“Master, the Tempest is Raging”

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What’s the hardest thing God ever asked of you? To bury a loved one? Endure sickness? Wait? I could list a few experiences he’s allowed me that have been and still are no picnic. But in all the storms, his most exacting command is not to endure the waves that crash over me. It’s to be still in their midst.  

You’ll find this hymn written a couple different ways. Some versions say, “The winds and the waves shall obey thy will.” My hymnbook says, “The winds and the waves shall obey my will.” I prefer the one that makes this song a conversation. When I cry to God about the storm and he tells me it obeys him instead of me just trying to reassure myself it does.

You could interpret this version a couple different ways, too. Maybe the conversation isn’t only between you and God, but between God and the storm. The lyrics suggest it was the story in Matthew 8 that inspired this hymn, when Jesus went with his disciples into a ship and slept while the tempest raged. How could he sleep, his disciples wanted to know, when they were perishing?

Jesus wanted to know where their faith was, and then he bolstered it by calming the storm.

Sometimes things work that way. You cry, “The tempest is raging!” and God tells you, “It’s okay. The winds and the waves obey my will,” and then it’s to the winds and the waves he says, “Peace, be still.”

But often he mostly seems to ignore the storm. The reassurance that it obeys him and the command to be still are both for you, and all you can think as you flounder in the still-raging tempest is, Jesus, it would be a lot easier to be still if occasionally you told these crashing waves the same thing. How can I be still when I’m treading so much water?

I have a hard time trusting him enough to stop thrashing. But if I did, I think I might hear him tell me, “You don’t have to tread water. I can help you walk on it.”

The Story of Another Stormy Sea

This hymn may have been born from Matthew 8, but that’s not the only time Jesus’s disciples found themselves on a stormy sea in need of a Savior. They were in a predicament again a few chapters later, and, especially for Peter, things played out a little differently.

When my own seas are turbulent, it’s this story that’s most comforting because it’s most relatable.

“And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me.”

Yeah. I don’t know much about the calming of storms, but sinking amidst the boisterous wind? That sounds familiar.

I sink for the same reason Peter did. Overwhelmed by the tempest, I watch it instead of the one who gives me the power to overcome it.

Unlike Peter, however, I’m not so quick to cry, “Lord, save me.” Very quick to tell him I’m sinking, to tell him all the ways I’m sinking, all the pain of sinking, all the despair of sinking. But somehow I rarely get around to asking him to pull me up.

Maybe because it’s hard to believe he would if I did. So many other prayers have gone unanswered. Would he even hear my “Lord, save me”?

He has. On the too-few occasions I’ve stopped telling long enough to ask, he’s stretched his hand out for me as immediately as he did for Peter.

But where he and Peter then went back into the ship and the wind ceased, he and I seem to remain on the choppy water. And if Peter was of little faith–Peter who, after battling contrary winds all night, didn’t even ask Jesus to calm them before he trustingly stepped out of the boat–I’m of much littler faith. The next time the wind kicks up, there I am flailing again. And telling again. So frustrated that, “Peace, be still,” is always spoken to me and never to the storm that it’s all Jesus can do to make me understand why.

Why “Peace, Be Still” is For You

I–and maybe sometimes you–are like the scene I saw in a Hallmark movie where the girl falls out of a canoe. Thrashing wildly, she gasps, “I can’t swim! I can’t swim!” while the guy, watching calmly from the canoe, says dryly, “Stand up.”

She was “drowning” in three feet of water.

Also, she was wearing a life jacket, which she apparently had no faith in. Or no comprehension of how it worked.

Things get a little more dire in real life than they ever get in a Hallmark movie. The water you sink in is definitely too deep to touch bottom, and you’re not always fortunate enough to have a life jacket when you plunge. Suddenly you’re in a fight for your life, for your sanity, your happiness, and it seems certain that to stop flailing is to go under.

But if you stopped panicking, if you were still for even a moment–you wouldn’t sink. You’d see the hand stretched out to put you back on the water. You’d see your life jacket. Your solid ground.

Your Savior.

When Jesus tries to calm you instead of the storm, it’s not because he doesn’t intend to calm the storm. He will, according to his plans, after the tribulation has worked patience, and patience, experience, and experience, hope. There’s purpose in the tempest, and he can’t just cut it short because you’re tired of it. He loves you too much.

But he also loves you too much to watch you drown in the meantime. He tells you to be still so you won’t.

There is Peace for The Ship That Holds the Master

My life seems to roll in waves like this song. The fast, desperate intensity of, “Master, the tempest is raging!” gives way to a soothing, “Peace, be still,” when I can let go enough to be still. But no sooner have I calmed down than I see it was only me he stilled and not the storm, and like Peter who saw the wind boisterous, I plunge right back into anguish of spirit.

I’ve felt caught in a loop of the first two verses. Tempest, peace, anguish, peace, tempest, peace, anguish, peace. Never have the words, “Master, the terror is over,” felt appropriate.

Maybe they never really will be in this life. Perhaps that blest harbor and beautiful rest on the blissful shore can’t truly be found this side of heaven.

But peace can.

The stillness of the chorus doesn’t have to leave just because you began a new verse of turmoil. You can sleep in a storm-tossed boat. Walk on a tempestuous sea. If your eyes are on and your faith is in the one who commands it.

No waters can swallow the ship where lies the Master of ocean and earth and skies, and you are the ship. I am the ship.

Surely a ship that carries the Master can be as obedient to his will as the waves when he commands, “Peace, be still.”

Be still, and know that I am God.

Psalm 46:10

God bless you with peace in whatever tempests are raging in your life. I hope these words have encouraged you. Please share and leave a comment. I’d love to hear how God has been working in your life.

“Master, The Tempest is Raging” Lyrics

Words by Mary Ann Baker
Music by H.R. Palmer

Master, the tempest is raging!
The billows are tossing high!
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness,
No shelter or help is nigh;
Carest thou not that we perish?
How canst thou lie asleep,
When each moment so madly is threat'ning
A grave in the angry deep?

Chorus:
The winds and the waves shall obey my will:
Peace, be still.
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea,
Or demons or men or whatever it be,
No water can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean and earth and skies.
They all shall sweetly obey my will:
Peace be still; peace be still.
They all shall sweetly obey my will:
Peace, peace, be still.

Master, with anguish of spirit
I bow in my grief today.
The depths of my sad heart are troubled.
Oh, waken and save, I pray!
Torrents of sin and of anguish
Sweep o'er my sinking soul,
And I perish! I perish, dear Master:
Oh, hasten and take control.

Chorus

Master, the terror is over.
The elements sweetly rest.
Earth's sun in the calm lake is mirrored,
And heaven's within my breast.
Linger, oh blessed Redeemer!
Leave me alone no more.
And with joy I shall make the blest harbor,
And rest on the blissful shore.

Chorus

Scripture References

• Matthew 8:23-27
• Matthew 14:24-32
• Romans 5:3-4

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