Day 54
Riptide
During the times I have observed the Porpoise in the sea, I have noticed that they do not always swim with the current. Theirs’ is an existence, like ours, that requires one to navigate the seas of life, no matter what the currents may be.
My good friend “Euro-Bill” from London was visiting us in southern California when Jacki’s health began to deteriorate rapidly. We rushed her to the hospital where she spent several days being treated for a raging kidney infection. Euro-Bill and I spent a good part of each day visiting her (which probably retarded the pace of her recovery).
It was a gorgeous, sunny, late July afternoon. The temperature was in the mid-eighties and there were no clouds in sight. You could see the glistening, bright blue Pacific Ocean from my Jacki’s hospital room. Jacki finally tired of the two of us lurking in her room and suggested we go down to the beach for a swim. We reluctantly agreed and darted out the door.
We were laughing, smiling, and cracking jokes contrasting the beaches and water temperature in southern California with the beaches in the U.K. We scanned the ocean before us, discarding out tee shirts on top of our towels in the sand, and marched deliberately into the soothing waters. We stood about five feet apart with our backs toward the break, walking deeper into the sea. We laughed and howled with joy as the breakers slammed over us. In a few minutes, we were beyond the break, treading water, with our toes barely able to touch the sandy bottom.
The next thing I knew, we were floating, unable to touch bottom. As I looked around for Euro-Bill, he was about fifteen feet beyond me in deeper water. I was overcome by the distinct sensation that I was somehow moving, quite rapidly, out to sea. I looked around for Euro-Bill and he was now some twenty yards beyond me in the ocean, flailing his arms, with a distinct look of terror on his face. I turned toward shore and began swimming as hard as I could. When I popped my head out of the water, I was no closer to shore than when I had begun the effort. I looked for Euro-Bill. He was now thirty yards beyond me in even deeper water. I lowered my head and went at it again, swimming and kicking as mightily as I possibly could toward shore. Once again, when I popped up to evaluate my progress, the only thing I had accomplished was to become exhausted. Euro-Bill continued to drift out to sea.
At that moment, a lifeguard grabbed me and said, “Hold onto this buoy,” which he shoved in my face. He swam not toward shore, but horizontally with the shore. Within a few minutes, I had my feet on the sandy bottom and was walking out of the water. Euro-Bill was in tow behind another lifeguard, holding onto the lifeguard’s buoy with whatever strength he had left. We embraced as we met at the waters edge and chuckled nervously, incapable of finding words to describe our rescue. We thanked our rescuers.
According to the lifeguards, each year, hundreds of people are rescued from the ocean waters in southern California, just as we were. Some, unfortunately, drown. Riptides, they explained, can form at anytime, depending upon the currents and tidal action in any particular area. What’s important, they emphasized, is an awareness that these dangers exist, and what to do should you become caught in one as we were.
It’s so easy today to just go with the flow. If Euro-Bill and I had taken the go with the flow approach, it is highly likely that I wouldn’t be here to write this today. Unfortunately, that’s exactly the approach far too many people have taken in their relationship with God. As one author suggests, “The easiest thing to get away with is going with the flow. The ride is smoother and the resistance is minimized. But like the wide path scripture warns most people will take, it is a comfortable route that eventually and inevitably results in disaster.” [i]
All too often, the journey of faith is packaged and sold to people like a ticket for a voyage on a cruise ship. The deception goes something like this: “You are going to have the experience of a lifetime. The ship is fully self-contained. The food is fantastic and the entertainment is world-class. The ship is overflowing with wonderful people just like you. We are going to stop in ports A, B and C and then return safely to port.” Then, reality happens.
You are awakened the first morning at sea with the ship tossing and turning. You feel a little nauseous. The captain announces that you will not be stopping at port A because of the current sea conditions. He will be steaming to port B instead, which may prolong the initial voyage at sea. You stagger to the galley for breakfast where you are greeted by screams of frightened children before you even make it to the reception area to be seated. You’re seated at a table with a family of five who is arguing about “Whose idea was this trip anyway? When are we going to get home?” Their six year old knocks his mom’s coffee in your lap. You’re startled but composed. You eek out a “Don’t worry about it. It’s no problem,” as you mop up the liquid from your burning thigh. You throw down a lukewarm cup of coffee, a bowl of fruit and a croissant and excuse yourself, wishing everyone at the table your best wishes for a pleasant voyage.
You wobble to your cabin, bracing yourself against the walls of the narrow corridor, recalling the conversation with the travel agent who sold you this wonderful experience. The problem with all this is that the seller left out all the other things that occur on the seas of life. Your expectations were one-sided and linear as you approached the voyage. Your experience turned out to be multi-dimensional and somewhat chaotic, distinctly different than what you were sold.
Alan Jamieson interviewed people about their faith voyage and describes the process as “anything but a neat jumping from box to box. It is like being adrift on the sea, tossed by the ocean waves, blown by the changing winds, and pulled by the hidden currents.” [ii] Jesus made it clear that we will encounter trouble on the seas of life. [iii] If all this is true, then why do we continue to market cruises on the good ship Faith in God, without sharing the reality of the possibilities we will likely experience during the cruise of a lifetime?
To continue to just go with the flow of this dogma is nonsense. Jesus spent his lifetime swimming against the tide of cultural and religious deception. To suggest that the Christian life is one of simply going with the flow is akin to knowingly selling a ticket on the Titanic; it’s negligence.
Riptides are a fact of life in the spiritual journey. Your choice is whether or not you’re swimming in the sea of life with or without a Lifeguard.
NOTES
[i] Barna, George Revolution, Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL Copyright Ó 2005 by George Barna, p. 15.
[ii] Jamieson, Alan A Churchless Faith – Faith Journeys Beyond The Church, SPCK Publishing, London, U.K. 2003, Copyright 2002 by Alan Jamieson p. 104.
[iii] John 16:33
