Jesus Is In Absolute Authority

When Faith Meets the Storm: Remembering Who's Really in Control

Life has a way of testing our faith when we least expect it. Perhaps right now, your body is treating you well. Your family is healthy. Your finances are stable. Your journey makes sense. But what happens when all of that changes? What happens when the storm comes—and it will come—and everything you've relied on begins to crumble?

The question isn't whether difficult times will arrive. The question is: Will you remember who holds the power when they do?

The Authority Over All Things

Throughout the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 8, we encounter a series of remarkable demonstrations of absolute authority. These aren't just ancient stories meant to inspire wonder; they're reminders of a truth we too often forget in our comfortable moments: Jesus Christ has complete control over everything in creation.

Consider the leper who approached Jesus with a statement of profound faith: "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." This wasn't a question of ability—it was a question of willingness. The leper knew exactly who stood before him. And Jesus, moved by this faith, stretched out his hand, touched the untouchable, and spoke three words that changed everything: "I am willing."

In that culture, leprosy meant total isolation. No more family gatherings. No more birthdays or celebrations. No more social contact. Just a slow, painful existence outside the city walls, watching your body deteriorate. Yet with a single word from Jesus, this man's entire reality transformed.

Faith That Makes Jesus Marvel

Then there's the centurion—a Roman soldier who understood authority in ways most couldn't comprehend. When he approached Jesus about his paralyzed servant, Jesus offered to come to his home. But the centurion stopped him with words that would astonish everyone present:

"Lord, I'm not worthy for you to come under my roof, but just say the word and my servant will be healed."

This soldier understood something profound: authority doesn't require physical presence. Jesus didn't need to be in the room. He didn't need to perform elaborate rituals. He simply needed to speak, and reality would bend to his will.

Jesus' response is telling: "Truly I say to you, I have not found such great faith with anyone in Israel." Here was a man outside the covenant community demonstrating greater faith than those who had grown up with the promises of God. It's a sobering reminder that proximity to truth doesn't guarantee understanding of it.

The Danger of Empty Promises

Not everyone who claims to follow demonstrates genuine commitment. When a religious teacher approached Jesus declaring, "I will follow you wherever you go," Jesus' response was unexpectedly harsh: "The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head."

This wasn't cruelty—it was clarity. Jesus was exposing the gap between religious talk and genuine discipleship. It's easy to make grand declarations when life is comfortable. It's another thing entirely to follow when following costs you everything.

Another would-be disciple asked permission to first bury his father—a reasonable request by any cultural standard. Yet Jesus' response cuts to the heart of kingdom priorities: "Follow me, and allow the dead to bury their own dead."

This seems harsh until we understand what's at stake. The urgency of the gospel message, the brevity of our time, the eternal destiny of souls—these realities demand a radical reordering of our priorities. Nothing, not even the most sacred family obligations, can take precedence over the call to follow Christ and proclaim his kingdom.

Peace in the Storm

Perhaps the most visceral demonstration of Jesus' authority comes when he and his disciples encountered a violent storm on the Sea of Galilee. The waves crashed over the boat. The disciples feared for their lives. And Jesus? He was asleep.

When they woke him in panic, his response revealed everything: "Why are you afraid, you men of little faith?"

Then he stood up and rebuked the wind and the waves. And they obeyed him.

The disciples' question captures the appropriate response: "What kind of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him?"

The answer, of course, is that he's not merely a man. He's the God of glory who created every water molecule, every gust of wind, every element on the periodic table. Everything in creation is subject to his authority because he spoke it all into existence.

The Temptation of Skepticism

Here's where honesty becomes crucial. How many times have we prayed for healing that didn't come? How many friends have we begged God to save who remain far from him? How many storms have we asked him to calm that continued to rage?

It's easy to become skeptical. It's easy to let our unanswered prayers harden our hearts until we stop believing God can—or will—intervene. We do the math: ten requests, zero visible answers, equals a God who either can't or won't help.

But this is precisely when we must remember these stories. Not as fairy tales, but as reminders of who God is regardless of how he chooses to answer our specific requests.

The cross of Christ didn't just address our spiritual disease of sin—though that's certainly the primary focus. Isaiah's prophecy, quoted in Matthew 8:17, reminds us: "He himself took our infirmities and carried away our diseases." The mercy and grace of God flow in multiple directions, touching every area of our broken existence.

The Call to Radical Discipleship

Luke 14 brings the cost of following Christ into sharp focus. Jesus doesn't soften his message to attract a crowd. Instead, he turns to the masses following him and essentially says, "Do you understand what you're signing up for?"

"If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple."

This isn't a call to literal hatred, but to comparative love. Nothing—absolutely nothing—can rival our devotion to Christ. Not family. Not possessions. Not even our own lives.

He illustrates this with two parables: a builder who must count the cost before starting construction, and a king who must assess his strength before going to war. The point? Discipleship requires sober calculation of what it will cost and a willingness to pay that price.

Remembering When Hell Breaks Loose

So here's the challenge: Remember these truths when your body lets you down. Remember them when the diagnosis comes back grim. Remember them when your finances collapse. Remember them when your carefully constructed life falls apart.

Jesus Christ has all authority over all things. He can heal. He can provide. He can calm any storm. And if he chooses not to answer your prayer according to your desires, his will remains greater than yours. His ways are not our ways. His thoughts are not our thoughts.

The goal isn't to become people who demand God perform according to our expectations. The goal is to become people of tender faith who trust him regardless of the outcome—who believe he can, who ask him to, and who submit to his sovereign will when he chooses a different path.

Don't let unanswered prayers turn you into a skeptic. Don't let suffering harden your heart. Instead, let these moments drive you deeper into trust, deeper into dependence, deeper into the arms of the One who holds all authority and exercises it according to perfect wisdom and unfailing love.

We don't know what the moments hold. But we know who holds the moments. And that makes all the difference.