He’s with You in the Boat

Lord of Hosts, You're with us
With us in the fire
With us as a shelter
With us in the storm

The tech motioned for me to climb onto the table, and I closed my eyes as she put in my IV.

You will lead us
Through the fiercest battle
Oh, where else would we go?
But with the Lord of hosts? 

She pressed ear plugs into my ears, added a coil around my head, and waited for me to nod that I was ready before sliding my table into the tunnel. 

Then she was gone, and there was only silence until the machine began to clang. No music, just my thoughts and the white tube walls inches from my face. No calming voice coming through the intercom, only the what ifs and worst case scenarios filling my mind . . . I wondered, Why do scans always feel so breathtakingly lonely? 

Maybe it’s because stillness raises the stakes. When silence presses in, fear and doubt become a single question that demands an answer: “Lord, are You really with me?”

Missing in the Storm?

Twenty-four hours before the scans, a guest pastor visiting from New Orleans shared a message with my church—one that he hadn’t been planning to preach. He was scheduled to speak on another topic, but when devastating flooding caused deaths in the Texas Hill Country, my pastor asked him to share an older message, one he’d first taught after the floods of Hurricane Katrina had caused destruction in his hometown.

He had us turn to a familiar passage in Mark 4, one that had personally helped him to remember and trust the promises, presence, and power of Jesus in the midst of trouble: 

On that day, when evening had come, he told them, “Let’s cross over to the other side of the sea.” So they left the crowd and took him along since he was in the boat. And other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking over the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. He was in the stern, sleeping on the cushion. So they woke him up and said to him, “Teacher! Don’t you care that we’re going to die?”

He got up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Silence! Be still!” The wind ceased, and there was a great calm. Then he said to them, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

And they were terrified and asked one another, “Who then is this? Even the wind and the sea obey him!” (vv. 35–41) 

This passage took on a different significance when I thought about it again while in the imaging center. 

It’s not hard to picture the scene. Mark, a Gospel writer known for his brevity, spends a surprising amount of time describing the circumstances the disciples were facing. He could have ended the sentence after “a great windstorm arose” (v. 37), and his audience would have been able to picture the dangerous storm. But he added: “The waves were breaking over the boat” and “the boat was already being swamped”—don’t those details make the disciples’ fear a little more visceral? 

They were overwhelmed, afraid for their lives, yelling for Jesus at the top of their lungs, trying to be heard over the wind and rain. Waves slammed into the boat, their belongings slid against the side, but Jesus was disturbingly absent from the deck.

If He was just part of their crew, an acquaintance, or even a casual friend, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much that He wasn’t there when the waters began to rise. But they had chosen to follow Him. They had trusted Him. Where was He? 

Nearer Than You Think 

Mark doesn’t bury the answer to the question of where Jesus was during the storm. He clues in the audience immediately after describing the storm, just as they begin to picture the panicked disciples shouting into the wind. Jesus “was in the stern, sleeping on the cushion” (v. 38). 

This truth immediately anchors the story with perspective: Jesus was there. He was with them in the boat. And He wasn’t worried about what was happening.

But the disciples were afraid. And often we are too. That’s why I’m thankful the Bible includes details like those noted here. The disciples were facing circumstances that were genuinely terrifying, and Mark doesn’t downplay them. He wouldn’t belittle the storms rocking your life either: the unexpected radiology report, your child’s ongoing mental health battle, the job you thought was secure that suddenly is not. None of these are small things. 

Circumstances like those might lead you to ask similar questions to the one the disciples asked: “Don’t you care that we’re going to die?” They can also lead you to wonder if He’s going to show up for you this time or if He ever really cared about you at all. 

When your boat is taking on water, your thoughts reveal what you believe about where Jesus is and whether you trust that He’s able and willing to respond to you in the midst of it. 

Which of the following do you lean toward? 

Option 1: Jesus isn’t in the boat at all. 

It would have been a different situation altogether if Jesus had never stepped foot on the boat. If He was still on the shore, if He was completely unaware the storm was even happening. Or, if the disciples had never even met Him, their fear would have been not only understandable but also reasonable.

When someone facing a new diagnosis or an unexpected tragedy doesn’t know Jesus, it makes sense for them to panic. What else would you cling to without Christ? What peace would you have if you believed no one was coming to save you (Eph. 2:12)?

But we aren’t without hope. As believers we know better—but do we live like it? When the waves rise and the wind picks up, do you react like you’re alone in the boat? Do you act as if the weight of survival rests on our shoulders? 

Jesus and His disciples would have been familiar with Psalm 139: 

Where can I go to escape your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I fly on the wings of the dawn
and settle down on the western horizon,
even there your hand will lead me;
your right hand will hold on to me. (vv. 7–10)

How much more can those who are in Christ, who have His Spirit with us forever (John 14:16–17), be assured that He hasn’t abandoned us? If you’re in Christ, there is not a single drop of water that can touch your life that He doesn’t know about. There is not a single place you can go without knowing He’s there too. No matter the storm, no matter the waters, He is always, always with you. 

Option 2: Jesus is with you in the boat, but He doesn’t care. 

That’s what the disciples thought. Jesus was right there but He seemed indifferent. That assumption can hurt far more than believing He was never there to begin with. If Jesus had been just a bystander, a random crew member asleep in the corner—uninvested, unfamiliar, uninvolved—His inaction wouldn’t have felt like a betrayal. But this wasn’t a stranger. This was the One they had left everything to follow. This was their friend. And now, when they needed Him, He seemed utterly unmoved. 

“Teacher! Don’t you care that we’re going to die?” (Mark 4:38). It wasn’t just a cry of fear. Can’t you hear the disappointment? The confusion? The betrayal? 

But what they took for indifference was actually peace. Jesus wasn’t ignoring the storm—He simply wasn’t ruled by it or by His emotions. He was living out Psalm 3:5: “I lie down and sleep; I wake again because the LORD sustains me.” He knew that no wave could overturn what the Father had purposed. 

Jesus had said they were going to cross to the other side of the sea (Mark 4:35), not drown halfway there. His rest wasn’t a lack of care about them; it was evidence of His complete confidence in the Father’s plan. 

And it still is. If you’re in Christ, you can trust that Jesus not only knows about your situation—He cares more deeply than you know. Feelings of distance do not mean He’s absent. He’s present, and if He hasn’t stepped in yet to stop your storm, you can believe with all your heart that His reason for doing so is loving.

Option 3: Jesus is with you in the boat, and His presence can be your peace. 

When Jesus finally rose and spoke, He “rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Silence! Be still!’ The wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mark 4:39). 

The disciples could have experienced that kind of stillness in their own hearts while the storm was still raging if they had understood who was with them. Instead, Jesus said to them, “Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (v. 40).

Faith trusts that Jesus is firmly in control of the winds and waves crashing against your boat, that He’s big enough to stop them, and that He’s wise enough to know when to bring them to their end. Faith looks to Him not just for quiet after the storm—but for deep, unshakable peace in the middle of it. Faith remembers Jesus is near, not just watching from the distance; He’s close enough to hear you calling for help and caring enough to respond. Faith keeps singing, even in the storms: 

Though oceans roar, You are the Lord of all
The one who calms the wind and waves and makes my heart be still
Though the Earth gives way, the mountains move into the sea
The nations rage, I know my God is in control.

You’re Not Rowing Alone 

A few days after my MRIs, after I received the radiology report and was on my way to another doctor’s appointment, I listened to an older sermon from Pastor John Piper, who was describing another storm the disciples had faced. In John 6, they’d just seen Jesus feed the five thousand and promise to be their life, their bread, and to always be enough for them. 

As the disciples went back out on the water, the sea began to churn. After they rowed a few miles, they saw Jesus coming to them. “It is I,” He said to them. “Don’t be afraid.” Then they took Him on board their boat (John 6:20).

At a time when it seemed impossible for Jesus to be with them, He gave them the miracle of His presence. Piper pointed out that unlike the other Gospels, John didn’t make comments about the stilling of the storm. Did the waves stop? Did the winds stop? It wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Jesus was in the boat. 

Jesus didn’t leave them, and He hasn’t left you. If the waters feel like they’re rising around you, know that you haven’t been left to bail yourself out. Jesus is with you in health scares, with you in great loss, with you when violent storms arise—He’s with you in the boat. 

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