the wrath of God against our sin. He did not rebuke that storm. He absorbed it. He took the waves of judgment into Himself. He cried out, not "Master, we are perishing," but "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" He perished, so that we would not have to.
And because He endured that ultimate storm and rose again on the third day, He can now speak peace to the storms in our lives. When we cry out to Him, not in panicked unbelief, but in dependent faith, He rises to our defense. He rebukes the chaos of our sin and brings a great calm to our souls. The question "Where is your faith?" is therefore the most practical question in the universe. Our only safety is to place our trust not in our own abilities, not in the calmness of the sea, but entirely in the person and work of this man, Jesus Christ, whom even the winds and the sea obey. For He is not just the Lord of the storm; He is the Lord of all.