Luke 8:22-25

9. The Stilling of the Storm: Luke 8:22-25.

We come now to a series of narratives which are found united together in the three Syn. (Matthew 8:18 et seq.; Mark 4:35 et seq.): the storm, the demoniac, the daughter of Jairus, together with the woman afflicted with an issue of blood. From the connection of these incidents in our three Gospels, it has frequently been inferred that their authors made use of a common written source. But, 1. How, in this case, has it come to pass that this cycle fills quite a different place in Matthew (immediately after the Sermon on the Mount) from that which it occupies in the other two? And 2. How came Matthew to intercalate, between the return of Jesus and the account of the daughter of Jairus, two incidents of the greatest importance the healing of the paralytic (Luke 9:1 et seq.), and the call of Matthew with the feast and the discourse which follow it (Luke 8:9 et seq.), incidents which in Mark and Luke occupy quite a different place? The use of a written source does not accord with such independent arrangement. It is a very simple explanation to maintain that, in the traditional teaching, it was customary to relate these three facts together, probably for the simple reason that they were chronologically connected, and that to this natural cycle there were sometimes added, as in Matthew, other incidents which did not belong historically to this precise time.

That which renders this portion particularly remarkable is, that in it we behold the miraculous power of Jesus at its full height: power over the forces of nature (the storm); over the powers of darkness (the demoniacs); lastly, over death (the daughter of Jairus).

Vers. 22-25. Miracles of this kind, while manifesting the original power of man over nature, are at the same time the prelude of the regeneration of the visible world which is to crown the moral renovation of humanity (Romans 8).

From Matthew's narrative it might be inferred that this voyage took place on the evening of the same day on which the Sermon on the Mount was spoken. But, on the other hand, too many things took place, according to Matthew himself, for the limits of a single day. Mark places this embarkation on the evening of the day on which Jesus spoke the parable of the sower; this note of the time is much more probable. Luke's indication of the time is more general: on one of these days, but it does not invalidate Mark's.

The object of this excursion was to preach the gospel in the country situated on the other side of the sea, in accordance with the plan drawn out in Luke 8:1.

According to Mark, the disciples' vessel was accompanied by other boats. When they started, the weather was calm, and Jesus, yielding to fatigue, fell asleep. The pencil of Mark has preserved this never-to-be-forgotten picture: the Lord reclining on the hinder part of the ship, with His head upon a pillow that had been placed there by some friendly hand. It often happens on lakes surrounded by mountains, that sudden and violent storms of wind descend from the neighbouring heights, especially towards evening, after a warm day. This well-known phenomenon is described by the word κατέβη, came down.

In the expression συνεπληροῦντο, they were filled, there is a confusion of the vessel with those whom it carries.

The term ἐπιστάτα is peculiar to Luke; Mark says διδάσκαλε, Matthew κύριε. How ridiculous these variations would be if all three made use of the same document!

The 24th verse describes one of the sublimest scenes the earth has ever beheld: man, calmly confident in God, by the perfect union of his will with that of the Almighty, controlling the wild fury of the blind forces of nature. The term ἐπετίμησε, rebuked, is an allusion to the hostile character of this power in its present manifestation. Jesus speaks not only to the wind, but to the water; for the agitation of the waves (κλύδων) continues after the hurricane is appeased.

In Mark and Luke, Jesus first of all delivers His disciples from danger, then He speaks to their heart. In Matthew, he first upbraids them, and then stills the storm. This latter course appears less in accordance with the wisdom of the Lord.

But why did the apostles deserve blame for their want of faith? Ought they to have allowed the tempest to follow its course, in the assurance that with Jesus with them they ran no danger, or that in any case He would awake in time? Or did Jesus expect that one of them, by an act of prayer and commanding faith, would still the tempest? It is more natural to suppose that what He blames in them is the state of trouble and agitation in which He finds them on awaking. When faith possesses the heart, its prayer may be passionate and urgent, but it will not be full of trouble. There is nothing surprising, whatever any one may say, in the exclamation attributed to those who witnessed this scene (Luke 8:25): first, because there were other persons there besides the apostles (Mark 4:36); next, because such incidents, even when similar occurrences have been seen before, always appear new; lastly, because this was the first time that the apostle saw their Master contend with the blind forces of nature.

Strauss maintains that this is a pure myth. Keim, in opposition to him, alleges the evident antiquity of the narrative (the sublime majesty of the picture of Jesus, the absence of all ostentation from His words and actions, and the simple expression of wonder on the part of the spectators). The narrative, therefore, must have some foundation in fact, in some natural incident of water-travel, which has been idealized in accordance with such words as Psa 107:23 et seq., and the appeal to Jonah (Luke 1:4-6): “Awake, O sleeper.” There, says criticism, you see how this history was made. We should rather say, how the trick was done.