Storm

To create a storm, follow this recipe: start with a warm spot of water (best if somewhere over the ocean). Heat to the right temperature until winds get going and converging to the spot. A spinning earth will make those winds spiral into the area. As the winds and water rise, vapors will condense, thus releasing more warmth and energy, pulling the water to rise even further. In the upper sky, make a hole or drain for this surging vortex of wind and water. Keep the explosive circuit going, and voila, a storm is born.

To stop a storm, simply cut off the supply of water and close the drain in the upper sky. This reduces the storm’s strength to a swirling flush in the toilet. This is why storms or typhoons weaken over land, where there is not much water. You can just imagine then being caught in a storm at sea. The recent crash of Air France Flight 447 over the Atlantic proves the deadly power and terror of storms.

In the Philippines, we know all too well this recipe for storms. And this is not due to the distinction of being one of the most unsafe places in the planet (this according to a recent UN study on natural disasters). We seem to be always in the path of storms. Right now, we are in the middle of a brewing legislative and constitutional storm. This is not force majeure, not an act of God. The fuel that’s feeding the storm is not wind or water. It is ego and power. And yes, it is fear. This storm is all so needless, so pointless at this time, unless the objective is more sinister, unless the agenda is to sow division and discontent among our people.

How can we make this country safe from storms when our so-called leaders seem so adept in putting us in harm’s way? With subterranean motives, they can whip up a social storm or stoke a social volcano by simply dividing us rather than shepherding us. Those who would pretend to lead us have a stake in keeping us armed and divided, poor and uneducated. They have a stake in blurring right from wrong, in perpetuating a feudal system of patronage because in the end (so they think), they get to keep what they covet (or whatever it is they have stolen) and get away with it.

They do well to remember the prophet Hosea’s warning: in the real and very end, they who would sow the wind, will reap the whirlwind.

In the Gospel today, the disciples are in a boat with Jesus who asks them to “cross to the other side.” The crossing is really an image of faith, telling us how faith is more than just static assent and adoration; it is also a summons to a conversion (“the other side”), a journey that entails leaving some things behind and facing the uncertainty of the waves with no compass at all but trust.

It is during this crossing that the disciples find themselves all tangled in a boat being tossed in a storm. Where is Jesus? He is there in the boat, sleeping on a cushion. Surely the sight must have been exasperating to these hardy men of the sea. But it is also another compelling image of faith, this sleeping through a storm, this composure in the midst of confusion.

Drenched in fear, the disciples wake him up, asking him the question we’ve often thrown to the heavens: Teacher, do you not care?

I can imagine the Teacher, in that interlude between wakefulness and sleep, thinking, how could you (of little faith) be afraid of losing everything, when Everything is in the boat with you? If I, your Teacher, did not care, I wouldn’t even be in the boat with you.

Of course, the Teacher does not say the words I only imagine are his. Fully awake now, the Teacher instead responds with a double rebuke to the storm brewing from outside and from within: he scolds the wind and sea, “Quiet! Be still.” Then he turns to the panic swirling in their hearts, and throws heaven’s question back to earth: why the fear? Why this sinking faith?

To my mind, the Teacher’s rebuke is really a whispered prayer: this won’t be the last time you will be tossed about in storms even of your making. The crossing from Gethsemani to Calvary will be hard to sleep through. When I, your Teacher, am slain in a storm of unspeakable cruelty, and when on the third day, I make that crossing from death to life, you will know the goodness and ultimate power of God.

Do I not care about you? Do not mind the waves. I care enough to ask you to make that crossing to the other side.

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