Don't Let Him Pass By
“He meant to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the sea they thought it was a ghost, and cried out, for they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.’ And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded” Mark 6:45-52
While meditating on Mark 6:45-52, the old hymn Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior came to mind. It begins:
This hymn expresses the longing of the redeemed to be near to the heart of God. Before the storm even began, Jesus climbed a mountain to pray. What was He seeking? Was He interceding for His disciples, whose faith would soon be tested by wind and waves? He had told Peter, “Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail” (Luke 22:31-32). Or was He simply communing with His Father, resting in that divine nearness?
Both were true of Jesus—intercession and intimacy. And both reveal the heart of prayer: not just getting what we want from God, but drawing near to His presence and hearing His reassuring voice.
The disciples, meanwhile, were straining against a storm He had sent them into. Around 3 a.m., as they rowed in futility, Jesus came walking on the water. Mark says He “meant to pass by them”—not out of indifference, but perhaps as a test of their faith. Would they see Him? Would they cry out? Too often, we miss Him because we neglect prayer, letting the noise of the storm—or the distractions of life—drown out His nearness.
Life pulls us in a thousand directions: work, worries, endless screens. In our busyness, the truly important things—moments of grace, acts of obedience, the wonder of His presence—can pass us by unnoticed. Jesus doesn’t want to pass us by. He died to cleanse us of the sin that separates us from God, longing for us to take hold of His grace. Yet when we’re distracted, we pass up opportunities to draw near, and in a sense, He passes us by because we fail to look up.
Think of those who wait for a comet, like Halley’s, to blaze across the sky. They mark the date decades in advance, set up telescopes, and stand in the cold, eyes fixed upward for that fleeting moment of awe. They don’t dare turn away, knowing the wonder will vanish if they miss it.
How much more should we wait on the Lord? His glory outshines any comet, His presence a wonder too great to let slip by. Isaiah wrote, “From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him” (Isaiah 64:4). God is poised to act for those who attentively seek Him, yet Isaiah laments, “There is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you” (Isaiah 64:7). When we let distractions rule, we miss the divine encounter He offers.
But when the disciples cried out, Jesus didn’t pass them by. He climbed into the boat, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid,” and the wind ceased. David Guzik adds, “Jesus rescued His disciples from working in futility. This was a miracle meant to assure them that He was in fact in control and that He would always lovingly be there to help them fulfill what He commanded.”
The value of prayer isn’t in bending God to our will, but in trusting the Father’s will as Jesus did. He’s praying for us, interceding that our faith won’t fail, that we’ll pass the test by crying out to Him. When we do, He doesn’t just guide us through the storm—He gets into the boat with us. He becomes more than our navigator; He’s “a friend who sticks closer than a brother” (Proverbs 18:24).
The old hymn In the Garden demonstrates this: “He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own; and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.”
Peace isn’t the absence of trouble; it’s the presence of Jesus. “Be still, and know that I am God,” He says (Psalm 46:10), enthroned above the flood yet near enough to climb aboard. The hymn becomes our cry: “Pass me not, O gentle Savior, hear my humble cry; while on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by.”
When we draw near to God, He draws near to us (James 4:8), speaking peace, calming our hearts, and turning storms into divine encounters. Let us wait on Him with the attentiveness of stargazers, lest His wonder pass us by.
Heavenly Father, teach us to value prayer not just for what you give, but for your nearness and your voice. Like you, help us trust the Father’s will in every storm. Don’t let us miss you amid the waves—or the distractions of life—hear my cry: “Pass me not, O gentle Savior.” Step into my boat, be the friend who sticks closer than a brother, and let me know the joy of tarrying with you. In Jesus name, Amen.
-Pastor Marco
While meditating on Mark 6:45-52, the old hymn Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior came to mind. It begins:
Pass me not, O gentle Savior
Hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling
Do not pass me by
Savior, Savior, hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by
Both were true of Jesus—intercession and intimacy. And both reveal the heart of prayer: not just getting what we want from God, but drawing near to His presence and hearing His reassuring voice.
The disciples, meanwhile, were straining against a storm He had sent them into. Around 3 a.m., as they rowed in futility, Jesus came walking on the water. Mark says He “meant to pass by them”—not out of indifference, but perhaps as a test of their faith. Would they see Him? Would they cry out? Too often, we miss Him because we neglect prayer, letting the noise of the storm—or the distractions of life—drown out His nearness.
Life pulls us in a thousand directions: work, worries, endless screens. In our busyness, the truly important things—moments of grace, acts of obedience, the wonder of His presence—can pass us by unnoticed. Jesus doesn’t want to pass us by. He died to cleanse us of the sin that separates us from God, longing for us to take hold of His grace. Yet when we’re distracted, we pass up opportunities to draw near, and in a sense, He passes us by because we fail to look up.
Think of those who wait for a comet, like Halley’s, to blaze across the sky. They mark the date decades in advance, set up telescopes, and stand in the cold, eyes fixed upward for that fleeting moment of awe. They don’t dare turn away, knowing the wonder will vanish if they miss it.
How much more should we wait on the Lord? His glory outshines any comet, His presence a wonder too great to let slip by. Isaiah wrote, “From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him” (Isaiah 64:4). God is poised to act for those who attentively seek Him, yet Isaiah laments, “There is no one who calls upon your name, who rouses himself to take hold of you” (Isaiah 64:7). When we let distractions rule, we miss the divine encounter He offers.
But when the disciples cried out, Jesus didn’t pass them by. He climbed into the boat, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid,” and the wind ceased. David Guzik adds, “Jesus rescued His disciples from working in futility. This was a miracle meant to assure them that He was in fact in control and that He would always lovingly be there to help them fulfill what He commanded.”
The value of prayer isn’t in bending God to our will, but in trusting the Father’s will as Jesus did. He’s praying for us, interceding that our faith won’t fail, that we’ll pass the test by crying out to Him. When we do, He doesn’t just guide us through the storm—He gets into the boat with us. He becomes more than our navigator; He’s “a friend who sticks closer than a brother” (Proverbs 18:24).
The old hymn In the Garden demonstrates this: “He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own; and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known.”
Peace isn’t the absence of trouble; it’s the presence of Jesus. “Be still, and know that I am God,” He says (Psalm 46:10), enthroned above the flood yet near enough to climb aboard. The hymn becomes our cry: “Pass me not, O gentle Savior, hear my humble cry; while on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by.”
When we draw near to God, He draws near to us (James 4:8), speaking peace, calming our hearts, and turning storms into divine encounters. Let us wait on Him with the attentiveness of stargazers, lest His wonder pass us by.
Heavenly Father, teach us to value prayer not just for what you give, but for your nearness and your voice. Like you, help us trust the Father’s will in every storm. Don’t let us miss you amid the waves—or the distractions of life—hear my cry: “Pass me not, O gentle Savior.” Step into my boat, be the friend who sticks closer than a brother, and let me know the joy of tarrying with you. In Jesus name, Amen.
-Pastor Marco