en in fear, and we are
driven to trust just because we are so much afraid. A faith which does
not wholly suppress fear may still be most real; and the highest faith
has ever the consciousness that unless Christ help, and that speedily,
we perish.

So note next the gentle remonstrance. There is something very majestic
in the tranquillity of our Lord's awaking, and, if we follow Matthew's
order, in His addressing Himself first to the disciples' weakness, and
letting the storm rage on. It can do no harm, and for the present may
blow as it listeth, while He gives the trembling disciples a lesson.
Observe how lovingly our Lord meets an imperfect faith. He has no rebuke
for their rude awaking of Him. He does not find fault with them for
being 'fearful,' but for being 'so fearful' as to let fear cover faith,
just as the waves were doing the boat. He pityingly recognises the
struggle in their souls, and their possession of some spark of faith
which He would fain blow into a flame. He shows them and us the reason
for overwhelming fear as being a deficiency in faith. And He casts all
into the form of a question, thus softening rebuke, and calming their
terrors by the appeal to their common sense. Fear is irrational if we
can exercise faith. It is mere bravado to say 'I will not be afraid,'
for this awful universe is full of occasions for just terror; but it is
the voice of sober reason which says 'I will trust, and not be afraid.'
Christ answers His own question in the act of putting it,--ye are of
little faith, that is why ye are so fearful.

Note, next, the word that calms the storm. Christ yields to the cry of
an imperfect faith, and so strengthens it. If He did not, what would
become of any of us? He does not quench the dimly burning wick, but
tends it and feeds it with oil--by His inward gifts and by His answers
to prayer--till it burns up clear and smokeless, a faith without fear.
Even smoke needs but a higher temperature to flame; and fear which is
mingled with faith needs but a little more heat to be converted into
radiance of trust. That is precisely what Christ does by this miracle.
His royal word is all-powerful. We see Him rising in the stern of the
fishing-boat, and sending His voice into the howling darkness, and wind
and waves cower at His feet like dogs that know their master. As in the
healing of the centurion's servant, we have the token of divinity in
that His bare word is able to produce effects in the natura