What The Storm Reveals

Two years ago, Hurricane Helene moved through South Carolina and altered the landscape in a way none of us expected. Trees that had stood for decades were suddenly lying across roads and power lines. When they fell, what was most striking was not just their size, but their roots. Systems we assumed were deep and stable were exposed as shallow, rotted, or compromised. The infrastructure we trusted failed under pressure. At the time, all we could see was disruption. Loss. Delay. Inconvenience. Very few of us were thinking in terms of preparation.

Recently, when an ice storm swept through the same region, the outcome was surprisingly different. On paper, the conditions should have been worse. Ice weighs down branches, snaps limbs, and typically takes power grids with it. Yet in many places here in South Carolina, power stayed on. Damage was limited. Systems held. What could have been devastating was manageable. I mean, look at what has happened in Nashville because of the ice storms?

Only in hindsight did the reason become clear.

Helene had already done the painful work. The storm we thought was destructive had actually removed what could not withstand future pressure. Weak roots were exposed and cleared. Faulty systems failed early instead of later. What remained was stronger and better prepared for what followed.

That realization stayed with me, because Scripture tells this same story again and again. Some storms are not meant to destroy you. They are allowed to prepare you.

When we read the Gospels carefully, storms are not always interruptions in the ministry of Jesus. Sometimes, they are the classroom. One of the clearest examples of this is the storm where Jesus walks on the water and Peter steps out of the boat. It is a familiar story, often reduced to a lesson about courage or faith. But when you slow down and pay attention to the sequence, it becomes clear that this storm was not accidental. It was intentional formation.

Matthew records that immediately after the feeding of the five thousand, Jesus “made the disciples get into the boat and go before Him to the other side” (Matthew 14:22). Mark is even more direct, saying Jesus “compelled” them to get into the boat (Mark 6:45). John adds an important detail, explaining that the crowd, after being fed, intended to take Jesus by force and make Him king, prompting Jesus to withdraw alone to the mountain (John 6:15).

Those details matter. They tell us the storm did not come randomly. It came at a very specific moment.

Just before this, the disciples had returned from being sent out by Jesus with authority. Mark tells us that Jesus called the Twelve and gave them power over unclean spirits, sending them out two by two (Mark 6:7). They preached repentance, cast out demons, and healed the sick (Mark 6:12–13). This was not symbolic authority. It was real power with real results.

And yet, power came before understanding.

They were moving in authority before they fully understood who Jesus was or what kind of kingdom He was establishing. Throughout the Gospels, this tension is visible. They witness miracles and still argue about who is greatest. They participate in healings and still misunderstand Jesus’ mission. They preach repentance and later flee when pressure comes.

This teaches us that spiritual power does not automatically produce maturity and activity does not guarantee intimacy.

That reality becomes clearer in the feeding of the five thousand. As evening approaches, the disciples say to Jesus, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is already late. Send the multitudes away” (Matthew 14:15). Their response is not cruel. It is logical. Mark tells us Jesus had just invited them to rest, because they had not even had time to eat (Mark 6:31). Resources appear limited. Time is running out.

Jesus responds with words that quietly shift responsibility. “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat” (Matthew 14:16).

This moment is not about bread. It is about shepherding. It reveals how the disciples understand responsibility in the Kingdom. They have authority for healing, but not yet faith for provision. They know how to minister, but they have not yet learned that rest is not merely retreat. It is trust in the Lord who rules over all creation.

Later, when Jesus comes to them in the storm, Mark explains something sobering. He says that they were amazed beyond measure, “for they had not understood about the loaves, because their heart was hardened” (Mark 6:51–52). The miracle that should have clarified Jesus’ identity actually exposed their misunderstanding.

John’s Gospel makes the reason explicit. After the feeding, the crowd decides Jesus must be the king they have been waiting for. John writes that they intended to take Him by force and make Him king (John 6:15). Their understanding of kingship was political, immediate, and circumstantial.

The disciples were standing in that same atmosphere.

They believed Jesus was King, and they were right. But they misunderstood what kind of King He was. They wanted liberation from Rome. Jesus came to deal with sin. They wanted relief from oppression. He came to bring renewal of the heart. They wanted circumstances fixed. He wanted people transformed.

We still struggle with this same tension. We ask Jesus to deal with what we can see. He comes to uproot what lies beneath the surface. We want Him to fix situations. He wants to reshape identity.

That misunderstanding could not be allowed to take root in the men who would become the foundation of the Church.

So Jesus acts decisively. He dismisses the crowd calmly, but He forces the disciples into the boat. Mark’s language is deliberate. He compels them to leave (Mark 6:45). Then Jesus withdraws alone to pray.

The crowd was not the greatest threat. The disciples’ alignment with the crowd’s interpretation of the miracle was.

If they stayed, they would learn how to ride momentum, build influence, and mistake success for divine approval. They would build a kingdom shaped by miracles rather than revelation. So Jesus separates them from momentum and places them where no gift, no experience, and no skill can save them.

That is when the storm begins.

As night stretches on, the disciples strain at the oars. Mark tells us that Jesus “saw them straining at rowing, for the wind was against them” (Mark 6:48). They are not drifting. They are working hard, doing what they know how to do, and making no progress. The description is painfully realistic.

Jesus comes to them in the fourth watch of the night. By Roman reckoning, this is between three and six in the morning. It is the darkest stretch of the night, the moment when guards are most exhausted and hope is lowest. If help has not come by now, you assume it is not coming.

That is the condition the disciples are in when they see Him.

Jesus does not come when the storm begins. He does not come when fear first rises. He does not come while their strength remains. He comes when nothing but knowing Him will sustain them.

When they see Him walking on the water, they do not recognize Him. Matthew tells us they cry out in fear, saying it is a ghost (Matthew 14:26). In the ancient world, an apparition on stormy waters was associated with death. Their fear is human, cultural, and understandable.

Then Jesus speaks. “It is I. Do not be afraid” (John 6:20).

In the original language, the phrase “It is I” carries the weight of divine self-disclosure. Ego eimi. I AM. Jesus does not explain the storm. He does not promise immediate rescue. He reveals who He is. The truth is that Jesus didn’t come to calm the storm, but instead…to steady them through it. For this would be a moment of preparation for greater storms ahead.

Looking back, Hurricane Helene was not just about destruction. It was exposure. It revealed what could not endure and strengthened what remained. The storm on the Sea of Galilee did the same. It exposed misplaced confidence. It revealed reliance on gifting rather than abiding presence. It dismantled false expectations about who Jesus was supposed to be.

Some storms answer prayers we did not know how to pray. They remove what would have failed later. They reveal what must be strengthened. They prepare us for what is coming.

Jesus promised storms would come. The question is not whether they will arrive, but what they will reveal.

Storms do not mean Jesus is absent. They mean He is revealing Himself more clearly.

And the fourth watch of history, that we are now in, is not punishment. It is preparation.