Let’s cut to the chase: if miracles leave you slack-jawed and wide-eyed, like you’ve just seen a unicorn trot down Main Street, then something’s off. Jesus didn’t perform signs and wonders to dazzle us into awe-struck paralysis. He did them to to make the supernatural as commonplace as your morning coffee. But in Mark 6, we see the disciples fumbling this basic truth, and frankly, it’s a mirror for too many of us today. The text says they were “greatly amazed in themselves beyond measure, and marveled” after Jesus strolled on water and calmed the storm. Why? “For they had not understood about the loaves, because their heart was hardened.” Ouch. Being amazed at miracles isn’t a compliment—it’s a diagnosis of heart so hard it makes granite stone envious.
To unpack this, let’s rewind to the context. Right before this watery escapade, Jesus had just fed 5,000 men (plus women and kids, so we’re talking a small stadium crowd) with five loaves and two fish. The disciples were hands-on in that miracle—distributing the food, collecting leftovers. Twelve baskets full, a neat surplus symbolizing abundance for Israel’s tribes. You’d think that would stick. But no sooner do they hop in the boat, battling headwinds on the Sea of Galilee, than Jesus comes walking on the waves like it’s a paved sidewalk. He says, “Be of good cheer! It is I; do not be afraid.” He climbs aboard, the wind quits, and boom—amazement overload. Mark doesn’t mince words: their hearts were hardened, failing to connect the dots from the miracles of loaves to this latest display of divine miracles.
What’s a hardened heart, anyway? It’s not some mystical affliction; it’s unbelief dressed up in familiarity. The disciples saw Jesus multiply food out of thin air, yet when He tames the elements, they’re shocked. It’s like watching a master chef whip up a gourmet meal and then gasping when he boils water. Jesus expected them to graduate from that miracle to the next, extrapolating His power for consistent miracles when we ask in faith, not episodic. A soft heart would have responded with, “Of course He can walk on water—He just turned a kid’s lunch into a feast!” But hardness creeps in when we compartmentalize God’s acts, treating them as one-offs rather than deducing them as norm of His kingdom. And let’s be frank: this isn’t just ancient history. How many Christians today pray for healing, get it, and then act surprised when provision shows up next? It’s as if we’ve got amnesia about God’s track record.
This ties straight into the bigger picture of faith. Scripture hammers home that miracles aren’t anomalies; they’re God’s standard operating procedure for believers. Think about it—Jesus said in John 14:12, “Most assuredly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than these he will do, because I go to My Father.” Greater than raising the dead? Calming storms? That’s the bar. But if your heart’s hardened, you’ll dismiss that as hyperbole or “for the apostles only.” Nonsense. The same Spirit that empowered Jesus empowers us, and He’s not stingy. Philippians 4:19—”My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” They are expected. Not because we are special, but because God’s word is God’s will. Being amazed? That’s for rookies. Expectation is for sons.
Now, don’t get me wrong—there’s a healthy wonder in worship, like Psalm 8’s awe at creation. We are to be filled with joy and happiness but not surprise or marvel that it happens. The amazement in Mark 6 is different; it’s mingled with fear and incomprehension, stemming from a failure to internalize prior revelations of miracles and answered prayers. Vincent Cheung nails this in his writings on faith: true belief integrates God’s acts into your worldview, making the miraculous mundane in the best way. If you’re constantly surprised by answered prayer, it’s a sign you’re not renewing your mind with the word (Romans 12:2). Hardened hearts resist transformation, clinging to natural explanations or low expectations. And here’s the witty kicker: Satan loves a hardened heart because it keeps you playing defense, reacting instead of reigning. Romans 5:17 says we “reign in life through the One, Jesus Christ.” Reigning means anticipating victory, not gasping at it.
Let’s drill deeper into the loaf connection. The feeding miracle wasn’t just about full bellies; it echoed manna in the wilderness, pointing to Jesus as the Bread of Life (John 6). The disciples missed that typology, so when Jesus dominates the sea—symbolizing chaos in Jewish thought—they’re floored. A soft heart would have seen continuity: the God who gives miracles in provision is the same God who protects with miracles. This is why Jesus often chided them with, “O you of little faith” (Matthew 8:26). Little faith isn’t no faith; it’s faith that’s mixed with unbelief and empiricism. Today, we harden our hearts with cessationist theology or prosperity-gospel Lite, where miracles are optional add-ons. But Scripture says otherwise. Acts is full of everyday believers laying hands on the sick, casting out demons—like it’s Tuesday. If that’s not your average, time to soften up that granite stone to be flesh again.
Practically speaking, how do we avoid this trap? Relentless focus on God’s promises, day and night, as Psalm 1 advises. When sickness hits, don’t marvel if healing comes—expect it because “by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). Facing storms in life? Recall He who calmed the waves is in your boat. And if you’re thinking, “But Oshea, miracles aren’t that common,” that’s the hardness talking. Jesus expected them to be. In fact, He was frustrated when they weren’t understood.
This isn’t about manufacturing fake enthusiasm; it’s about alignment with reality. God’s kingdom is miraculous by definition. Ephesians 3:20 speaks of Him doing “exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.” If that’s not your baseline, repent of the hardness.
Like Peter walking on water himself—until he looked away. Focus on Jesus, and miracles become normal walking, not spectacles. Focusing on the carnal sensations of what you see, hear, touch and feel, will tell you miracles is not the normal. What you see, feel and hear will turn your heart into stone. The word of God will turn it to flesh.
In wrapping this up, remember: being amazed at miracles signals a heard heart. We often want to point to a person in what we might categorize as an obvious sin, and say, they have a hard heart. Fair enough, but Jesus shows the knife is double edge and it cuts us by expound a hard heart is simply not expecting miracles as the average common thing in our lives. Jesus wants us normalized to the supernatural, happy to receive but not stunned. When the wind ceases, you’ll nod knowingly, not gawk. That’s faith in action, and honestly, it’s way more fun than perpetual surprise.
But wait, there’s more to chew on. Consider how this hardened-heart syndrome infects modern church culture. Some celebrate testimonies as if they’re anomalies, clapping wildly for what should be routine. “God healed my headache!” Cue the applause. But Jesus fed thousands and expected His followers to top it. If we’re not seeing that level, it’s not God’s fault—it’s our unbelief. Mark 6:52 links the amazement directly to not understanding the loaves, implying comprehension breeds expectation of miracles.
This principle extends to all areas. Financial miracle? Expected. Relational restoration? Par for the course. Why? Because our God is unchanging, and His promises are yes in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20). Hardness comes from worldly conditioning—news cycles of doom, skeptical friends, focus on how or bodies feel, or what the doctors say, or constant replaying of empiricism, or past disappointments.
Ultimately, Jesus’ rebuke-through-example calls us higher. Don’t be the disciples in the boat, mouths agape. Be the ones who say, “Of course”—and step out in faith. Miracles aren’t for amazement; they’re for our personal victories; our personal victories glorify God and advance His kingdom.
Oshea Davis 