One of the things I am known for saying is, "We are all in the same boat". What I mean by that is that the great love of God extends to all equally- The Gospel of grace shines the light of truth on everyone's sinfulness and need for a savior, (not a life-coach who gives us a hand when needed- Jesus is my co-pilot? No, he's the plane!) And we are all equally and dearly loved, so much that Jesus died for us.
The boat story below has to do with our vision and calling at Bridge of Life. This past year has been full of the stuff of life- that is, joy and pain, difficulty, triumph, loss and struggle. Our Bridge of Life family has experienced loss through moving, misunderstanding, crises, death, miscarriage and mental illness. The loneliness has been palpable as dear friends have slipped away.
When I say we are all in the same boat, it may at times have sounded like we were packed uncomfortably into a smelly old (beige) leaky creaky rowboat with one oar. Ignoring the stench and the leaks, we flounder about in rough seas, attempting to row towards drowning individuals who keep popping up in different directions, sometimes simultaneously, crying for help, hungry and cold; we reach them and drag them into our boat, give them our only warm soup and our last sleeping bag, and as soon as they slurp up the last of the soup they frickin’ jump overboard again, dragging our sleeping bag with them, and they flounder off without a thank you; then we see someone else floundering and go after them, ignoring the new leak we have sprung in our haste to rescue this new victim, wondering why the going is so slow as we begin to sink… Has it seemed like that? Well that's not it!
How about this instead- We are all hands on deck on a beautifully hand-crafted sailboat. The maker of this boat knows us and the waters well, and he has given us a clear destination and a manual with guidelines for how to work the boat. We have deliberately and obediently left the shelter of the bay and we are in uncharted choppy waters; some of our deck hands are green. Others are turning green. The wind is strong and sure, and we have had some trouble catching it. We have tried different sail angles and combinations of rudder tiller mainsail jib and boom. Sometimes we are luffing, sometimes running pell-mell and maybe a bit off course, but we have flirted with that good line, where we are heeled over to just about the right degree and our sails are full. We know where we are called to go and we have instructions for how to work together on the boat. We have to remind each other of the destination and we have discussions about the best way to get there- at times we neglect the manual about how to work together- at times we distrust the boatmaker, thinking we can rig the sails better than how they were designed. When we go back to the book, we see our folly, adjust the jib and the wind fills our sails again.
The boatmaker knows us, the waters, and our course so well. He has instructed us to schedule times of rest and listening on deck. He sings truth to us- he sings the Song softly on the wind, so softly we can only hear him when we stop all our efforts and listen. The more we listen the more we recognize his voice and the more we can hear the Song clearly. We can hear him sing about the brokenness of the world and the wholeness only he offers. His Song leads us to lost souls that he puts in our path; he instructs us to care for them and invite them aboard, so we do. They look familiar, and we remember when we were invited on board, the hunger and cold we still feel at times. So we give them soup and sleeping bags and invite them to join our quest, explaining that the journey itself is an important part of our destination and that we can trust the boat because the boatmaker is trustworthy, and he made everything, including us. Some of them join us joyfully and begin hearing the song, reading the book and learning the ropes; some down the soup, grab what they can and jump overboard. We are often sad to see them go, but we have extra soup and sleeping bags, even if they swim back into our course again later. Sometimes they swim away crying for us to follow, that they need more soup and sleeping bags, and only we can help… It’s tempting, because we like the feeling of helping others, but we know that theirs is not the voice we are following, and we know the Singer is their only hope. So we quiet our hearts, listen to the Song of that still small voice and stay on course, mourning for those lost souls, welcoming their return, but staying on course.
The seas are rough, and the boat is difficult to maintain. It takes a lot out of us- we get sick, and tired, and sickandtired. Sometimes we wonder if the boat is off course, if it is being steered expertly enough by the captain and crew, we wonder about that other boat in those other seas…is it calmer there? Is that sighing the boatmaker’s song, or the wind and waves?
We read in the manual about rest and nutrition for the crew, and we are determined to prioritize the care and feeding of our co-laborers. Our needs are different- some need more food or more training, but we all need each other, and we all need the song and the book. We get discouraged and feel like we need more partners who have read the book, who have heard the Song, who have strong backs and arms and who know our destination and have been called on the quest…. The book tells us how to sing back, tells us even the Song is a dialogue that can change…so let’s sing, together, to the boatmaker, the wind and the wavemaker, the great Singer whose persistent voice calls us on…. Will you join us?
No comments:
Post a Comment