“Don’t You Care?”

by DanWolgemuth on May 29, 2020

Jesus was sleeping at the back of the boat with his head on a cushion. The disciples woke him up, shouting, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re going to drown?” (Mark 4:38, NLT)

“Don’t you care?”

Desperation amplified their voices to a shout. Above the roar of the storm.


“Don’t you care?”

The reality is that for many of us, we’ve been wearing masks for years. We muffle or mute the raw questions that course through our veins, in order to polish our pain. In order to make our fear more polite, more appropriate, less abrasive.

Consequently… less honesty. And with less honesty, comes less healing, less peace, less comfort… and yes, less trust.

We’re in a storm. Waves crashing. Water breaching the bow.

100,000 COVID-19 deaths in the U.S., $25 trillion in national debt, and our credit card is still out. Unemployment surging. Wall Street lurching. A vaccine that seems too far away. And then, hatred on video. Image bearers of the living God treating others, treating the vulnerable, treating the unempowered like rubbish.

Perhaps it’s time to lift a line from the disciples’ script…

“God, don’t you care?”

“Jesus, are you going to sleep through our pain, through our chaos, through our panic, through our outrage?

Were you napping when a virus caught a flight from Wuhan to Rome, or Seattle, or Brazil, or…

Were your eyes shut when the resources required to put food on the tables of our most vulnerable were drying up?

Were you sleeping when George Floyd was gasping for breath?

Don’t you care?”

A whisper becomes a shout. An inquiry becomes an accusation.

Then Jesus.

First, a calming word. “Peace, be still.”

But a different kind of peace…

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. (John 14:27)

Peace in the storm. Calm in the chaos.

The fact is that Jesus cared. He cared deeply. He cared personally. He cared sacrificially.

He cared for their souls. He cared for their faith. He provoked the storm to deepen their trust.

On a calm sea, they trusted their own skill. In a gentle storm, they applauded their own craft. When the waves swelled they self-confidently celebrated their own expertise…

But on a treacherous sea, they released their grip on their own competence and clung with an iron grip to Jesus.

He cared. Deeply. About their soul. About their eternal destiny. About the ability to face a troubled and hostile world.

Unvarnished questions invite unconstrained hope. Masks off. Uncensored honesty produces immovable faith.

He cared. He cares.

In the storm. During the virus. On the streets of Minneapolis.

While we’re shouting at the top of our lungs… “Don’t you care?”

In love, Jesus responds… “Why are you afraid?”

Our question meets His in mid-flight. His question subdues our fear. His question reminds us…

He cares.

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