John Chrysostom
Sailors, when their journey is blessed with a favorable wind, carefully monitor the state of the waters with joyful expressions. When the calm of the sea liberates them from their toil, some find rest while others allow children to take over at the helm. However, it often happens that when the helmsman becomes negligent and the sailors, encouraged by the fair weather, abandon their duties, a fierce storm unexpectedly arises. The winds rush in, the sea begins to roar fiercely, and the ship struggles to navigate the surging waves. The ship's rigging, secured to the masts, flutters and groans under the powerful gusts. In such moments, beloved friends, the crew emits desperate and anguished cries, anticipating imminent doom beneath the waves.
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Naturally, the sailors are consumed by the panic that engulfs them, but even more so, the wailing aboard the vessel frightens them to the point that the helmsman, trembling with terror, loses the ability to steer, and all aboard despair of surviving.
A similar scenario unfolded for the Lord's disciples; I invite you to recall the Gospel. ‘There came in... Jesus and His disciples into the ship’ (Luke 8:22). They embarked on their journey, and while the Lord was awake among them, no contrary wind could hinder them; the sea lay before them like dry land, and not even the slightest disturbance affected the Christ-bearing vessel. However, when, as directed by Providence, Jesus, in His human nature—not in His divine glory—fell asleep, the winds, sensing that their Lord and Master was resting, surged against the apostolic vessel like wild horses breaking free from a drowsy charioteer's reins. Amid the turmoil that threatened their lives, while the sea boiled and the waves violently battered the shore, the disciples, alarmed by the fierce storm, turned to their glorious Advocate in despair. What did they cry out? ‘Lord, save us: we perish’ (Matt. 8:25; Luke 8:24). The Lord, asleep in the ship by divine Providence—not unknowing of the danger nor powerless to avert the storm—surrendered to sleep for two reasons: first, to reveal the disciples' lack of faith during the crisis, and second, to demonstrate His divine authority.
Such is the pathway of our existence: conditions do not remain constant; sometimes tranquility reigns, with an abundance of sustenance, while at other times, our lives are disrupted like the tumultuous sea, beset by barbarian raids, the machinations of tyrants, and various other upheavals. The event with the apostolic ship carries this very meaning, as all that occurred to the Lord holds profound significance. The sea symbolizes our earthly existence; the ship represents each individual person, with thought and reason serving as the sailors and helmsman. Therefore, if this vessel, the human soul, is besieged in life by the malice of the devil or malevolent spirits, inciting turbulent desires, inundating the mind with the brackish foam of worldly pleasures, and shaking the passions that govern it, it risks being drawn into the depths of sin.
Indeed, it is affirmed by the prophet David that any man consumed by the flames of various pleasures ultimately descends into the chasm of sin. It was in his despair regarding chastity that he uttered, ‘I entered into the depth of the sea, and the storm drowned me’ (Ps. 68:3). In David's narrative, we find no instance that corresponds to these words; he did not literally sail nor was he ever submerged in perilous waters. What, then, do his words signify if not that, navigating the seas of life, overwhelmed by the waves of desire and estranged from the guidance of reason, he succumbed to the forceful urge of passion, leading to his moral shipwreck with Uriah's wife? Thus, he lamented, ‘I entered into the depth of the sea, and the storm drowned me’ (Psalm 68:3). Yet, having repented and metaphorically resurfaced from the depths of sin, reclaiming the sustenance of purity and insisting on a chaste life henceforth, he petitioned God: ‘Let not the rushing of the waters carry me away, let not the deep swallow me up’ (‘Let not the tempest of waters drown me, let not the deep devour me’) (Psalm 68:16).
A similar sentiment is expressed by the apostle, mysteriously embodying humanity in his own experiences: ‘thrice have I been shipwrecked.’ What does he mean by ‘thrice was I shipwrecked, night and day I was in the depth of the sea’ (2 Cor. 11:25)? Humanity has indeed faced shipwreck three times: first in paradise with the fall into sin, second through Noah's flood, and third when, post-delivery of the law, the people succumbed to idolatry. Ultimately, Christ, the Sustainer of our souls, arrived, establishing the Cross in the heart of the earth, and provided us a serene journey toward heavenly salvation. ‘He abode in the depth of the sea day and night.’ The apostle refers to the state of humanity preceding the Saviour’s arrival, lost in the darkness of falsehood, and by day, to life after the Saviour’s coming through baptismal enlightenment. The present existence likened to the sea serves to illustrate how Jesus went up with His disciples into the ship and fell asleep.
In the midst of turmoil, our journey is not a transition from one earthly destination to another, but rather a passage from the temporal to the eternal. Let us prepare our minds to navigate through sorrow, ensuring they guide us upwards, while our companions remain devoted to this shared purpose. We must construct a robust vessel, impervious to the calamities and tribulations of life, one that is not swayed by pride but is characterized by lightness and swiftness. Should we arrange the crew, the steersman, and the builders of the vessel in such a manner, we will set sail with a favorable breeze and submit ourselves to the ultimate Pilot — the Son of God. He will safeguard our journey from capsizing, for even if faced with a multitude of storms, He can silence the winds and the waves, transforming tempests into profound tranquility.