Editorial: Finding Faith On The Seas Of Life

LORRAINE V. MURRAY, Special Contributor

Published: September 2, 2004

I’ve always been a huge fan of water. Growing up in Miami, I was never happier than when I was bobbing around in a swimming pool or ducking waves at the beach.

Although I was fat and terminally clumsy and unable to excel at land sports, I took to swimming like a charm. No doubt I was buoyed up by my extra pounds.

The photo albums show me adorned in a one-piece cotton bathing suit with a gingerbread man pattern and (cringe) ruffles around the bottom. In the days before anyone knew that tanning wasn’t good for you, I stayed out for hours, letting the sun turn my skin to a nice shade of cocoa.

My best memories feature my sister and I constructing elaborate sand castles on the shore. We knew deep in our hearts that, no matter how carefully we shaped the steeples or dug the moat, the waves would trounce them.

Although we cried when our castles toppled, the wondrous hopefulness of childhood had us getting up the next day to build anew.

Maybe my childhood love for the sea explains why some of my favorite scenes in the Gospels feature Jesus and his fishing boat.

Take the famous scene when the disciples are out in the boat with Jesus snoozing at the back. Soon a huge storm develops, and the vessel starts filling with water.

In a panic, the disciples wake up Jesus, who manages to calm the storm with the simple words, “Quiet! Be still.”

Another time, the disciples are out in that same boat when they suddenly spot Jesus coming toward them, traipsing across the water. At first they are terrified, just like anyone would be, because they think they’ve spotted a ghost.

Jesus tries to calm them down by saying, “Take courage” and “Do not be afraid”—but I imagine some of them were still terrified. Maybe they were thinking, “What kind of man can do what he is doing? Is he really a man at all?”

Peter is the bravest, at least at first. He accepts Jesus’ invitation to leave the boat and walk on the water, but when the wind gets even feistier, Peter gets scared and starts to sink.

I can relate to that sinking feeling Peter must have had. In my teen years, I accepted a dare to try water skiing—and I’ll never forget the moment when the boat picked up speed and I was pulled forward, sure that my arms were being ripped out of the sockets.

I panicked and took a nosedive, emerging moments later to see a small crowd on the shore laughing uproariously.

Maybe water scenes in the Gospels hit home with all of us—landlubbers and water lovers alike—because they show how little control we really have over our lives.

We like to think we are at the helm, constructing our elaborate “to do” lists and making day-to-day plans, but if you’ve ever ventured into a huge body of water, you no doubt quickly realized you were not calling the shots.

After all, a swimmer is always at the mercy of tides, currents, the wind, persistent undertows, storms—and don’t forget the occasional nibble from curious fish or surprise encounters with jelly fish or sting rays.

All that goes double if you have ever, like me, set out to sea in a very small boat.

About 10 years ago, my husband and I purchased a rather tiny vessel to take on our vacations to Florida. We usually had an uproariously good time drifting through the marshes and keeping tabs on otters, dolphins, mullet and an array of fancy birds.

You learn a lot about life on a small boat. One time we came upon a sandbar where there were hundreds of living sand dollars nestled in the sand. Another time, we drifted by a tiny island where crowds of pelicans were roosting in the trees.

Of course, we also had the occasional catastrophe happen, like the time we miscalculated the tides and ended up in the mudflats. And the time I discovered a stowaway roach on board and jumped so high I nearly capsized the boat.

One evening, we boated over to see friends who were renting a cabin on the marshes, and spent a pleasant few hours drinking wine and watching the setting sun.

When it was time to leave, my husband and I climbed into our boat to return to our condo without realizing that a whopper of a storm was on the way. In moments, the wind kicked in and the waves slapped against the prow like a hammer against concrete.

Our tiny rig was tossed about like a potato chip.

I found myself praying for the first time in years that night, and automatically seized on the familiar old prayer that starts, “Our Father, who art in Heaven.” Somehow, the words comforted even someone like me, who was a non-believer at the time.

In that moment I became like a child again, totally dependent on God and hoping that my words would reach him.

The line, “Deliver us from evil” took on a new poignancy as the storm picked up, and the boat bucked like a wild horse.

About an hour later, I was tempted to kiss the ground when we climbed ashore safely, but I resisted, given that this particular shore consisted entirely of oozing, black mud.

Experiences like that sure teach you about gratitude. I have to say that the simple meal we consumed that night was much tastier than any food I’ve ever eaten before—and that five-dollar bottle of wine seemed like divine nectar.

I don’t think it is by accident that most religions refer to the Big Guy upstairs as “Father,” since we are all children in the bigger scheme of life.

We steer our boats the best we can. We try to avoid the mudflats.

We make elaborate plans and then get disappointed when our castles crumble. We often miss the signs of oncoming storms, whether they are an illness or the loss of loved ones.

And when the waves hit really hard and we start to panic, we try to remind ourselves of what we knew in our hearts all along. We really are not alone. Someone else is in the boat with us.

If we listen really hard, we will hear his voice, whispering, “Quiet! Be still!”

Lorraine Murray also writes a bi-weekly column for the Saturday Faith and Values section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. She has written two books: “Grace Notes” (Catholic Book Publishing/Resurrection Press) and “Why Me? Why Now? Finding Hope When You Have Breast Cancer” (Ave Maria Press). She lives in Decatur with her husband, Jef, and works in the Pitts Theology Library at Emory University. You may e-mail her at lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.