Mark 6:50

This scene takes place on the Sea of Galilee, a large lake in northern Israel known for sudden and violent storms. Jesus' disciples had set out by boat at his instruction while he stayed behind alone to pray. Somewhere between 3 and 6 in the morning, they are straining at the oars against a punishing headwind and going nowhere. Then they see a figure walking toward them on the water. Mark tells us they thought it was a ghost and were terrified. Before their panic can spiral further, Jesus immediately speaks — he identifies himself, tells them to take courage, and tells them not to be afraid, all in a single breath.

Jesus, I know what it is to be rowing hard and getting nowhere, afraid of what is moving in the dark. Speak into that place. Remind me that you are already here — not distant, not delayed, but present in the middle of the storm. Give me the courage that only comes from you. Amen.

Picture it: you have been rowing for hours in the dark, arms burning, wind in your face, making no progress. Then something appears moving across the water toward you and your mind — desperate and exhausted — goes straight to the worst possible explanation. The disciples' terror makes complete sense. They weren't being dramatic. They were bone-tired, frightened, and completely out of options. And into exactly that moment, Jesus speaks. Notice what he doesn't do. He doesn't explain why he let them struggle through the night without coming sooner. He doesn't deliver a lesson on trusting God more. He simply says: I am here. Take courage. Don't be afraid. In your life, there will be hours — maybe long stretches of hours — when you have been working as hard as you can and getting nowhere, and something unexpected moves through the dark toward you. The same voice that steadied those exhausted men in that boat still speaks into those moments. Not always with answers. Not always with explanation. But always with presence — and that, it turns out, is usually what we needed all along.