Peter reached for Jesus, grabbing fistfuls of wet robe. Shaking him violently he cried, "Master! Dammit! Master! Wake up! We are perishing!" His eyes fluttered open. I heard Peter scream mere inches from Jesus' face, "For God's sake man, help us bail! Do something!" Then with vehemence, "We are ready to sink like a stone! Don't you care at all? How can you sleep through this?" At this point, under these circumstances, Peter was by default our leader, our captain, indeed, our savior. This was clearly not Jesus' field of expertise. Peter had survived countless storms on this lake. Even though he said it was bigger than any he had seen, we still looked to Peter, not to Jesus, to get us out of this. Our first mistake. But Jesus was a carpenter, not a sailor. What did he know of storms and waves and boats?

I was close enough to see his eyes. He looked at Peter with what at first I thought was rage, but then they softened. He took Peter's wrists and said simply, "Where is your faith, Simon? Release me." Peter unclenched the powerful fists that were filled with the Master's robes. He was bewildered, angry, exasperated. "Faith? While we are drowning, you speak of faith? Where is your sanity, man? Awake now! Get up! Help us bail!" Just then, another wave struck us, heaving the stern of the boat where Jesus lay up high into the wind, which shrieked through his clothes. What was the point of waking him? What could he do now? It would have been a merciful thing to let him drown in his sleep.

Grasping at the rigging, Jesus managed to stand. He looked at the sea heaving and tossing, then into the darkening sky. Spray stung his face. Facing the wind, fist raised at the webbing of lightning spread across the sky, he actually laughed! Into this black, raging storm, he laughed! As if all this were entertainment! As if it were a joyous game! I can assure you, I laughed not. None of us laughed. Why this infuriating smugness? Surely he is aware of the danger? Did he not see that the boat was filled almost to the gunnels with water? Was he mocking us, naively ignorant, oblivious to his own peril? Questions, the absurdities of which were not seen for the madness of our fear. Clouds had obliterated the stars and moon; dark, foreboding and terrible, stabbed with fire, a fitting place for death, not mocking laughter!?

In our panic, the other boats were forgotten. Abishag barked, and as was her habit it seemed, only once. The dog! I had forgotten the animal had been sleeping under the bench where Jesus himself slept. Unlike the rest of us, the creature did not seem excited. She looked at Jesus and sniffed at the wind. The Master released a hand from the rigging, the deck wallowing madly, chaotically, and stroked the animal's head.

Turning his face from the wind, he spoke to all of us, "Where is your faith? Why are you all so frightened?" We saw the water in our boat, felt the biting wind and soaked from the waves, wondered again if Jesus had taken leave of his mind.

And then, to our amazement, he spoke to the elements, sentient beings, as if they themselves had a mind of their own. "Peace!" he cried to the winds. Suddenly, instantly, there was no wind. No wind at all. Not so much as an errant eddy. "Be still!" The cannonading, shrieking wind evaporated as smoke from a tallow. He spoke again to the waves. This took a few seconds longer but, in that time, the waves subsided unnaturally, and the surface of the water, undulating rhythmically, became as smooth as glass. For the first time we could see the other boats. Some were swamped completely with men in the water. Abishag barked again, panting contentedly.

Jesus spoke to Peter, spoke to all of us again and for the third time asked of us, "Where is your faith?" I thought you knew. The disappointment in his eyes, palpable.

Our minds could not begin to conceive the reality of what had just happened. Had I not seen it with my own eyes, had I not been there to experience it myself, I could never have believed it. Things like this did not occur. It is beyond the capacity of the mind to imagine. Questions flooded my mind. The others questioned as well. "What manner of man is this? Who is this?" Jesus merely returned to his bench, the coil of rope and the sodden cushion. He laid down his head and stared at the sky until his eyelids became heavy once again. Abishag laid her chin in the crook of his arm and blinked sleepily. The boat rose and fell softly at the last vestiges of shifting water. We were becalmed.

We looked at the other boats devastated by the storm and began rescue and repair operations. Jesus did not help. He had done his part. Not a single soul was lost.

I--all of us--were stunned. Later as I thought upon it, and I thought upon it often, I considered: It is impossible to understand or appreciate his teaching or the things that he did if we do not understand and appreciate--who he was. Who he is.

We will not forget this day. I have lived a long and fretful life. I have experienced many extreme moments, visited the valley of the shadows of death more than once, but none so terrible, or so wondrous, as that day on the sea with Jesus and the others. In the days and years of my lifetime, I have learned that God does not always step in and rescue us from tragedy. Sometimes tragedy overtakes us, accidents happen; a child is crushed under the wheel of a chariot, disease takes a loved one, leprosy is everywhere. Sometimes it seems God has absented himself. But that is an illusion. He is always there with us. He may seem asleep and uncaring, but whether on this side of the valley of pain and death, or on the other, he is very much present, and to all he speaks, "Peace. Be Still." And we are comforted. We are becalmed.