A Lenten Voyage
Flotsam and Jetsam on the Pilgrim's Journey

 

For the last few years, Lent seems to have been a time for me to meditate on my relationship and faithfulness to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as a member of the Episcopal Church and of my particular diocese. The first couple of years were spent in introspection: who am I, and who do I think I am?

 

But this year (and perhaps last year to a lesser degree), has been spent on "who are they, and who do they think they are?" The "they" in my query relates to otherwise orthodox Episcopalians (mainly clergy and bishops) who associate, tolerate, and go along with, revisionist clergy and bishops. There is not an active bishop in my state who doesn't fall into this category. Sodomites are quietly sent to seminary (calling loudly for Bill Clinton's impeachment is one thing, but following his "don't ask, don't tell" policy appears to be another), outspoken proponents of sodomy are asked to be co-consecrators, and are accepted by others as legitimate bearers of the Tradition (if "tradition" comes from the Greek notion of passing a baton on in a relay race, I think one ought to at least wear latex gloves when accepting it from some Fred Borsch).

 

One morning in prayer, I was given the following understanding. Most of the self-proclaimed "conservative" clergy and bishops I have had the opportunity to work with, and to get to know, seem to think that we are on some kind of a spiritual journey that God has set us in this little (or big, depending upon how you see Jesus) boat on God's River. The river flows to God. It does have sandbars, and eddys, and coves, and even marshes and swamps. These can all trap and misdirect our boat (and the boats of others), but the river also has progressively more advanced harbors and bays along one shore.

 

Boats can be capsized, they can be run aground, they can even collide with each other. But it is unclear if one can drown. Certainly, any kind of faith in some kind of God will keep even those who have fallen overboard afloat. An individual, clinging to an inner tube of inner spirit, will float along the river toward the eventual destination of God (modern predestination?). But the Great River (known as the great Christian River to some, just as the Rio Grande is also called the Rio Bravo on the other side) has many boats journeying down it. Some seem very strange to our eyes. Barges, skiffs, fishing boats, junks, sampans, and flagships all drift along in the River of God. God's Will is God's River, drawing us all toward God.

 

And while we feel that our boat is the best boat, the safest boat, the truest boat, and the boat most like God intended, we still think that these other boats are still flowing in the right direction. Even when we see a boat headed in the opposite direction, we know that the flow of the river will eventually bring them to God.

 

You can operate your boat by strict Royal Navy procedures, or you can be a leisure craft. How you run your boat, and how neighboring boats run, is less important than knowing that you are heading toward God. Adm. Swing and Adm. Stalwart might even agree on the direction, although Adm. Stalwart might say that Adm. Swing is taking far too many liberties with Royal Navy Protocol, and perhaps he should leave the Navy and join a Cruise Line. But we agree that, however mistaken our leadership, all are heading toward God on God's River.

 

But what if it's not a river? What if it's a lake, or a small sea? What if it's the Dead Sea (or Sea of Death?).

 

On one shore stands our Lord Jesus, preparing breakfast for us of fish and loaves. On the other shore stands hell. But it looks pretty good, because hell has all the good restaurants, dry docks and piers or perhaps peers, and some nice casinos, too. Broiled fish and flat bread or Las Vegas? Which do you want for shore leave?

 

A breeze blows first one way on this lake, and then another. White caps and calm seas lie close beside each other. Boats are blown this way, and then that way, as the prevailing winds blow. The ship captains don't worry about it too much, because they believe that the current of God's River draws them to God. As a matter of fact, they believe that it is very important stay in the current; in the flow of the main stream. In a way, they try to remain as current as possible within their traditions.

 

At Jesus' feet are lines that are connected to every life preserver on every boat in the lake. Even every inner-tube around every inner-spirit tuber drifting alone among the boats is attached to the lines at Jesus' feet. He says, "Come and get it!" and those who say in return, "Yes Lord, bring me to your feast" are pulled ashore. Because of the shifting winds and under currents of the water, nobody can swim to shore on their own. Because of the lack of piers, no boat can make it to shore, either. At some point, the individual must get into the water and let Jesus pull them ashore.

 

But here's the point: what seems to our admirals, captains, and navigators as a river which we journey down toward God, is actually a lake that separates Hell from Heaven. Those that chose to dock at Hell only do so because they think they are on their inexorable way toward God (God's judgment, unknowingly), and they let the Current take them to Hell's Port. Those who chose to join Jesus for his meal must make the decision on their own, regardless of the type of boat they are riding in. And because there is no pier, no boat can be saved. Only the souls on the boat. The boat will be lost to drift with the current.

 

It would be a brave and loyal captain indeed who intentionally ran his boat aground and told the passengers and crew to call to Jesus to save them from the shipwreck, and to jump for their lives. It would be a brave and loyal captain indeed who did not blindly follow the tradition of going down with his ship -- but leading by example -- calls upon Jesus to save him and jumps into the water first, urging the others to follow.

 

Perhaps I dreamed a dream.

 

--

P. Michael Summer

simul justus et peccator