We thought we were going to die.
I could barely stay on my feet, the boat was rocking so violently. The waters were tossing us about. It felt like rage, as if the lake itself was angry with us. I looked up, a wave was mounting, gathering up its strength like a fist about to come crashing down.
“Hold on,” I shouted as I grabbed a wooden beam.
The wave crashed down, the furious fist seeking to drag us out of the boat and into the dark depths below. I held on. I looked around. I could see everyone else hanging onto whatever they could find. Everyone, except the Master. A few paces from me at the back of the boat, there he was, asleep. As I looked at him, I began to feel strange. It is difficult to describe, but it was as if there was a calmness exuding from him; as if he was emanating peace, and silence, and they were rising up to battle the storm. I say battle, because this emergent opposition seemed to anger the storm further and the boat began to shake even more. I staggered over to him and began to shake him.
“Lord, save us!” I cried. “We’re going to drown!”
Slowly he opened his eyes. He looked at me. He looked around at the others. I released his cloak and he got to his feet. Then he spoke, as if into the ear of the storm, “Peace, be still.”
Immediately, the waves laid flat, the winds became still and the rains ceased.
In the newfound stillness and silence, we were all just staring at him.
“Why are you afraid?” he said softly. “Do you still have no faith?”
I wanted to answer his question, even if only in my head, but another question marched in, demanding my whole mind, all my strength and all of my soul, “What kind of man is this that even the wind and the sea obey him?”