Jesus in the Storm: You Have Not Been Abandoned
Part 5 in a series about finding connection with Jesus in emotional storms after trauma.
Where are you, Jesus?
A year ago, my friend was on his way home from a work trip, and while stopped at a traffic light less than a mile from his home, he was rear-ended by a drunk driver attempting to take his own life. The CCTV footage showed the drunk driver accelerating his van to 82 mph before impact—pushing our friend’s vehicle through the intersection to the other side of the street and rendering him unconscious immediately. During the trial for his jail sentencing, the evidence revealed that the drunk driver made over 80 phone calls to a suicide prevention hotline that day, with the last being 15 minutes before he hit our friend. We were devastated that not only did our friend die as a result of the collision, it was intentional.
Our friend was admitted to the ICU on January 31st and passed away as a result of severe traumatic brain injuries on March 4th. During that time, family and friends surrounded him—flying in from all over the country to be by his side and to support his wife and parents. Around the clock each day, we took shifts accompanying either his wife or his parents into his hospital room. We prayed and sang worship songs, wrote letters to our friend in the guest book, bathed and groomed him, exercised his arms and legs, slept on the couch next to his bed, or just sat beside him and held his hand. There was a lot of hand holding. When words failed—and they most often did—all any of us could really do was hold a hand, hug, or just cry together. Be with. Until the end.
Parents are not supposed to bury a child. A young wife is not supposed to lose her husband six months before they planned to start trying for a baby. Truly, there are no words. It was both a nightmare and one of the greatest honors of my life to witness the last days of my friend’s life and to be with his loved ones in their suffering. At the same time, it precipitated a storm of questions that would swirl in my mind in the months ahead—Where were you, God? Why did this happen? Why didn’t you heal my friend?
They were the same questions I buried in my heart 15 years ago—ever since the final traumatic blow that caused me to become the scapegoat and estranged from my family. It was my friend’s death, that coincided with the expiration of a grant that was funding our nonprofit and my salary, that compounded my grief and made these questions impossible to ignore, compartmentalize, perform around, or explain away any longer. After losing our friend, our home, and my income, I found myself in a metaphorical boat with the disciples, rowing through the storm in the dark crying, Where are you, Jesus?
Matthew 14:23-25
After he had dismissed them, he went up on a mountainside by himself to pray. Later that night, he was there alone, and the boat was already a considerable distance from land, buffeted by the waves because the wind was against it. Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake.
You Have Not Been Abandoned
In my previous reflection, we approached this passage of scripture with the question “Why did this happen?” I shared how the transition word “immediately” in Matthew 14:22 caught my attention—as if Jesus intentionally put the disciples into the boat and sent them into the storm for a specific purpose. Mark 6:52—“For they had not understood about the loaves; their hearts were hardened”—oriented us to consider a purpose other than shame and punishment.
Drawing on the consistent narrative of God’s love and faithfulness to his people through the stories of Noah and the flood, the Israelites being led from slavery to the Promised land, the devastation and restoration of Job, and Jesus’ baptism and 40 days in the desert, we concluded that the storm was not punishment. Jesus was not shaming the disciples for their lack of understanding, or punishing them with suffering because their hearts were hardened. Rather, it was a normal part of their spiritual journey to be led through challenging and uncomfortable physical landscapes in order to deepen their faith, foster intimacy with God, and increase their dependency on him alone.
In this reflection, we will hold the question “Where are you, Jesus?” in the light of Matthew 14:23. In this scene of the story, Jesus loads his disciples into the boat and sends them to the other side of the lake. Then, he retreats to the mountainside to pray alone.
Why alone?
First, I began by placing myself inside the scene of the story. That morning, just before the feeding of the 5,000, Jesus learned that his friend, John the Baptist, was beheaded. John was a soul friend to Jesus—one of the few people in his life that would have made him feel seen and understood.
Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Elizabeth, the mother of John, were relatives (Luke 1:36) and offered support to one another before the prophetic birth of their sons. John was ordained by God to bear prophetic witness to the coming of Jesus, the Messiah. His mission culminated when he baptized Jesus in the Jordan River, the Spirit descended on Jesus like a dove, and the Father said from heaven, “This is my son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.” (Matt. 3:17)
Not only did Jesus lose a soul friend and companion in ministry, the timing of John’s death would have indicated to Jesus that his passion story was about to unfold. John was beheaded after confronting power with truth. (Matthew 14:4, Mark 6:18) Jesus was the Truth. John’s beheading would have been a painful reminder that he was about to suffer in the same way John did, just as the prophets said he would. (Isaiah 53)
On the night before he was crucified, Jesus brought his disciples to the Garden of Gethsemane. He said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death”, and then he walked just a few steps before he fell to his face, and cried out to God, asking him to spare him the suffering he was about to endure. (Matt. 26:38-39) His “agony” was so great he sweat drops of blood from his forehead.
It is realistic to say that when Jesus heard of the beheading of John the Baptist, he experienced at least a modicum of the same kind of overwhelm, sorrow, and agony, and would have been in need of the same kind of support he asked of his disciples and received from the angel in the Garden. However, at this point in the disciples’ spiritual maturity and leadership development, they did not understand that Jesus was the Messiah in the same way that John the Baptist did. Not to mention, many of the disciples were likely half the age of Jesus and John the Baptist.
In effect, it seems Jesus accepted that it would be better for him to process his grief and distress alone with God. By going to the mountainside to pray alone, Jesus modeled awareness of the limitations of others, how to have realistic expectations of those we lead or are in relationship with, and how to take responsibility for self-care as leaders in the midst of trauma, fear, and grief.
How did Jesus and the disciples perceive the distance between each other?
Distance (physical, emotional, or silence) between self and God can be perceived as abandonment by those who have experienced trauma—particularly complex trauma involving early attachment figures. When we experience suffering, loss, grief, uncertainty, or fear as adults, and we are met with distance (physical, emotional, or silence), our perceptions of our abandoning attachment figures can be projected onto God—God is negligent (a deadbeat), God is withholding (sadistic), God is narcissistic (self-absorbed), God is callous (cold-hearted), etc. Our perceptions of self that we introjected during our experiences with our abandoning attachment figures may trigger shameful thought loops—I am not good enough, I am unloveable, I am worthless, I am tolerated, etc.
Until the attachment trauma is processed, grief is integrated, perceptions are reformed in the light of God’s Love, and the nervous system is trained to respond to distance differently, shame and fear will continue to drive compulsive reactions versus conscious responses to distance in their relationship with God (and others). This spiritual (re)formation journey is akin to being re-parented by God, our Father, and the Church, our Mother, to whom we can securely attach.
On the other hand, when someone who was securely attached to their attachment figures experiences suffering, loss, grief, uncertainty, or fear in adulthood, and they are met with distance (physically, emotionally, or silence) in their relationship with God, they are likely to perceive it as an opportunity for curiosity, exploration, growth, strengthening, renewal, deepening, or healthy individuation. They are more likely to trust that God’s goodness and his love for them are not dependent upon or in congruence with circumstances, outcomes, or our performance.
In a securely attached relationship, both we and God are free to make conscious choices to come and go from the relationship while remaining in alignment with our values, needs, and wants. If we are making conscious choices, we are choosing not to betray our authentic self or deny love and goodness to others. We receive God’s gift of free will and offer it back to God and to others.
When Jesus retreated to the mountainside, put his disciples in the boat alone, and waited until just before dawn to go out to them in the storm, he was making conscious choices completely free of shame and fear. He remained connected to his feelings of love, compassion, and devotion for his disciples in his decision making. He was able to consider his own needs while also considering what was good for his disciples. Jesus does this again and again throughout scripture, but no story is more tender than the space between Jesus and Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.
Jesus and his disciples were ministering in Perea, east of the Jordan River, likely 20-25 miles from where Lazarus lived, when Jesus received word that he was sick. “When he heard this, Jesus said, ‘This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.’” (John 11:4) If Jesus would have left at that moment, he would have been able to make it to Lazarus before he died. However, John 11:5-6 says, “Now, Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So, when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days.”
By the time Jesus arrived in Bethany at the tomb of Lazarus, it had been four days since he died. Mary and Martha both exclaimed, “If you had been here my brother would not have died!” No matter how Jesus tried to explain, Mary and Martha could not see the distance between them and Jesus through the lens of God’s goodness and his love for them. They were consumed with grief and powerless over how the trauma of the death of their brother had distorted their perceptions.
“If you had been here…” echoes the question I asked God at the bedside of my dying friend, and as I helplessly held his widow in my arms. “Where are you, God?” was also the question I asked for months after that, tossing and turning in my bed each night, while grieving the loss of my family and my former role as a pastor. Like Mary and Martha, I was powerless to perceive the distance (lack of healing, lack of reconciliation, lack of justice, and silence in response to my prayers) as God’s goodness and love for me. I was only able to perceive the distance between me, God, and others as abandonment, punishment, and false responsibility.
The interesting thing about the story of Lazarus in the tomb is that the Jewish people believed that the soul hovered over the body for three days. On day four, Lazarus’ death would have been final.
To raise Lazarus from the dead on day four brought Mary, Martha, and the disciples face-to-face with their malformed perceptions of themselves (I am unloved, I am unprotected) and God (God abandons, God is apathetic). He did this by showing them he was with them in their suffering, that he grieved alongside of them, and that he was victorious over death.
Day 4 also exposed the Jewish religious system’s inability to receive the Truth (Jesus). Instead of receiving Jesus as the Messiah, they clung to their idolatry of the law. When Jesus displayed his power it threatened the collapse of a system that afforded them certainty, power, and control. Rather than receive Jesus and surrender control to his authority, the system chose to eliminate the threat by making him a scapegoat.
If Jesus would have healed Lazarus before he died, or resurrected him a day sooner, these truths would not have been revealed, the testimony of Jesus being the Messiah would not have been as widespread, and the impact of Lazarus’ sickness would not have gone as deep into the hearts’ of the disciples, Mary, or Martha as was necessary for their journey of spiritual (re)formation.
In the nine months leading up to our friend’s death, he became a YouTube sensation. He discovered a rare sweet spot in life where his wildest dreams met his vocational calling. He took a risk, moved out west, and started filming himself doing what he loved. We all learned very quickly that he was a brilliant storyteller. His channel took the internet by storm. In less than a month he had enough views and followers to sustain him and his wife financially. In less than a year he was meeting with financial advisors to plan for his future children.
It seemed like the perfect set-up. With literally millions of people watching, it seemed like a no-brainer opportunity for God to display his healing power. Most believed God gave our friend his YouTube platform for him to be an “influencer for Jesus”. However, as the weeks passed by, and the MRI results persisted in showing irreversible damage to every part of his brain, it became clear that he was not going to regain consciousness. There is no better way to describe how that realization landed other than the response of his widow to the neuro doc the day we got the final report—“That’s f-d up.”
Months later, after my friend had died and my husband and I lost our home, our ministry, and my income, the abyss of death tempted me to despair that God had, in fact, abandoned me, my family, and my purpose on earth to the grave. Lost at sea, I struggled at the oars in the darkness for months on end. The absence of God’s felt presence was terrifying. The silence in response to my cry, Where are you, God?, was deafening. Waves of shame roared—God has abandoned me, It is my fault, It is my responsibility to fix it.
And then, there on the shores of the sea of Galilee, Jesus emerged just before dawn, the darkest hour of the night. The disciples had been battling the storm for more than 6 hours. Surely, they were exhausted, afraid, angry, and ready to give up. This is when Jesus chose to go to them. Had there been no storm, if Jesus had not allowed Peter to come to him on the water, or if Jesus calmed the storm hours before, would their “hardened” hearts truly have been able to receive him?
Perhaps when Jesus put the disciples into the boat and retreated to the mountainside to pray alone he was affording them the dignity of space (silence and physical distance), time (hours in the dark), autonomy (rowing on their own), and agency (Peter “testing the waters”) that they needed to make the conscious choice to receive him into their boat (hearts), to allow him to guide them to the other side, and to recommit to following him.
If there is one thing that is necessary for the spiritual (re)formation of trauma survivors, it is the freedom to choose. For those who have been abused, manipulated, neglected, shamed, or punished into loving and staying connected to their attachment figures, it takes a significant amount of space, time, and opportunities (storms) to learn God does not offer his love under the same conditions. Jesus revealed to us that God’s love is gentle, kind, and willing to wait until we are ready to receive his love, help, and guidance. (Matt. 11:29)
Until then, we can trust that though there may be silence and an absence of the felt presence of God, Jesus is entirely aware of where we are, what is going on, and what we need. (Ps. 121:4) Although the waves of shame may roar, they cannot overtake the Truth that has already risen from the depths of the sea. (Jesus’ baptism and resurrection) Jesus is “on the mountainside” actively interceding on our behalf (1 John 2:1, Heb. 7:25, Rom. 8:34, eternally offering himself to Father, saying—Send me! I will go! I will seek them and find them—each and every one. (Lk. 15:4) I will save (make whole) our children and bring them home. (Lk. 19:10)
What was Jesus feeling in the distance between him and his disciples?
When my husband and I first arrived to the ICU, the room was in chaos. Our friend’s wife turned to us at the door, and said, “We have to pray!” We rushed to either side of her, and began to ask God to intervene. On the other side of the hospital bed, the doctor was sitting on a stool maneuvering a suction tool into our friend’s side, trying to alleviate the build up of fluid that was suffocating his lungs. His pulse and blood pressure were off the charts.
After 15 minutes, the situation was the same. The beeping machines, the nurses standing helplessly around the doctor, and my husband and I praying alongside our friend’s wife. I went over to the couch to rest next to our friend’s mom. The doctor continued the procedure, but it didn’t seem to be working. My friend’s wife kept repeating over and over again, “I trust you, God. I trust you.” It broke my heart.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Instinctively, I got up from the couch, rushed over to her, wrapped my arms around her and said, “This is too much for you. Take a break. I’ll stay. Let me pray for him for a while.” I would have given anything to stand in her place, no matter what it cost me, just so she wouldn’t have to suffer or carry the pain alone—and that tells me a lot about the heart of Jesus.
When Jesus encountered Mary, Martha, and the Jewish people after Lazarus died, scripture describes Jesus as being “deeply moved in spirit”, “troubled”, and “once more, deeply moved”. He was so affected by their pain, he felt it himself, and it brought him to tears. (John 11:35) The word that is used for “deeply moved” is ἐνεβριμήσατο (enebrimēsato). It can be translated as to groan, to be indignant, to snort with anger. The word used for troubled is ἐτάραξεν (etaraxen). It can be translated as stirred up, agitated, shaken.
When Jesus came face-to-face with death, and when he saw how it affected those that he “loved”, he was anything but apathetic, negligent, or distant. It moved and troubled him to the point of going to the cross, taking our place, and choosing to carry the weight of our pain, shame, and malformed perceptions about him on himself. Why? To be eternally connected and one with us. So we would never have to suffer alone or face defeat again.
Because Jesus died, resurrected, and gifted us with his Spirit we can be assured that though we may experience trauma in this world, and it may cause us to feel he is distant, doesn’t care, or that he has abandoned us, the truth is, Jesus now dwells within us. (John 16:33) Therefore, when the storms of life come, and shame batters against our soul, we can confidently say, “Nothing shall separate me from the love of God”—not death, trouble, hardships, pain, demons, any other power or authority—not even our own thoughts and feelings! (Rom. 8:38-39)
A week after my friend died, and my husband and I had returned home, I had a dream about my friend. We were in a house and a place I had never seen before. His body was fully restored and he was dressed in clothes that he loved to wear when he filmed videos for his YouTube channel. Somehow I knew I only had a few moments with him, and I would have to choose my questions wisely. He was happy, carefree, and relaxed. I could feel the weight of grief weighing heavily on my chest as I thought of his wife—how helpless I felt and how worried I was that she was home alone without him. Suddenly, I knew the question I wanted to ask. “Where do I tell her you are?” I said. He smiled calmly, just as chill as he always had been, and responded, “I’m right here.”
John 12:16-20
I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper… the Spirit of truth… He dwells with you and will be in you forever…In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.