Amid the roar and rush of a storm, the soul that has learned to lean upon Jesus finds a stillness deeper than the calmest summer noon. The same Lord who once slept in the ship on a heaving sea, while the waves broke over the deck and the disciples cried out in fear, he holds every gust of wind in his hand, and not a storm rises but by his own wise permission. You have not forgotten this, else you would not have called upon his name. But perhaps the noise of the tempest has for a moment drowned the still small voice that whispers, “Peace, be still.” Let me set that quiet word before you afresh.
Long before the dark cloud gathered on the horizon, his mercy had gone before you. It was indeed older than the hills; before the mountains were brought forth, he had carved you upon the palms of his hands. When our thoughts run ahead into a threatening future, they run only along a path that infinite love has already trodden. Nothing can spring upon you by surprise, for the Lord is already there, his kindness forestalling the calamity even while it is yet a shadow in the distance. This storm, whether it breaks upon your roof or passes harmlessly by, is no accident: it comes from a Father’s hand, and that hand is both tender and omnipotent.
Now you have done what faith always does, you have cried to him in your trouble. The prayer that mounts up from a humble heart is the forerunner of mercy. It is the dove sent out from the ark that brings back the olive branch. You have asked that the tornado be held back, and you have added, “if it is your will.” This is the very posture of a child who clings to a father, knowing that his love is wiser than our wishes. He who stilled the tempest on Galilee can speak to the skies above your home and command them to be still. He can also make the wind his messenger to teach you how perfectly safe you are in Jesus when everything outward is shaking. Either way, you are kept by a power that cannot fail.
Do you feel the truth of it? In Christ you are inside the ark right now. You may feel the heaving of the flood, but it can never break the vessel that belongs to God’s own Son. The most furious storm only lifts you higher upon the mercy that upholds you; it cannot swamp the place where Jesus sits with you. The same Savior who bore your sins in his body on the tree holds the helm of the universe and will not steer one wave beyond its appointed bounds. He is the Messenger of the covenant who assures you that God’s face is toward you for good and not for harm.
So rest your heart upon this: the same lips that cried “Finished” upon Calvary will speak either stillness into the storm or stillness into your spirit, and in either case you shall not be lost, nor confounded, nor cast away. The God who clothes the lilies and notes the sparrow’s fall has heard your cry from among the pots, and he will answer in faithfulness. The black clouds are but the folds of the robe of him who rides upon the wings of the wind.
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Lord Jesus, you are the only safe hiding place when the tempest rages. Into your hands we commit these trembling ones. Speak to the heavens above them, and let not the whirlwind come near their dwelling, if it be your gracious will. Be their calm when reason is tossed about, their sanctuary when the eye can see only terror. Let them feel the everlasting arms beneath them, and let them know that neither wind nor rain nor any thing in all creation can separate them from your love. Keep them through the night, and bring them into the morning with a new song of deliverance. In your name we ask it. Amen.