Texts: Romans 3:21-28, Deut 11:18-28, Matt 7:15-29                                 W 2^nd Sunday after Pentecost

Safe Passage

            In the name of Jesus, dear friends in Christ:  as I’m sure you know, our Lord Jesus often taught spiritual truths in the form of parables and stories.  What follows is an interpretation of today’s Scripture readings offered in the same spirit.  I pray that you will find its meaning sufficiently clear.

            I traveled from my inland home down to the shore of the great sea called Life to book passage to the land far, far away on the other side, way off in the direction of the setting sun.  My first glimpse of the sea just about took my breath away.  It was vast and beautiful – and in some ways quite awesome and frightening, for I had heard of its many dangers:  dark, dreadful storms; bloodthirsty pirates; dangerous reefs and shoals; unknown perils of the deep … so many ways to lose your way and maybe your soul.  I resolved to find a ship that would get me safely to the other side.

            The shipyards of the city by the sea were a frenzy of activity as new vessels were being built:  vessels of all shapes and sizes.  Some of these ships were, as yet, mere frames in the dry docks – just skeletons of steel.  Others were at various stages of completion; but all were being fitted out and equipped for the long voyage to take people to the other side.

            Knowing very little about ships and seamanship and the relative quality of the captains and crews, I decided to get the best advice I could before booking passage.  So I went to the passenger wharf and sought out the wise, old Harbor Master.  He was pleased to be of service.  It turned out that very few people asked his opinion about such things, electing to choose for themselves the ship that best suited them.  The Harbor Master told me that, as fortune would have it, there were at present three ships ready for sail, and all three were in the process of embarking passengers. 

            The first of these was by far the biggest and finest looking ship in the whole port.  It was the Liberty, a brand, spanking new, luxury cruise liner.  The line of people waiting to get on board was endless, but they appeared to be moving right along; and I could see lots of people – people obviously already enjoying themselves – on its many decks and levels high above the wharf where we stood.  It was easy to see why this ship was such a popular choice.  The Harbor Master took me to the impressive, modern-looking building that served as the cruise line’s terminal.  Inside, dozens of travel agents were detailing to potential passengers the Liberty’s many features and amenities, trying to persuade them to sign on.  They talked fast and excitedly with big smiles on their faces, and they had lots of slick brochures showing all the fun, glitz, and glamour in store for those who sailed aboard her.  There were also video presentations flashing on big screens situated strategically throughout the lobbies to seduce the attention of those who were waiting to talk to an agent.

            We drew close to one of the agent’s stations, where I could overhear the sales pitch that a very shapely and attractive agent was using on a gullible young rube not unlike myself.  She was telling him, “If it weren’t copyrighted, the Liberty’s motto would be the same as that of Outback Steakhouse:  No rules, just right.  We’re all about fulfilling your desires and providing for your leisure.  Whatever you like, whatever you can imagine – and maybe some things you can’t – you’ll find it on the Liberty.  Name your pleasure:  fine food, sports, shows, entertainment; we’ve got it.  And if your tastes run more to the exotic”, at this point she winked slyly, “you’ll find what you’re after on the lower decks.  The only question is ‘How low do you want to go?’  And, of course, if you’re not into the standard vices, we’ve plenty more. You want to be a highly educated intellectual, a social snob, a millionaire, a spiritual guru?  We’ll indulge you.  We’re all for building your self-esteem however you want to do it. And if you’d like to go the other way, we’ll do that too.  Some people are happiest when they have something to complain about, or to be angry about, others like to be perpetual victims feeling sorry for themselves all the time; the point is we have it all.  And you can move around the ship and sample it all to find what best suits you.  You see, we firmly believe that the destination is not as important as the cruise itself.  You have the right to be happy while you travel.  And since you only get to make the crossing once, you should get to do it your own way – without anyone judging you for your choices.  So, what do you say?”  She said this last line handing him a clipboard and pointing to the place where he was to sign.

I couldn’t tell which the fellow found more appealing, the agent or her pitch. It didn’t make any difference because either way, he was hooked.  As he signed his name, he asked almost absently, “What about the all dangers I’ve heard about?”  The agent replied very sweetly, “Oh, don’t you worry about it, Darlin’.  Everything will be all right.”

“And how about you?” the Harbor Master asked me, “What do you say?” I admitted that it all looked and sounded like it would be a lot of fun, but that I couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy about that last response.  It seemed a bit too careless and irresponsible.  “You’re right to be wary, my boy“, he confirmed.  “And I’ll tell you something else.  Ships like Liberty have very shallow hulls.  They ride on the surface.  They’re okay for short cruises in sheltered waters, but they’re not made for the deep sea and heavy weather.  A little gale would send Liberty pitching and rolling in such a way to make everyone onboard seasick; and in a genuine storm she’d flounder and sink for sure.”

“So, maybe you’d like something a little more stable and reliable”, he said. He led me over to the next vessel that was preparing to sail.  It was the warship Victory.  Its imposing gray hull also towered over the wharf even though it was only half the size of the Liberty.   I could see people on its decks too; not as many, all in uniform, and they were all very, very busy.  They moved with a decided sense of purpose and military precision.  Though for all their rigorous activity, they seemed to be smiling and happy.

A large Quonset hut on the wharf served as the naval recruiting station. We went inside and there I saw an officer addressing a small crowd of potential seamen and women.  He was wearing an impossibly white uniform with shiny brass buttons and rows and rows of ribbons attesting to his impeccable service record.  He spoke in a booming southern drawl like a Baptist preacher.  “This ain’t no pansy, pleasure boat,” he intoned.  “You will find the Vict’ry to be a highly disciplined and well-run ship.  We will tolerate no slackers.  But if you think you have what it takes and sign on, well, then we’ll make real sailors out of you.  How, you ask? Through drill and discipline.  The Vict’ry is a ship run by the Book – the Good Book, that is.”  At this, he produced a black leather bound Bible, and held it over his head with sort of a quaking vibration as he spoke on.  It almost seemed as if he were trying to shake something out of it.  “This is the Vict’ry’s rule book”, he said. “You will learn it fore, aft, across the beam, and from the bottom of its bilge to the peak of its maintop. You will study its regulations line upon line and precept upon precept until they are for you second nature. And by them you will order your life so that you may live it to the glory of Almighty God and be prepared to face any and all challenges that may come.  Through such drill and discipline we’ll give you confidence in yourself, teach you to become a mighty prayer warrior, and equip you to unleash the power of the Spirit in your life.  We will provide you with close supervision to ensure you get things right the first time, use peer pressure to enforce conformity, and we will assign you to an accountability group to help you overcome your weaknesses and any temptations that may come your way.  Furthermore, we will instruct you in the fourteen keys to effective leadership, the five principles of godly investing, the six methods of conducting hand to hand combat with the devil, and the eight ways of warding off spiritual depression, all in order to guarantee that you attain in your life at sea the glorious vic’try the Lord wants you to have, and, when we get to the other side, a mansion full of the treasures you earned for yourself while you sailed with us aboard the Vict’ry.”

“Wow”, I said aloud, “That sounds a lot more convincing than that last spiel. And it sounds like the Victory would be much safer to sail with; but …” “But what?” the Harbor Master asked. “I don’t know … they sure do seem to expect a lot.  Too much, I think.  Even with all the help he mentioned, I just don’t think I could find in myself what it takes to be what they demand.”

The Harbor Master smiled.  “You really are an insightful and refreshingly honest young fellow, aren’t you?” he said.  “The truth is that none of those young folks you see signing up over there have what it takes either.  Nor do the officers of that ship.  They only think they do.  And that’s the trouble with ships like the Victory.  Their crews over estimate themselves and they under estimate the duration and rigors of the journey before them.  Let me give you an example:  that ship has some very powerful engines; I watched them being installed when she was still in dry dock.  But her fuel tanks?  Only capable of holding half, maybe less than half, of what she needs for the trip that lies ahead.  Same is true of the food supplies for the crew.  One day soon they’ll set sail and go surging out of here with great confidence and a lot of hoopla.  And I daresay that they’ll even weather a few of the first storms.  But sooner or later they’re going to come up short, and they’ll be adrift out there in the great sea starving to death.”

“Why don’t you warn them? I asked, “How can you let them go off like this, so ill prepared?”  “Because they don’t believe me.  The truth is, they have been told.  Many times. But they are convinced that they can make it on their own, with their own grit, ingenuity, and determination. It’s not that they haven’t been told; it’s that they refuse to believe.”

I shook my head sadly.  “So far”, I said to the Harbor Master, “what you’ve shown me is not very encouraging. I’ve only seen ships that are doomed to fail.”  He replied, “I had to show you these first.  You needed to know what wouldn’t work before you’d be ready to see what will.  Now, come with me.”  He led me way down the wharf past dozens of other vessels of all shapes and sizes, all clearly not ready to sail, and some looking like they never would be.  On the hulls I saw their names in gilded letters:  the Joseph Smith, the Dawn of the New Age, the Wisdom of Confucius, and such others.  After we had walked some distance I could see at the end of the dock what appeared to be a tired, worn out, old barge.  I thought, “Oh no, I hope that’s not it.”  But as we continued down the noticeably narrowing pier heading right for it, it became increasingly clear that that was our destination.

Did I say she was old?  I could now see that she was ancient. She looked like she might have been the original ark of Noah – except not as big.  She listed slightly to one side; not, it seemed, from the wind or from having an unbalanced cargo, but more from sheer weariness.  The timbers of her wooden hull were rough hewn, but they had been weathered smooth by many years of hard work at sea.  From her deck there rose a single tall mast with just one yard arm slung at precisely trimmed right angles.  And across her stern I saw a name in letters that seemed to glow with a certain internal phosphorescence, as if lit from within.  She was called The Promise. 

I said to the Harbor Master, “You’ve got to be kidding.  I would never have picked a creaky, leaking, old hulk like this.”  He just laughed.  “No one ever does.  But don’t let her appearance deceive you.  Despite her age, she’s amazingly well-built.  Her keel was laid by the Master Craftsman many centuries ago, back when the sea itself was still young.  And though she shows the wear and tear of her years, she’s as seaworthy as ever. She’ll see you through.  That’s why she’s called The Promise:  those who sail with her are guaranteed to make it to the other side safe and sound.

“Oh, it isn’t always a smooth and easy passage,” he continued, “rarely is that the case.  Over the years she’s taken a lot of abuse:  frightful storms, attacks by pirates … she’s even suffered a few short-lived mutinies by some of her crew and passengers.  But she always comes through in the end.  She has to:  she’s The Promise.

            I looked her over again from bow to stern with nothing short of incredulity.  To me the wonder wasn’t how she might make a crossing, but how she stayed afloat at all. I asked, “How can you be so sure about her?”  He answered, “Look, sonny, I’ve been here for a long, long time.  And I’ve seen how they keep making fantastic cruise liners like the Liberty and mighty warships like the Victory and all other kinds of vessels – more than you can imagine.  I’ve seen hundreds of them leave these docks – but I’ve never seen one come back.  The only one that ever does is the old Promise here.  And I’m told that sometimes, when she comes across the survivors of the wrecks of others at sea, she fishes them out of the drink and takes them to the other side too.  But you ask me why I’m so sure.  Well, I’ll tell you.  You see that fellow up there on the deck near the wheel?”  He pointed to a stately old salt with a wise and weathered face and rough, scarred hands.  “That’s the Captain.  I told you that the Master Craftsman made The Promise, didn’t I?  Well, the Captain there is the fellow who keeps it – and he will do whatever it takes to make sure it’s fulfilled.  Like I told you:  he knows the way.  He’s been to the other side and he’s come back.”

              I looked into the eyes of the Captain, and somehow I knew that the words of the Harbor Master were absolutely true.  I can’t explain it.  But still, I hesitated.  I asked, “But what would I do in a ship like that?”  Again he smiled at me.  “Do? You’ll find there’s plenty to do. The Promise is also a ship run by the Book, it’s just that the Book is understood differently.  Its rigid codes and expectations are taken to be more diagnostic rather than prescriptive. The Captain fulfills the Book’s requirements.  You might even say that if you’re on board, the Captain is your Book.  You simply trust the Captain and listen to him.  And as you do, you’ll find yourself doing the day to day work that needs to be done on board.  Mostly you’ll be taking care of the other passengers with whatever skills you decide to pursue and develop.  And who knows?  Maybe you’ll be called to serve the ship in some capacity; maybe even become part of her crew.  And it won’t be all work, either.  You’ll find there’s time for rest and relaxation too – and on The Promise you really can relax, because you’ll know that the ship is in capable hands at all times.”

            I was torn.  On one level, I knew his words were true; and yet, doubts and worries flooded my mind.  I couldn’t make myself step forward.  And it was then that I noticed that there was no gangway to walk from the wharf to the ship anyway.  In fact, the ship was not tied to the dock. It was anchored about twenty feet away, and its deck was higher than the dock on which I stood.  The distance couldn’t be jumped.  “I can see that you’re perplexed”, said the Harbor Master. “The only way to get on The Promise is to get wet.  Just step in, and the Captain will see to it that someone pulls you on board.”  “But I don’t know how to swim.  I could drown!” I protested.  “Not a chance”, he said, “I told you that you could trust the Captain of The Promise, didn’t I?”

            What happened next was something of a surprise; but, mind you, I mean what I’m about to say most literally:  I’m damned if he didn’t push me off the wharf into the sea.  But ever since then, I am eternally grateful that he did.

Soli Deo Gloria!