Letting Go of the Lifeboat
In the spirit of Lent, I have been thinking about the notion of “giving things up”, as is common during this season. Many people choose to give up sweets or social media, TV or things like that. It is a tangible, symbolic exercise in turning away from our sins, which captivate and ensnare us, toward the one who alone can give us abundant, real life. This ought to be a habit of the Christian’s heart every day, not just during Lent, and I got to thinking about how strangely difficult that is.
Some of you know that my nephew is a rescue swimmer with the U.S.Coast Guard. At his graduation from training school, we heard about the strength, agility, endurance, and fearlessness of these rescuers. We also learned about the people who were in need of saving. As it turns out, it’s not entirely uncommon that people being rescued by these rescue swimmers actually resist being saved.
Imagine the scene: There’s no land in sight, their boat is all but completely swallowed up in the waves, and there are a couple people huddled together in a small, standard issue, inflatable lifeboat. The little boat lifts and tips with the waves; it’s scary, and heavy, and dark. Above them appears a helicopter, out of which comes a rescue swimmer attached to a cable. He’s ready to grab them, to harness them right onto himself, and carry them up to safety.
Objectively, these otherwise reasonable human beings would know that this rescuer has come to help them. They know that he is there to take them away from the danger they are in, and to lead them to a place that is safe, warm, and dry. But in the desperation and uncertainty of the moment, those folks have already found sufficient comfort and safety in their little rubber boat. To them, the thought of being lifted up by some guy they’ve never seen before, hooked to a cable and drawn up into the helicopter is too…what? Scary? Unknown? Dangerous?
Their little lifeboat quickly became familiar and comfortable. That is the very thing that has kept them from drowning, and they are doing just fine. But the rescuer knows that each minute presents more dangers, and the longer they take to grab hold of him, the more vulnerable they are to the perils of the sea. He must be a quick and convincing psychologist to persuade the fearful people to go with him. In some instances, he must take drastic measures to force the people to go with him. My nephew said that if a situation turns treacherously dangerous, people’s survival instincts will kick in, and then they go willingly with their rescuer.
What are the things — the habits of my heart and mind — that I am refusing to leave behind for that which I know is better? What am I clinging to, because so far it’s been working for me, even though I know it is no better than a plastic, blow-up boat in an ocean of crashing waves?
Am I holding on so tight to my own ways because I am afraid of what’s up there? Of what’s next? Have I not seen my faithful rescuer time and time again? Have I never felt the strong arms of Jesus lifting me up to safety? Must I wait for my situation to become treacherously dangerous before submitting to the only one who can offer me real peace and safety?
Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the man against whom the LORD counts no iniquity,
and in whose spirit there is no deceit.
For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
through my groaning all day long.
For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah
I acknowledged my sin to you,
and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,”
and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah
Therefore let everyone who is godly
offer prayer to you at a time when you may be found;
surely in the rush of great waters,
they shall not reach him.
You are a hiding place for me;
you preserve me from trouble;
you surround me with shouts of deliverance. Selah
I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will counsel you with my eye upon you.
Be not like a horse or a mule, without understanding,
which must be curbed with bit and bridle,
or it will not stay near you.
Many are the sorrows of the wicked,
but steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the LORD.
Be glad in the LORD, and rejoice, O righteous,
and shout for joy, all you upright in heart! (Psalm 32)
The psalmist also had some sort of sin he was clinging to. We don’t know what it was, and we don’t need to know. But we do know our own stuff. I hope that today, you and I can and will look at our rescuer — we KNOW his face, don’t we? — and leave behind our stupid plastic boats and hold onto Jesus as he lifts us to true safety.
Psalm 32, as Tom Wright says, “is a great celebration!” He writes, “it’s over! It’s gone! It’s been dealt with! And instead of the heavy, dark feeling inside, there is a sudden sense of God’s presence, protecting and rescuing us.” “Put off the task of confession and the mess will only get worse, leading to all kinds of trouble. But trust in the Lord — and that trust will often begin by trusting him with our saddest and darkest secrets — and we will find his love surrounding us. It’s like going outside on the first spring morning where you suddenly realize it’s not cold anymore. Lent is a time for discipline, for confession, for honesty, not because God is mean or fault-finding or finger-pointing, but because he wants us to know the joy of being cleared out, ready for all the good things he now has in store.” (Lent for Everyone, N.T. Wright)