Last week, for two days, huge waves pounded our shore. A glance at a nearby sheltered bay, showed choppy but manageable waters. It was one of those days when boaters had to check the marine forecast carefully. In the open, it was wild.

There is an ancient story about a sudden change in weather that caught Jesus and his companions out in the middle of the Sea of Galilee. While he slept through the storm, the others struggled to hold the rudder, to bail the water. Finally, they woke him, saying, "Do you not care that we are about to die?"

The story says that Jesus calmed the wind and waves, then asked, "Where is your faith?"

I have usually read that as an implication that they didn't have faith. And maybe that is what was meant. But this time, I heard something different. "Where is your faith" might mean "What do you believe in?" Jesus' companions have faith that the winds and waves are going to overwhelm them. Their faith is in the storm.

I am sure that people in the Bahamas would get this. They experienced the power of Hurricane Dorian. They saw the destructive power of wind, rain, and waves. Then, another tropical storm had it in their sights. The second storm missed them, but for a while, they must have believed in the power of the storm to overwhelm.

Those trying to help had to believe in the power of aid. Even though there was only so much they could do in the short time between storms, they had to have faith that the food and water they provided would help.

Sometimes the storm we live in is an emotional storm. Circumstances in life toss us like wind-driven waves, bringing anger--how can this happen to me! Bringing grief--how can I endure this loss! Bringing frustration--what can I do, there must be something! Emotions buffet us the way that boat was thrown around. But we can't bail fear. We can't empty grief. We experience the power of emotion to overwhelm.

People tell us, it takes time to get over grief. People assure us we'll get through it. But in the middle of turmoil, we may not believe it. The power we experience is the turbulence of emotion. It is hard to believe in healing.

Sometimes the storm is caused by mental illness. Depression descends on us like a weight and we can't through it off. Bi-polar disorder sends us flying out of control, and we can't do anything about it on our own. We hope the medical profession can help, but I sat with someone this week whose friend has tried every standard medication but even lithium did not help. There is a new experimental treatment they are going to try, but so far, their disease is something they have to endure, even though it feels like a storm that is ready to swamp them.

Sometimes the storm we are in comes from institutional turmoil. The place we work becomes unstable. There are market shifts or mis-management that threaten to put us out of a job. There is a change in management that changes the attitude to the work we've been doing. A previous manager thought we were doing an okay job, but the new one is on our case. They pry and they push and we worry that any day we might be out of a job.

Sometimes we have faith in the storm. If we believe that the weak will fail, if aid agencies and government believe "there is only so much we can do" then those in the storm will get swamped. But if we have faith in a vision of peace and wholeness, then we will work to make that vision real.

After the storm on the Sea of Galilee, when Jesus and his companions landed on the other shore, they met a man possessed with a legion of demons. The community had given up on this man, drove him out to a graveyard. Jesus believed in wholeness and healing for the man, and made that faith real. Whatever the storm we see, peace and wholeness, healing and well-being are what God dreams. And what God dreams can be made real.

Cathy Hird lives on the shore of Georgian Bay.