Who's in the Boat? Trusting God in the Storm Instead of the Ballot

October 25th, 2026
by Bill Berger

Let me start with a question, and answer it honestly, just between you and God. When was the last time you prayed about something, and it felt like your prayer hit the ceiling? Not a theory. A specific moment. Hold onto it, because that is where this post lives.

There is a particular kind of worry that comes after you have already prayed. You did the thing. You brought it to God. And nothing changed. The diagnosis is still the diagnosis. The money still isn't there. And underneath the worry is a quieter question most of us are afraid to say out loud: God, are you even paying attention?

It isn't only our private storms. This fall has brought hurricanes on the Gulf Coast and Mexico's Pacific coast, flooding in western North Carolina where families are still rebuilding from Helene, fires in Southern California, grief in Bend, Oregon, and war in the Middle East that shows up in what we pay for groceries and gas. And in two weeks, Americans go to the polls.
That last storm is the one I want to talk about. Because when the water starts coming over the side, a lot of us in the church have started looking for someone who can bail it out for us. And increasingly, that someone has a name on a ballot.

When the ballot becomes the boat

Politics has become the storm many Americans feel most. In a March 2026 Change Research survey, 30% of voters named the political situation as the single biggest source of stress in their lives, ahead of money and finances at 22% (Change Research). We are more anxious about who wins than about how we'll pay the bills.

And yet we don't trust the thing we are so anxious about. Pew Research found that only 17% of Americans trust the federal government to do what is right always or most of the time, down from 73% in 1958 (Pew). Look closer and the pattern is telling. A year ago, under one administration, 35% of Democrats and 11% of Republicans trusted Washington. Today, under another, it is 9% of Democrats and 26% of Republicans. Our trust doesn't rest on the government. It rests on whether our side is holding the wheel.

The church has not stayed out of that current. PRRI's 2025 American Values Atlas, surveying more than 22,000 adults, found that 56% of Christians who attend services weekly or more qualify as supporters of Christian nationalism, the belief that American law and identity should be explicitly Christian (PRRI). Among the most committed adherents, 30% agreed that "true American patriots may have to resort to violence." That is not trust in the God who stills the sea. That is grabbing for the oars.

This isn't only a right-wing temptation. The same Pew study that found 17% of Americans want Christianity declared the official religion also found the country nearly split down the middle: 52% say conservative Christians push religion too far into government, while 48% say secular liberals go too far pushing it out (WJLA/Pew). Christians on both sides can come to believe that the right candidate is what stands between us and drowning.

And it is reshaping our congregations. In 2022, Lifeway Research found that half of churchgoers prefer a church where people share their political beliefs. The share who strongly agree their church is politically uniform nearly doubled in five years, from 11% to 21% (Religion Unplugged/Lifeway). We are sorting ourselves into boats by party and calling it fellowship.

The professional’s panic; the carpenter sleeps

Mark tells it simply (Mark 4:35–41). It's evening. Jesus has taught all day and says, Let's go over to the other side. Then a furious squall hits the Sea of Galilee, a lake ringed by mountains and known for sudden, violent storms. Several of these men are professional fishermen. They know this water. They are terrified, bailing faster than the waves can empty them.

The psalmist knew that kind of storm: sailors who "reeled and staggered like drunkards; they were at their wits' end" (Psalm 107:27). Some translations say all their skill was swallowed up. Every tool they had was useless.

And Jesus? In the stern, asleep on a cushion. His sleep shows real exhaustion and deep trust in his Father. The professionals are panicking. The carpenter is asleep.

The disciples wake him with the question underneath every storm: Teacher, don't you care if we drown? He doesn't lecture them for asking. He gets up, rebukes the wind, and says to the waves, Quiet! Be still! The lake goes to glass.

Psalm 65 had already told them who does this: the God "who stilled the roaring of the seas, the roaring of their waves, and the turmoil of the nations" (Psalm 65:7). The roaring sea and the turmoil of the nations answer to the same voice.

Then Jesus asks, Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith? I don't hear that as "how dare you be afraid." I hear: Did you really think I'd let you drown? I'm right here in the boat. And the disciples end more afraid than they began, asking, Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him.

That is the question for the church in an election season. Worry asks, Who can protect us? Faith asks, Who is in the boat with us? Psalm 146 is blunt about the first answer: "Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save" (Psalm 146:3). Candidates are not saviors. At their best, they are fellow passengers, fellow bailers. None of them has ever told the wind to be still.

What a trusting church looks like

Let me be clear about what I am not saying. I am not telling you to stay home on Election Day. Voting is a real way to love your neighbor, and Christians should do it thoughtfully and prayerfully. Seeking the welfare of the city (Jeremiah 29:7) includes the ballot box.

What I am saying is that the ballot is a tool, not a refuge. When we treat an election as the thing that will finally make us safe, we are asking a fellow passenger to do what only the One asleep in the stern can do. And the fruit of that misplaced trust is visible: anxiety that outranks our bills, congregations sorted by party, and a growing minority of churchgoers willing to entertain violence to protect "our values."

The early church never had a candidate. They lived under an empire that did not share their values and often persecuted them. Yet they changed the world, not by capturing power but by living as if Jesus really was Lord over the wind, the waves, and Caesar. Their trust looked like:

Calm in the boat. People noticed they were unafraid, and asked why.
One table for everyone. Jews and Gentiles, slaves and free, sharing a meal. Imagine a church today where people who vote differently still break bread together.
Presence in the storm. When plagues swept Roman cities, Christians stayed to nurse the sick, including people who were not Christians.

That is what a trusting church looks like now. It is a church that spends more energy carrying a neighbor's storm than arguing about the national one. It is a church where you cannot tell, from the parking lot or the pulpit, who people voted for, but you can tell, from the way they love, who they belong to. It is a church that votes, and then sleeps on the cushion.

Three practices for the next two weeks

Go back to the moment I asked you about at the start, the prayer that felt like it hit the ceiling. Now add the election to it.

Wake him up. Don't pretend you're fine. Tell Jesus honestly what you fear if the "wrong" side wins. He can take it. The Psalms are full of people who prayed exactly like that.
Ask the better question. Before you scroll, before you watch the returns, picture Jesus in the boat with you and ask him: Who are you, in this? Let that answer set the size of the election in your heart.
Carry someone else's storm. Choose one storm no ballot will fix this month: a family in Bend, a town on the Gulf Coast, a neighbor worried about rent. Bring it to God, then show up with a meal, a check, or a few hours. And if there is someone in your church who votes differently than you, invite them to share that meal.

You may not get calm water on November 3. But you can get something better: a clearer sense of who is in the boat. And when you know who is with you, no storm and no election gets the last word.

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