Unexpected

But immediately he spoke to them and said, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. (Mark 6:50b-51a)

I'm participating in a Bible study online with a group of women from my church. We're focusing on Mark 6:45-52, where the disciples get caught in a storm in the middle of the sea, and Jesus walks on water and calms the storm.

We'd all watched a video before we met, and in that video was the line, "Sometimes you need the storm in order to see the glory." The idea was that Jesus waited until the disciples were in the midst of the storm before he came to them. It wasn't just about how he came to them in a time of need; it was about how the darkness of the storm put His glory "into relief" somehow.

It's not the kind of thing we would expect. We would expect Jesus to keep the disciples from going out in the first place, or at least be proactive and calm the storm before it ever gets started.

If he'd done either of those things, thought, they would not have witnessed his power or experienced his saving grace.

In another class, my 3:16 Sunday morning class, we talked about something similar, another "unexpected" thing, from a totally different part of the Bible--these lines from Psalm 23:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies ...

Our primary focus has been on that last line, about preparing a table. I've always felt that that line feels a little jarring, coming right after the section about being in the valley of the shadow of death. Yes, he comforts us ... but then to prepare a table? One didn't seem to lead to the other. It's unexpected.

But then, on Sunday morning, before our class met, I realized something.

A table can symbolize many good things, right? There's sustenance, and community, and stability, and rejoicing, and even peace. These are all good things that God wants us to have. And look at what point the table is prepared: not when he is in the green pastures, not when he's walking alongside the still waters, not even when he's in the paths of righteousness. You would expect the feast to come when life is going well, but that's not what happens.

No, the table comes in the valley of the shadow of death, and it comes in the presence of the psalmist's enemies. This great bounty comes in his darkest time, most vulnerable time.

I think that contrast is telling, and it seems to parallel the story in Mark 6. In both cases, it's when we're most helpless and hopeless that he is most present. In Mark 6, Jesus gets into the boat with them. In Psalm 23, the psalmist begins by using the third-person pronoun to refer to the shepherd ("He leads me beside still waters ..."), but when we are in the valley of the shadow, he switches to the more intimate "you." ("Your rod and your staff ...")

In both cases, it is at the darkest hour that he comes closest to us, and at the darkest hour that blesses us most abundantly. It sounds counterintuitive, and it seems counterintuitive, largely because we don't often feel like God is close, or like he is blessing us, when we are suffering.

But it's true. He is there. Even if we don't realize it until much later.

I could write so much more on this, but this is a blog post, and I've already gone over my self-imposed 500-word limit. I'm also aware that I still have a lot to learn. So I'll just wait and write more later, when I have a little more wisdom and a little more time.

I prepared a table for my family and got this unexpected guest.