Beauty in a Boat

I have long had this romantic notion of what it would be like to go sailing.  I am not talking about tacking back and forth in a 8 foot Sabot in the bay.  I want to climb aboard a sailboat that is large enough to take me out of the bay, through the channel made by the jetty and past the breakwater to the open ocean.   I want the boat to be large enough to then take me far beyond the Channel Islands to a point from which I can no longer see land, and I want to stay there until it is dark.

I say this is a romantic notion because I have no ideas what it would be like to have this experience.  I have never been on a boat, let alone a sailboat, which has ventured out far enough for the land to disappear.  I can only imagine what it would be to find myself in a place where all landmarks have faded into the distance and the sun dipping into the sea allows complete darkness to close in around you.

In my imagination this is a very beautiful place.  The ocean is calm, and I can hear the water lap against the sides of the boat.  The only other sound I hear is the wind as it gently rustles through the canvas of the sails.  The sun sets, and while the beauty of this image still hangs in my memory the night sky appears.   Since I cannot see land, there is no light to compete with the gleaming stars.  They are seen, maybe for the first time in my life, in the fullness of their glory.

I cannot help but wonder what it would be to spend a night lying on my back on the deck of a sailboat staring up into the heavens at this canopy of twinkling lights, or to look out over the calm water and see the stars mirrored in the sea. 

But what if this is not what it would be like at all?  What if the sea was rough and the night sky was filled with clouds.  Rather than being a background upon which the stars gleamed like diamonds in the sky, the heavens acted like a vacuum which seemingly swallowed all light.  What if the wind tore through the sails and the waves rocked the boat violently and you lied down, cleaning to the deck, not to drink in the beauty, but because to stand was nearly impossible.  Would this be nearly as romantic, could any beauty be found?

I have some dear friends who seemingly have sailed onto just such a sea.  He is a man who struggles with a degenerative disease that becomes more debilitating with each passing year. His wife, who has walked this journey with him, and who has lovingly cared for him, suffered a stroke this week.  What happens when the caregiver suddenly needs care?  What is it is for the spouse who has needed the support of their mate to suddenly become the one who is the most able bodied?  I can only imagine, but I think it must feel as if they have sailed to a place where the landmarks have disappeared and the darkness has closed in.  A place where light seems to have vanished and there is no time to gaze up into the night sky because you are trying to keep the boat, which is lurching in the waves, from knocking you off of your feet.

As I prayed for them throughout the night, the image of the disciples in the boat in the middle of the storm came to me.  A furious squall had come across the lake.  The wind whipped through the sails and the waves grew so violent that they nearly swamped the boat.  These followers of Christ were panicked.  Jesus, on the other hand, slept comfortably on a cushion until they woke him.  These panic-stricken fishermen accused him of not caring about the fact they were about to lose their life.  We remember the story because of what Jesus did next; he commanded the wind and the waves to be still, and they became so.  This is an amazing feat, but it is not really the point of the story.  The lesson is not that Jesus calms the storms of our lives.  Jesus turns to them and asks the simple question, “Why are you afraid. Do you still have no faith?”  The point of the story is that in the middle of the storm we need not be afraid because we can trust the One who is with us.  He is powerful, capable, and sees beyond the wind and the waves.

Christ doesn’t just call us to this trust; he embodies this kind of trust so we can see what it looks like.  We certainly see it as He is sleeping on the cushion in the stern of that boat which was being tossed on the lake.  He trusts the Father who is with him.  We see it even more fully when He finds himself in the middle of his own storm.  In the garden, He can feel the squall growing, and He asks the Father to calm the wind and the waves by removing the cup. When there is no taking them away, He turns to his Father in trust, and willingly sails into the storm.

I wish I could simply calm the storm for my friends.  Honestly, most of what I prayed for in the middle of the night was for God to do just that.  Not every storm is clammed however; sometimes there is a greater purpose than I can imagine in the squall that stirs the wind and the waves into such violent action.  I am confident of this, however, there is One who can be trusted in the middle of every storm.  I also prayed that my friends would be able to see him clearly, even if the wind and the waves do not abate immediately.

What would it be to be able to possess this kind of vision in the middle of the storm?  What would it be for your eyes to adjust to the darkness,  have the capacity to be able to look through the wind driven spray, and see that you are not alone, that He is present and powerful and can be trusted? I imagine, especially as you are standing on the pitching deck of a boat which is being toss in the sea, it would be a beautiful and hopeful sight.  Maybe it would even be more beautiful than lying on your back in the midst of a calm sea under a star filled sky.

“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?” - Mark 4:41

He is "the bright morning star.” - Revelations 22:16 

"So we have the prophetic word made more sure, to which you do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star arises in your hearts. 2 Peter 1:19