Texts: Matthew 11:25-30                                                                                W 7^th Sunday after Pentecost

Smooth Sailing

            In the name of who takes away our burdens and gives us a light and easy yoke, dear friends in Christ:  making the observation that our Lord Jesus often taught spiritual truths in parables and stories, several weeks back I preached a message employing the same technique.  It seemed to go over fairly well; in fact one member specifically told me, “More sermons on ships”.  With that in mind (and attempting to prove that I really do listen to your constructive criticism), I offer the following meditation on this morning’s Gospel lesson utilizing the same approach, and picking up the story more or less where we left off last time.

To refresh your memory, or to bring you up to speed in case you weren’t here (and shame on you, if that’s the case), what I did was to ask you to imagine the journey through life as a great sea, a sea full of potential dangers and hazards, that has to be crossed in order to arrive at the distant land on the far shore somewhere off where the sun sets, which represents our heavenly goal. Here on the near shore, we have all kinds of ships being built to get people to the other side.  These ships represent the various philosophies, worldviews, and belief systems of the people who choose to sail in them and that carry them through life, so to speak.  So, for instance, we had the Liberty, which was a luxury cruise liner.  It represents the idea worldliness and living life for the pursuit of pleasure, however it might be found.  Though an extremely popular choice, it’s an inherently unstable vessel, and the people who embark on it are certain to perish at sea far short of the goal. Then we had the Victory, an imposing warship that represents the legalistic view of Christianity so popular among modern American Evangelicals and others. For its crew, the Bible is a book of drill and discipline that instructs them how to lead a victorious life over sin by which they seek to earn their way to the safe haven on the far shore. More about that ship in today’s installment.

And there’s also the Promise, a ship that represents the life of faith in Jesus Christ (who is the ship’s Captain) and his Gospel of salvation by grace through faith in his atoning sacrifice.  The Promise is an incredibly old and tired looking sailing vessel, with a single mast and yardarm that form a cross high over the heads of all who sail on her.  She appears barely seaworthy; but she is in fact the only ship capable of making the voyage successfully, which she has done many times under the command of her Captain.  In what is intended to be a picture of Baptism, the only way to be enrolled as a passenger on the Promise is to come through the water.  That’s where we left off last time, when the teller of the tale was pushed off a wharf into the sea by the wise old Harbor Master (a picture of the Holy Spirit), and was subsequently fished out of the water by a crewmember of the Promise and set safely aboard.  It’s here that our story continues…

            The tide and wind being in our favor, we put to sea almost as soon as I was aboard the.  In no time at all we were clear of the harbor and its jetty and heeling gently to a fresh breeze out in deep water.  It was exhilarating – a totally new experience.  I felt so alive, more alive than I’d ever felt before.  And everything was so new to me, the strange vocabulary of the orders and commands, the signals and bells, the names of the various parts of the ship and its equipment – it was like learning a new language.  I felt out of place, and yet, at the same time, so very comfortable.  I could see in all the mysterious actions of the crew and other goings on a proven and reliable order.  I knew that even if I didn’t understand everything that was happening, there were others who did, and that all of it was happening for a reason to keep the ship safe and steady on its course.  And so my education began. 

Before long I became accustomed the rhythmic routine of daily life aboard the Promise.  Each day at dawn we stowed away our hammocks and were piped to the foredeck where we assembled for bathing.   While crewmembers manned the pumps, gallons of cold, pure seawater poured over us ensuring that we started the day clean and refreshed.  Then breakfast was served:  always something hot and nutritious to help get us through the day. Then it was off to our daily duties. Every passenger aboard had an assigned workplace that contributed to the well-being of the ship and its company. For example, some helped the surgeon with the care of the sick, others reported to the ship’s carpenter to help with needed repairs, or to the ship’s purser, sail maker, cook, and so on; still others learned about the operation of the ship in preparation for becoming part of the crew.  The point was that no one was a mere passenger or idle spectator.  Everyone contributed something for the good of all. We worked hard, sure, but we could see the fruit of our labors, and at each day’s end we ate our suppers with thanksgiving.

            But on Sundays things were different.  On that day we took a break from the regular routine and we cleaned up especially well because we were all invited to feast with the Captain at his table.  And the amazing thing was that no matter how many people came to his table, you always felt as if you had a personal audience with him and that he was delighted to see you and that he cared about the even the smallest details of your life. Ah, the delights of the Captain’s table were many, and the hours we spent in his company are moments to be cherished.  He would open his heart and tell us many wise and wonderful things.  And then, invariably, one of the ships officers would talk about the Captain and tell us stories of his many previous adventures at sea, and of the people he had taken safely to the far shore.  They were stories of action, great danger, and astonishing courage that we loved to hear.  Our favorite, which we asked to be told again and again, was about the worst storm ever, and how the ship was in peril of being lost with all hands.  The crew was frozen with fear.  Not wishing to risk the life of anyone else aboard, the Captain himself had gone aloft to shorten and secure the sail to keep the ship from capsizing from the force of the wind.  Clinging to the mast and yard, he was flailed by hard flapping canvas and beaten by loose, wildly swinging tackle until he was bruised and bleeding, but still he worked on.  When at last all things were secure and the ship was safe, a blazing, blue bolt of lightening hit him, and just as suddenly, the furious storm subsided and the weather cleared.  It was about sunset.  They lowered the Captain’s lifeless body to the deck and laid him deep in the hold. The next day the ship sat dead in the water, completely becalmed; not a breath of was wind blowing.  It was almost as if the Promise itself had died with him.  But then, morning the third day, everyone awoke to the familiar heel and roll of the ship underway again.  And when they went on deck, they were surprised to see the Captain, healthy and whole, at his usual place by the wheel.   So determined was he to keep the Promise and bring her safely to the port of New Haven that death itself could not stop him.

            But back to the present voyage …

We were several months out of harbor when the lookouts announced the telltale black plumes of smoke on the horizon that told of a powerful ship coming up on us fast from the east.  It turned out to be the mighty warship Victory, only a few weeks out of port.  It had sailed long after our departure and covered the same distance in just a fraction of the time.  She came up on us fast and close, kicking up a mighty wake that seemed that it would have swamped us had she not slowed at the last moment. She truly was a sight to behold: her size, power, and majesty were absolutely stunning, and her crew lined the rails in ordered ranks all wearing the same impossibly white uniforms I had seen when I was at the naval recruiting station.  Looking at them and then at our own old, dinky, wooden craft with its crew in work clothes, some of our own ship’s company were noticeably embarrassed by the comparison.

Having hove to, Victory lowered at least a half dozen of her boats to come across to the Promise.  One contained a delegation of some ten or so officers and crew, and the others were empty except for the hands needed to operate them.  The delegation of white uniformed men, led by what was obviously a senior officer, clambered up our ship’s side and appeared on the deck where we greeted them with all appropriate ceremony.  Almost immediately I detected an overpowering odor that was sickly sweet and yet, at the same time, sharply out of sorts – like a really funky pair of gym shoes.  “What is that smell?” I asked one of our officers standing nearby.  “Shh”, he hushed me, “What you smell is perfume – and you’re not supposed to notice.”  I looked at him quizzically and he continued to explain, “The crew of warships like Victory never bathe.  To do that, they’d have to admit that they get dirty – and there’s no provision for that in their regulations.  So instead they put on heavy perfume to mask the smell.”  I almost told to stop pulling my leg, but I could see that he was completely serious.  And then I noticed that their uniforms were not so spectacularly white from cleanliness, but rather from having been coated with some kind of whitewash. It was thick from repeated applications and cracked and peeling in places.  “Is that paint?” I asked.  He replied, “Now you’re beginning to understand.”

From where I was standing, I could overhear the conversation the lead officer from Victory was having with our First Mate.  He was saying, “God be praised we found you when we did.  There’s not a moment to lose.  We can begin to evacuate your people immediately.”  “Beg pardon, Sir?” asked the Mate, “Evacuate the Promise? Whatever for?”  “You are obviously a ship in distress.  We mean to rescue you.”  The Mate just laughed.  “We’re quite alright, I assure you.”  The officer from Victory looked incredulous.  “You can’t seriously be thinking about staying on this old, worm-eaten wreck!”   “I thank you for your concern; but I assure you, Sir, we are perfectly safe.” Victory’s officer was totally flustered. “It’s madness, Sir!”  He raised his voice and shouted,  “Listen to me, all of you.  This is a ship in grave danger.  It’s in no condition to continue.  It must be abandoned at once.  But not to worry, we’ve plenty of space aboard Victory, and we are prepared to rescue you now.  But we cannot be responsible for those who choose to stay behind.”  At this he glowered at the Mate, who told him, “Actually, Sir, my own Captain has instructed me to make the same gracious offer to you and to all who are now aboard Victory.”   One would have thought that the man’s head was going to explode from the sudden rush of blood.  “Of all the impertinence!” he spat between clenched teeth, and he retreated with his delegation over the side and into the waiting boat.  But I noticed that several members of our own company went with them, so enthralled were they by the sheer majesty of Victory. We saw them standing in their new white uniforms with the others at Victory’s rail as she steamed ahead out of sight over the horizon.

It was a week or so later that we sighted another ship off the starboard bow.  It was really more of a very large yacht with a modern, no, I think you’d call it a futuristic design.  Though moving quite rapidly – even faster than Victory – she was pursuing an extremely erratic course.  She couldn’t seem to maintain a straight heading for more than a few minutes at a time. So sometimes she was coming toward us, and other times away; but never did she seem to be headed on a parallel course to ours.  As chance would have it – or so it seemed, for that’s how peculiar her movements were – at last she came up close enough for us to exchange pleasantries and other information.  Standing some distance off, she sent up signal flags, which, when deciphered read, “Persons in pursuit of wisdom and knowledge are invited to repair aboard.”

The Mate passed word for me, and when I reported, said that the Captain had chosen me to represent the ship.  “Why me?” I asked. He replied, “Aren’t you someone interested in pursuing wisdom and knowledge?”  I admitted that I was.  “Well, then”, he said, “the invitation is for you.  Get going now.”  And the next thing I knew, I was being rowed across to the fantastically modern ship that I could now see was named the Age of Reason. 

I have to admit that I was impressed when I stepped onto her lively deck. Everything in sight was high tech and state of the art.  I said to the officer who greeted me, “My compliments to your Captain.  This is a most remarkable vessel.”   “Yes, indeed it is” he said, “but I must tell you, Reason has no Captain.”  “Well then”, I asked, “Who is in charge of the ship?  Who gives the orders?”  He answered, “The Reason is the crowing achievement of man’s intellect. Logic, science, philosophy, they are master aboard this ship.  We follow them.”  “But how do you chart a course?  Who determines your heading?”  “Elementary, my dear boy,” he said, “we always go in the direction that makes the most sense at the time.  With each new discovery, with every intellectual breakthrough, we obtain new guidance and we follow it as far as it takes us.”  I protested, “But then how will you ever get to the far shore?” “You poor deluded child,” he said with pity, “they’ve told you there’s a far shore and you believed it.  But let me ask you, has anyone ever seen it? Have you?  No, of course not.  So there you go:  No concrete proof whatsoever.  Therefore, as far as reason is concerned, it doesn’t exist!  It’s a myth, my boy, a fable.  There is no destination.  There is only a voyage of discovery.”  He urged me to stay aboard so that I could be what he called “deprogrammed”.  But as impressive as Reason was, I could not bear the thought of leaving the Promise and its faithful Captain

I could see dark, ominous clouds on the horizon as we rowed back to the ship. And when I came aboard, all hands were busy preparing for a real blow.  This was my first full-fledged storm at sea, and while I had heard others talk of them, nothing prepared me for the stark, raving terror of the real thing. I did not think it possible for the wind to blow so hard.  It howled and roared, and the rigging whined and trembled as if in pain.  Promise swayed and rolled heavily as we climbed mountainous waves and then plunged like a roller coaster car into the troughs.  I clung to the rail in white knuckled fear, seasick and vomiting, staring out at the storm.  It was frightening to look at, I could hardly stand it; but I feared even more not seeing what was coming next.  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.  It was the First Mate.  “Your first storm, eh?”  He shouted to be heard.  “You’re looking the wrong way!  Turn around and look over there.”  He pointed to the Captain who was standing in his usual place by the helm.  Though the ship shuddered as if coming apart, he stood there firm and easy, seemingly unconcerned.  I could see at once that this was nothing to him, and I drew strength and confidence knowing that if it didn’t bother him, there was nothing to worry about.

            When the storm abated two days later, the surface of the sea was littered with flotsam and wreckage:  the carnage of ships that did not weather the storm.  We came upon a few survivors of the Age of Reason. They were scattered about clinging to pieces of floating debris.  Each one hung on desperately to his own piece, and paddled or kicked this way and that in the erratic fashion of their now lost ship; but all of them refused to be rescued by Promise.  They laughed derisively at the thought of it, having more confidence in whatever it was that was keeping them afloat.  There were others with nothing to cling to, and we came upon one who actually feared for his life and wanted to come aboard.  He was saved.  But most preferred to drown rather than come aboard the Promise.

            It was a little more than a week later that we sighted Victory again.  She was dead in the water and adrift far out to the west.  As we came closer, we could see that they were attempting to tow her with the ship’s boats.  At a distance it looked like ants trying to pull a railroad boxcar.  It was clear that they weren’t making any progress, but still they tried to move Victory forward to the goal with all of the strength they could muster.  Most of the crew were in the boats straining at the oars, while petty officers shouted at them to pull harder and threatened them with knotted ropes called starters that were used to beat slackers.  We could see that the white uniforms of those at the sweeps were in tatters and soaked through with sweat and grime.  They were all badly sunburned, and their hands were blistered and raw.  The officer who had come aboard weeks earlier was standing near Victory’s bridge.  He had a speaking trumpet and he called out, “Ahoy, Promise!  Thank the Sovereign Lord you’ve come.  It’s embarrassing to ask, but we require your assistance.  We’ve run out of fuel and we’re fasting and praying for revival so that we can get underway again.  Add your voices to ours that our Captain may hear and answer us, and send us relief and new inspiration.”  It was our First Mate who replied, “Your Captain, he’s not aboard?”  “No, of course not”, came the answer, “Never has been. He waits for us on the far shore. We have his book.  It tells us all we need to know about what to do and how to get there.  All we need is a little help.”

            This time it was our Captain who answered.  He was peering down with compassion on the hapless souls in the boats who were futilely pulling at the oars with all their strength.  He called out, “Your Captain has heard your call for help.  That’s why I am here now.  I’ve come to rescue you.  Stop your rowing; it’s useless anyway.  Take off your soiled clothes and cast yourselves into the sea.  I will bring you aboard the Promise.  I will find you a place and see to it that all your needs are taken care of, and I will see you safely to the other side. It’s my promise to you.”

            The officer on Victory’s bridge was livid.  He shouted insults and threatened to fire upon us; but our Captain ignored him.  In the boats, petty officers threatened to beat anyone attempting to escape, but they could do nothing to stop the ones who followed our Captain’s instructions.  Most stayed in the boats, determined to stay with Victory; but several dozen did come safely across, where, like me, they were enrolled into the ship’s company and soon became accustomed to the smooth sailing and easy rhythm of life aboard the Promise.

Soli Deo Gloria!