Sea Storm

Lightning strikes the darkened waters. Men in ancient boats hold tight to the sides as the once daylight blue-green waters churn. Gray waves foam over the men as their boats heaves into the air. Wind howls, whipping at the sails, and almost tipping over.

The boats come crashing down as the wave disappears from under them. A tax collector and a physician turn and vomit over the sides. Another crack of lightning strikes the bow of one of the keels. Fire lights the night. Men scramble back, nearly tipping the boat over. Rain cascades down as the water surged toward the sky again.

A carpenter reaches out a trembling hand and shakes the shoulder of the man sleeping in the stern of one of the boats. “Teacher, wake up. Please, please, wake up.”

Men scream as the boats rock side to side. The teacher opens his eyes and sits up.

“Teacher, we’re going to drown!” the carpenter says.

“You brought us out here to die,” the zealot says.

“Help us. We followed you out here willingly.”

The teacher holds up his hands. “Quiet! Be still!”

The wind dies and the waves calm to a gentle roll. The sky stops raining as the clouds part to reveal a star-studded night glistening in the waters around the rocking boats.

The teacher looks at the men on the boats and asks, “Why are you afraid? Where is your faith?”

The men tremble in their seats and whisper among themselves.

“Who is he?”

“Did you see?”

“Yes, even the wind and the waves obey him.”

“How does he do it?” the doubter asks, staring at the teacher wide-eyed.

The teacher shakes his head.

“Let’s get to shore,” the teacher says.

The men grab the oars and paddle. A few men’s eyes dart as a breeze brushes over them. The teacher watches the shore approach and is the first to hop out to pull the boats to shore. The teacher steps onto the beach and helps the men out of the boats. Grass, Tabor Oak, and Christ Thorn scent the air. Off to the right, starlight shines through a willow tree as it leans into the waters. The men walk up the beach to stand in the grass while the teacher stares at the gleaming waters with a cocked head.

“Teacher,” a fisherman says. “What is it?”

“My mind goes to the future, as it often does. Have any of you wondered how all of this will be remembered?”

The men exchange looks. The teacher gives a nod to the sea before walking over to the willow tree and motioning for the men to join him. The teacher sits down with his back against the tree trunk. Mount Canaan rippled dark in the distance behind him. The two fishermen sit down facing the teacher. The other ten men remained where they were, eyes darting between the teacher and the sea.

“Come, come,” the teacher says. “We have much to talk about.”

“There’s a good spot here for us to sit, Teacher,” the traitor says. “We’ve had enough of the sea.”

“You still don’t trust me, still don’t believe, even after I safely got you all across,” the teacher says. Shaking his head, “I’m trying to help you achieve a better life.”

“How is getting us killed going to give us a better life?”

“If you have truly followed me and live by what I have taught you, you’ll be able to live in my father’s kingdom, a place of true wonder.”

“How do you know that?” the doubter asks. “You’ve never been there.”

“I believe.”

“Teacher—” a fisherman starts.

The teacher holds up a hand and stands up. “We will talk more of this on our way to Mount Canaan.”

The fishermen rise and join the others who were already walking. The teacher stares at the sea one more time.

“The freewill of men, a challenge, unlike the sea,” the teacher says before turning to join his men again.

The sea remained locked in by the land. Forever forced to obey the teacher, trapped in a painting—lost in time. Forever to be the Storm on the Sea of Galilee.