From POEM OF THE MAN-GOD, Volume 2, pp. 230-233, (Chapter 185) Jan. 30, 1944.
Now that everybody is asleep I am telling you my joy. I 'saw' today's Gospel. Mind you, this morning when I read it, I said to myself: "This is an episode of the Gospel which I will never see, because it is not very suitable for a vision." Instead, when I was not thinking about it, it came to fill me with joy. This is what I saw.
A sailing boat, not excessively large, nor very small, a fishing boat, on which five or six people can move comfortably, is ploughing the water of the beautiful deep blue lake of Gennesaret.
Jesus is sleeping in the stern. He is dressed in white as usual. He is resting His head on His left arm and under His arm and head He has placed His blue-grey mantle, which has been folded many times. He is sitting, not lying, on the bottom of the boat and His head is resting on the board that is at the very end of the stern. I do not know what sailors call it. He is sleeping peacefully. He is tired and calm.
Peter is at the rudder. Andrew is busy with the sails, John and two more people--I do not know who they are--are sorting out the ropes and nets in the bottom of the boat, as if they were preparing to catch during the night. I would say that the day is drawing to its end because the sun is already setting in the west. All the disciples have pulled thier tunics up, gathering them round their waists by means of belts, in order to be free in their movements, passing from one part of the boat to another, stepping over oars, seats, baskets and nets, without being hindered by their clothes. None of them is wearing a mantle.
I see that the sky is clouding over and the sun is hiding behind huge storm clouds, which have suddenly appeared from behind the top of a hill. The wind blows them fast towards the lake. The wind, for the time being, is high up, and the lake is still quiet, it is only becoming darker and its surface is no longer perfectly smooth. There are no waves yet, but the water is beginning to ruffle.
Peter and Andrew watch the sky and the lake are are preparing to draw close to the shore. But the wind suddenly rages over the lake that in a few minutes surges foaming. The swelling waves clash one against the other, they strike the little boat, lifting it up, lowering it down, tossing it in all directions, thus preventing all maneuvering the sail, which has to be lowered.
Jesus is sleeping. Neither the steps and excited voices of the disciples, nor the howling wind, nor the waves pounding on the sides of the boat and its prow, awake Him. His hair is blowing in the wind and drops of water reach Him. But He is sleeping. John runs from stem to stern and covers Him with his mantle, which he has taken from under a board. He covers Him with delicate love.
The storm rages more and more furiously. The lake is as black as if ink had been poured into it and is streaked by the foam of the waves. The boat lets in water and is driven father and farther to the open sea by the wind. The disciples are perspiring in their efforts to maneuver the boat and baling out the water which the waves pour in. But to no avail. They are paddling in the water which that reaches up to their knees and the boat is becoming heavier and heavier.
Peter loses his calm and patience. He hands the rudder over to his brother, staggers towards Jesus and shakes Him vigorously.
Jesus wakes up and raises His head.
"Save us, Master, we are going to drown!" Peter shouts to Him (he must shout to make himself heard).
Jesus stares at His disciple, looks at the others and then at the lake. "Do you believe that I can save you?"
"Quick, Master" shouts Peter, while a real mountain of water moves fast from the center of the lake towards the poor little boat. It is so high and dreadful that it looks like a water spout. The disciples who see it coming kneel down and hang on to whatever they can, certain that it is the end.
Jesus gets up. He stands on the stern board: a white figure against the livid storm. He stretches His arms out towards the billow and says to the wind: "Stop and be quiet" and to the water: "Calm down. I want it." And the billow dissolves into foam, which falls harmlessly with a last roar, which fades into a whisper, while the wind dies down changing into a whistle and then a sigh. And the sky becomes clear once again over the appeased lake, while hope and faith fill the hearts of the disciples.
I cannot describe Jesus's majesty. One must see it to understand it. And I enjoy it inwardly because it is still present in my mind and I think of how placid was Jesus' sleep and how imperious was His command to the winds and the waves.