Σιώπα, πεφίμωσο

Haven't heard the word "derecho" used about it, but we watched a violent storm of high wind and waves with unusual swells and solid whitecaps as a straight line storm swept from west to east across St Andrews Bay this morning; obviously not an alert photographer, I failed to run inside and grab my camera, was too captivated watching it as we stood outside on 7H porch,

watching wind and wave action, swells that I would only expect at sea or in a hurricane, and watching as, out in the middle of the Bay in front of 7H and being swept toward the east, a red pontoon boat was knocked about by the storm. Couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed to be adrift in the waves. A fast boat soon appeared, and heading toward it. Channel 13 evening news reported that the pontoon boat, with two people aboard, capsized in the Bay off the downtown marina. The two aboard climbed on top of their capsized craft and were rescued safely.

The storm also capsized the cute little houseboat that comes and goes by here now and then: three people were aboard and apparently trapped, but a rescuer broke windows and helped them out, so they also were saved. I thought I had a photo of that houseboat on my phone from one of its transits by 7H, but I can't find it.

Meanwhile, apparently out of our sight the other side of Courtney Point in Grand Lagoon, another boat capsized with nine people aboard, all were picked up, but two died in hospital. Report said it was a rental boat, and I'm wondering about the judgment of any boat rental who would let folks leave their dock with the weather that was forecast and no surprise for this morning. Surely there's some sort of moral/legal responsibility for competence in letting folks operate craft, cars, boats, airplanes? I know, when I used to rent boats from Special Services at Tyndall, they were extremely careful about the use of the boats and the qualifications of us who checked them out.

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We were in a derecho once, twenty or twenty-five years ago. In the Old Place, I was awakened in the middle of the night by deafeningly loud, unending thunder. Kristen and I were sleeping in the back upstairs bedroom at the northwest corner, Linda in the front bedroom on the east side. The wind was fierce and the lightning and thunder continuous without interruption, suggesting a tornado to me. I grabbed Kristen, we ran through to the other bedroom, awakened Linda, and ran down the stairs. The storm blew through quickly and was gone, but did a swath of damage, as I recall maybe a mile wide, through the city. TV News the following morning introduced me to the word derecho, which is not cyclonic like a tornado or hurricane, but a straight line storm with wind that can be heavily damaging. In fact, that night the wind was so strong that I was surprised none of the hundred year old window panes on the house were broken.

The sea that seems so calm and peaceful can instantly be whipped into a frenzy, impersonal, deadly and vicious, wreak its havoc, then go quiet again as quickly. Obviously, the gospels come to mind, a violent storm at sea, with terrified disciples waking Jesus from his sleep. At Mark 4:39, Jesus commands, "Σιώπα, πεφίμωσο," (Siopa, pephimoso) which one English version has "Silence, be still!" and another, translating an Aramatic version, says, "Quiet! Shut up!" We could have used Jesus here this morning.

RSF&PTL

art: Pieter Stalpaert, "Christ Sleeping During The Storm," 1617