The Subtle Pull Of An Ebbing Tide
A nautical chart is a thing of beauty. The allure of endless possibilities, each modified by the prevailing wind and tide, are washed across the page in the beckoning hues of open horizons, secluded bays, and incomprehensible depths. For a boy that grew up in the bush, my love affair with the sea has blossomed in surprising ways. From my small retreat on a quiet coastal inlet, I’ve begun a well-worn path that inevitably leads to ambling strolls along the tidal flats. With my dog’s boundless energy to capture an elusive crab and my children’s excited screams at some new discovery forming the soundtrack of my afternoon amble, I’m yet to tire of this much-loved walk. But if I could change one thing it would be this; I yearn to push out from the shore and meander across the shifting plane of white-capped beckoning invitations. And if I dream of pushing off from this shore, therein exists a dream within a dream—finding new shores to wander, new sand to leave a print in, new discoveries for my children to exclaim loudly over, even new crabs for my dog to conquer.
Maybe I am a romantic dreamer, forever imagining the discoveries of what could be in a distant tomorrow. An old love of sailing has once again pitched up from the depths of long buried past-times. The margins of my day have been compressed as I begin to read and research wooden dinghies of simple sails with rich ancestry roots. Never have plank and canvas taken on such beauty, such allure; flowing lines under a master craftsman’s hand, as you follow from stem to stern, speaking of a thousand journeys yet to be launched. Maybe I am a romantic dreamer, or maybe it is something else.
It is true that a continual peering toward distant horizons can be a noble posture, one that reveals an ambition of growth and discovery. Certainly this has been the prevailing tide of leadership material published in recent decades; church leaders who have an eye on the horizon, willing to launch out into new waters, and tread on the untouched beachfronts of new destinations. But maybe my desire to push a small dinghy out from the shore speaks to something more sinister. While it may be a noble thing to journey to new shores, sometimes searching for a ship has less to do with where you’re going, and more to do with where you’re leaving.
But Jonah rose to flee to Tarshish from the presence of the LORD. He went down to Joppa and found a ship… — Jonah 1:3
When the gentle whisper of God resounds in echoing clarity around you, or when the blaze of his fiery pillar leads the way, or when the incessant will of God sets itself as a roaring gale upon your life, we are left with a choice. We either find ourself pushing a dinghy out into uncharted waters, following the voice of our Captain, eager to walk in the footsteps he has ordained, even if the path is yet unseen. But not always.
Sometimes the winds of God’s purpose blow in your face, only to turn your gaze to other horizons. Sometimes the dinghy is pushed from the shore, not because Tarshish is so desirable, but precisely because Tarshish is somewhere else, anywhere else but here. Sometimes it’s less about going and more about leaving, and that is great reason for concern.
Jonah had no great love for Tarshish, instead, his driving passion was to fill his ears with the sound of wind and wave and to quiet the insistent and relentless grace of God. Jonah knew the character of God, knew it and despised it as he imagined it applied to those he deemed unworthy. That is why Jonah sought the sea. That is why Jonah found a ship.
Which leaves me wondering why I am drawn to the sandy shore. Am I running to something or from something? Is the sea a destination, or an escape?
If the sea is an escape, then it would not be my first time at running to a supposed safe harbour, an enigma of security that rings with a Siren’s song—I’ve heard the song before, but I suppose the tune can change over the years.
Dear friend, do you have a harbour that calls to you? A desire over the horizon; somewhere that has taken up residence in your mind? Have you sought Tarshish? Have you found a ship?
Do I think my growing love for a small boat and a sail filled with wind is wrong? Not really. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I will discover that it never was. Maybe this love for ocean and shore is a pleasurable gift from the Creator, meant for my good and joy. But how would I know? How would you?
I’m still untangling this old braided rope, but here are two strands I’ve followed already. They are two questions I’ve needed to keep asking of my soul.
Am I sailing to discover, or sailing to forget? It is the question that helps diagnose the motivation of my longing. Does this yearning reveal a desire to find a quiet space for my mind to reevaluate and plan for life and ministry? Or is the solitude of wind and wave a blanket to pull over my head, even if it is a less crass distraction than can be found in a bottle or the forbidden pages of some dark corner of the internet.
Is sailing a Sabbath Lord, or does it submit to the Lord of the Sabbath? The principle of Sabbath rest is vital, and if ignored, dangerous. But just as those of old found ways to elevate this principle to heights of ultimacy, ignoring, even ridiculing the Lord of the Sabbath—so might I. If rest, apart from Christ, becomes my ultimate goal, then my rest will become a burden that drags me beneath the waves, consuming my passion and dashing me against the rocks. But if not, if my rest is truly found in the Lord of wind and water, the one to whom all oceans bend their proud waves—if my rest is found in the one who commands, “Peace. Be still,” then I will find that Jesus will meet me even there. I will know the rest of one found in Christ, with the wind in my sails and distant shores inviting us to wander them together.
“I worship the LORD, the God of the heavens, who made the sea and the dry land. — Jonah 1:9
Those who cherish worthless idols abandon their faithful love, but as for me, I will sacrifice to you with a voice of thanksgiving. I will fulfil what I have vowed. Salvation belongs the LORD. — Jonah 2:8-9
