FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
And straightway Jesus constrained His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side, while He sent the multitudes away. And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, He was there alone. But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves; for the wind was contrary. And in the fourth watch of the night, Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out in fear. But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.—Matt. 14, 22-27.
Our blessed Lord was both, He was true God and He was true man. To-day's Gospel-lesson presents Him to us in the fishermen's boat, weary and sleeping on a pillow. There is humanity; for of God it says: "Behold, He shall neither slumber nor sleep." Again, the same story presents Him as commanding the winds and the waves. There is Godship; for of God alone can it be said: "Thou rulest the raging of the sea; when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them." And this remarkable contrast you will find running through all His earthly history. You enter the stable at Bethlehem. You see a babe slumbering on its mother's lap. You say, "This is Mary's child." Presently a company of shepherds enter, and tell what they heard and saw while keeping watch over their flocks by night. Scarcely have they finished their description, when wise men from the East appear, alleging that they have been guided thither by a star, and worshiping the Child with costly offerings. You stand on Jordan's bank and mingle with the thousands who have come to hear the word and submit to the Baptism of John. You behold one, Jesus of Nazareth, going down to be baptized, but you think little of it, for He differs, apparently, in nothing from those by whom He is surrounded. But as He comes up from the water, the heavens are opened, and the Spirit of God descends like a dove, and lights upon Him, while from the celestial heights comes a voice, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." You accompany Him to the grave of Lazarus, and you see the tears trickle down His cheeks, and you realize that He is a man; for neither Deity nor angels weep. But soon you behold Lazarus come forth from his sepulcher in answer to His word of power, and once more you ask in wonder verging on adoration: "What manner of man is this?" And so till you see Him on the cross, His back lacerated with the scourge, and His brow bleeding from the pressure of the crown of thorns. You hear the words, "It is finished," and see the pale cast of death settle on His countenance. But on the third day after, you meet Him in the upper room at evening, extending His hand in resurrection greeting: "Peace be unto you."
Now, what shall we make of this wonderful dualism, as we may call it? There remains nothing for us to do but to accept that Christ was true God and true man. No other interpretation or explanation will do. Our church, in the standard Confession, in the Third Article of the Augsburg Confession, thus voices its belief, and to that we subscribe. We teach that God the Son became man and was born of the Virgin Mary; that the two natures, the human and the divine, inseparably united in one person, are one Christ, who is true God and man. So much as to the great doctrinal truth taught in the Scripture-reading of to-day. It contains also a very instructive and comforting practical truth. We shall regard as our topic:—
The experience of Christ's disciples on the Sea of Galilee a picture of Christ's people on the sea of life, noting, I. their adversity, II. their security.
The poet has said that human life is
Bits of gladness and of sorrow,
Strangely crossed and interlaid;
Bits of cloud belt and of rainbow,
In deep alternation braid;
Bits of storm when winds are warring,
Bits of calm when blasts are stay'd,
Bits of silence and of uproar,
Bits of sunlight and of shade.
And it's more than poetic fancy; it is stern reality. Like that Sea of Galilee, the sea of life is sometimes calm and sometimes stormy, sometimes reposing under the soft smiles of a sunshiny sky, and sometimes ruffled and whipped by the restless gales.