Some of us are safe, but sure don’t feel like it at times. The night is dark and the storm rages all around, white, frothing waves are lashing against the rock where we have found shelter and some of the spray hits me, causing me to tremble. I am afraid; the storm is terrible will it sweep me off the rock? I hope not, but I see others clinging onto little jutting out areas and wonder how they will ever manage to hang on.
Those up higher have found a sheltering cleft. No, it doesn’t keep us completely dry and although the wind reaches us, we needn’t fear being swept off the rock, but what about the others lower down? Why didn’t they get as close to the top of the rock and find a hiding place?
The answer is sad: they found it too boring, it had been exciting, before the storm came, to be as close to the waves as possible, some even leaped in and swam around for a short while. But what about now? They are hanging on for dear life. Someone is calling to them but the voice faint, tossed around by the mighty gale. Some of them looked up and reached for the rope offered and found safety, but I knew once the storm died down they would be soon dabbling in the ripples once again.
As a shout came across the waves, I braced myself and leaned forward: was it a shout for help? No, someone, no, a whole boatful of passengers were cursing and shaking their fist at the rock. They were blaming the rock for the trouble they were in!
The rock is Jesus, the sea is the world; there are many storms all around us. Where are you?