--MATT. viii. 23-27.

The second group of miracles in these chapters shows us Christ as the
Prince of Peace, and that in three regions--the material, the
superhuman, and the moral. He stills the tempest, casts out demons, and
forgives sins, thus quieting nature, spirit, and conscience.

Mountain-girdled lakes are exposed to sudden storms from the wind
sweeping down the glens. Such a one comes roaring down as the little
boat, probably belonging to James and John, is labouring across the six
or seven miles to the eastern side. Matthew describes the boat as it
would appear from shore, as being 'covered' and lost to sight by the
breaking waves. Mark, who is Peter's mouthpiece, describes the desperate
plight as one on board knew it, and says the boat was 'filling.' It must
have been a serious gale which frightened a crew who had spent all their
lives on the lake.

Note Christ's sleep in the storm. His calm slumber is contrasted with
the hurly-burly of the tempest and the alarm of the crew. It was the
sleep of physical exhaustion after a hard day's work. He was too tired
to keep awake, or to be disturbed by the tumult. His fatigue is a sign
of His true manhood, of His toil up to the very edge of His strength; a
characteristic of His life of service, which we do not make as prominent
in our thoughts as we should. It is also a sign of His calm conscience
and pure heart. Jonah slept through the storm because his conscience was
stupefied; but Christ, as a tired child laying its head on its mother's
lap.

That sleep may have a symbolical meaning for us. Though Christ is
present, the storm comes, and He sleeps through it. Lazarus dies, and He
makes no sign of sympathy. Peter lies in prison, and not till the
hammers of the carpenters putting up the gibbet for to-morrow are heard,
does deliverance come. He delays His help, that He may try our faith and
quicken our prayers. The boat may be covered with the waves, and He
sleeps on, but He will wake before it sinks. He sleeps, but He never
over-sleeps, and there are no too-lates with Him.

Note next the awaking cry of fear. The broken abruptness of their appeal
reveals the urgency of the case in the experienced eyes of these
fishermen. Their summons is a curious mixture of fear and faith. 'Save
us' is the language of faith; 'we perish' is that of fear. That strange
blending of opposites is often repeated by us. The office of faith is to
suppress fear. But the origin of faith is oft