When the Waves Are Bigger Than Your Faith
Day 3 — Headwind: Mark 4:35-40
Introduction
Fear is not the opposite of faith.
You may have been told otherwise. You may have carried a low-grade shame about your fear for years — the sense that a stronger believer, a more mature Christian, someone with a better prayer life wouldn’t feel what you feel when the storm rises. That fear is a sign of something lacking, some deficit in your trust, some failure of your relationship with God.
I want to gently push back on that today.
The disciples in the boat were not spiritually immature men. They were the ones Jesus had chosen. Some of them were fishermen — men who had spent their lives on that water, who knew weather, who had seen storms before. And when this one hit, they were terrified.
Fear is not a character flaw. It is a signal. The question is not whether you feel it — the question is what you do with it, and more importantly, who you take it to.
Scripture
That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side.” Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”
He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Quiet! Be still!” Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
— Mark 4:35-40 (NIV)
Reflection
What’s Happening in the Text
Jesus initiates this crossing. Let us go over to the other side — His idea, His direction, His invitation. The disciples didn’t wander into a storm. They followed Jesus into one.
The storm that hits is not a minor chop. Mark uses a word that means a violent, sudden squall — the kind that comes without warning on the Sea of Galilee, where geography funnels wind down from the surrounding hills with sudden ferocity. The waves are breaking over the boat. It is nearly swamped. These are not men who panic easily, and they are panicking.
And Jesus is asleep.
Not distracted. Not watching from a distance. Asleep on a cushion in the stern — present in the boat, untroubled by the weather that is undoing everyone around Him. The disciples wake Him with a question that is equal parts accusation and desperation: “Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?”
He speaks. The storm stops. And then He turns to them with a question of His own: Why are you so afraid?
What This Means for the Reader
Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say: you shouldn’t have been afraid. He does not say: fear is a sin. He asks a question — why — and underneath the question is an invitation to look at what the fear was actually about.
The disciples were afraid of the storm. But the deeper fear — the one Jesus was pointing at — was the fear that He didn’t care. Don’t you care if we drown? That is the real question. Not can you stop this? They’d seen Him do miracles. The question is whether He would. Whether they mattered enough. Whether His presence in the boat meant what they hoped it meant.
You may know this fear. Not just fear of what’s happening — but the fear underneath it. The fear that God is present but indifferent. That He sees what you’re going through and has decided, for reasons you can’t access, not to intervene. That the storm is real and His care is theoretical.
That fear is worth bringing into the open, because it is the fear that most quietly does the most damage. It doesn’t announce itself as doubt. It shows up as distance — a subtle pulling back from prayer, a going-through-the-motions quality in worship, a reluctance to ask for what you actually need because you’re not sure it will matter.
Fear that goes unnamed becomes the lens through which you read everything else. It colors your reading of silence. It shapes how you interpret delay. It makes the storm feel like evidence of something it isn’t.
The disciples brought their fear directly to Jesus — loudly, imperfectly, accusatorially. And He answered them. Not with a rebuke of their fear, but with the silencing of the storm and a question designed to open something in them.
He is in the boat. He is not indifferent. And He can handle your fear, however it arrives.
Grace Note
For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV)
“Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” — Isaiah 41:10 (NIV)
Fear is not from God — but the antidote He offers is not courage as a personality trait. It is presence. I am with you. Power, love, and a sound mind flow from that one fact. The disciples didn’t need to muster more bravery. They needed to remember who was in the boat.
Prayer Prompt
Jesus, I don’t always know how to bring You my fear. It feels like something I should have outgrown by now, or prayed through, or trusted my way past. But it’s still here — and if I’m honest, some of it is the fear underneath the fear. Not just what I’m afraid of, but the quiet worry that You see it and aren’t moving.
I’m bringing that to You today. Not just the storm — but the question the disciples asked. Do You care? Are You in this? Because it doesn’t always feel like it, and I need You to know that I know the difference between what I feel and what is true — and I’m choosing true, even when it costs me something to do it.
You spoke to the wind and it stopped. You can speak to what’s rising in me right now. I’m not asking You to take away every hard thing. I’m asking You to let me feel that You are with me in it — that the storm does not have Your permission to take me under.
Quiet the fear that is lying to me. And in the quiet, let me hear Your voice.
Amen.
Response
1. Name the Fear Underneath (Written Reflection): Fear usually has a surface layer and a deeper one. Take five minutes and write down what you’re actually afraid of — and then ask: what is the fear underneath that? Is it that God won’t come through? That you won’t survive this? That the outcome you’re dreading is what you actually deserve? Name the deeper layer. It can’t be brought to Jesus until it’s been named.
2. Read It Out Loud (Verbal/Read Aloud): Read Isaiah 41:10 slowly, out loud, with your own name inserted: “Do not fear, [your name], for I am with you.” Say it at least twice. The disciples needed to hear Jesus speak before the storm stopped. Sometimes you need to hear the Word out loud before the fear quiets.
3. Notice Where You’ve Pulled Back (Observational): Think about the past week or two. Is there a place you’ve gone quiet in prayer — a request you’ve stopped making, a conversation with God you’ve been avoiding? Fear often shows up as withdrawal before it shows up as panic. Identify the place you’ve pulled back from, and show up there today, even briefly.
4. Come Back If You’ve Drifted (Connective): Sometimes fear isn’t just about the storm — it’s about the distance. If there’s sin you’ve been carrying, or a slow drift you’ve been aware of but haven’t named, consider whether some of what you’re feeling is less about what’s happening around you and more about where you’ve been with God. If so, this is the invitation, not the indictment. Repentance is not a punishment — in this series it’s called a tack. A change of direction that puts you back on course with the Captain. You can make that turn today, right now, in a sentence. He is not waiting at a distance. He is already in the boat.
To read all the posts in this devotional series, visit: https://www.thisistheway.live/t/headwind
© Steve Peschke / This Is The Way