Chrism Mass Sermon, 2024 (Luke 5:1-11)
“If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up people to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.”*
This is a paraphrase of something written by 20th century French author, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Best known for ‘The Little Prince’, Saint-Exupery was an aviation pioneer with a taste for adventure. I think this quote gets at what we are to be about.
In the Gospel passage which we just heard, Jesus tells Peter and the others to put out into the deep. An early motto of the Diocese of Fond du Lac was “In Altum” – Into the Deep. We are called to “Put out into the deep water.” We who are leaders are charged with inspiring others to put out into the deep.
“If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up people to gather wood, divide the work, and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.”
It might serve as a description of good preaching and teaching. The Church needs preachers and teachers, lay as well as ordained, (and, yes, bishops) who are soaked and smell of salt water and look like they have faced into the Wind and squinted at the Sun on the horizon, who sound like they have put out into the deep of the vast and endless sea and returned to share the wonder of it.
I say that. And, then, I wonder how much of my preaching and teaching over the years has been more about drumming up people to gather wood, dividing the work, and giving orders rather than inspiring them to yearn for the vast and endless sea of God.
But, that is what I need to be about. I want to smell like the Sea – the aroma of God. It is what we need to be about for the sake of the Church. It is what the Church needs to be about for the sake of the world. I can only do that if I – we can only do it if we – put out into the deep of God.
One of my favorite Irish saints literally put out into the deep. Brendan of Clonfert, aka, Brendan the Navigator had already founded several monasteries when he was visited by another old monk who told of journey to the Island of Delight where there was a community of monks. They sent him on to another island – the Promised land of the Saints. On that island there were trees that bore tasty fruit all year long. There was no night and it was always comfortably warm because Christ was its Light.
The old monk asked Brendan, “Do you not smell the fragrance of heaven that we carry on us?”
So, yearning for the sea and for the vast expanse of God and the Promised Land, Brendan, along with some of his monks , built a ship and sailed west. They had many adventures, so the story goes, including taking their rest on an island that turned out to be the back of a resting whale. They stopped at the Island of Delight on their way to the Promised Land which they found just as they had heard. They returned in wonder, rejoicing in the Lord.
Brendan was part of larger movement of wild Irish monks who put out into the deep in search God. Some sailed to islands where they founded monasteries like Iona and Lindisfarne. Or more remote and wilder islands like Skellig Michael which has featured in Star Wars movies.
But others did something even wilder – even more mad, perhaps. There is an account of three monks who washed up on the southern coast of England in a small boat made of wood and leather, a coracle. They had no oars or sail. They had just set out into the deep, vast and endless sea, trusting that the wild Spirit of God would guide and protect them on the wild sea as they dedicated themselves to prayer.
Crazy. But I have to wonder, what wild vision of God had so captured their imagination as to provoke those monks, Brendan, and the others? And what might it look like if our imaginations were similarly inspired?
We are not likely to literally set out into the deep like they did. In fact, I want to discourage any of you who live near Lake Michigan or Lake Superior from trying anything like those would monks. But, we don’t have to do that. We can recommit ourselves to setting out in the coracle of our hearts in prayer, yearning for that vast and endless sea of God.
Perhaps you already have some experience with that.
Maybe you have gone deep into the awesome beauty and goodness of God.
Maybe you have felt the grace of God splash over you, soaking you to the bone with his forgiving, healing, transforming love?
Maybe you have tasted the saltiness of God’s mercy and delight?
Maybe you have been bedazzled by the awesome splendor of God?
Maybe you have seen a vision of your own self and others in the glory of that splendor?
Maybe you have seen what glorious and beautiful beings we are meant and destined to be?
Maybe you have also dared to face into the stormy, surging waves of your spirit and to acknowledge the dead weight of sin that holds you back threatening to swamp the boat of your heart?
Maybe you have gotten a glimpse of the approaching kingdom of God just beyond the horizon? The kingdom of love and joy and peace where swords and spears – and guns – are beaten into plowshares and pruning hooks, where all divisions cease and there is no stranger or enemy, where there is no more violence or war, where death is swallowed up and all that is left is abundant and eternal life?
Set out in the coracle of your heart into the deep waters of God. That is where our nets will catch the goodness God desires for us. Do it frequently and long. Go further and further. Otherwise however grace-soaked we have been we will dry out. And our bedazzled eyes will adjust again to the mundane selfish fear and violent ways of this world.
I urge you, as we renew our vows today, to make that your first priority. I commit myself to doing the same. We just might begin smell like salt water. We might take on the fragrance of heaven. And we will be able to inspire others to yearn for the vast and endless sea of God.
After all, as Evelyn Underhill, famously wrote, it is God that is the interesting thing about religion. And William Temple said we need clergy to be teachers of prayer. But we can only do that if we are committed to going deep into God in prayer ourselves and come to look and feel like we have been there.
I suspect that when Patrick or Brendan or Brigid showed up in a village part of what got peoples attention was they seemed soaked with the wildness of God and had something of the fragrance of heaven about them. And when people went to Norwich to see Julian’s they encountered someone who looked a little windblown and had a squint in her eye as though she had been staring into the horizon of God. These saints made people yearn to set out themselves into the vast expanse of God.
The Church has long been likened to the ark, a boat, or a ship. That is why the area where the congregation worships is called a “nave” which comes from the same word as navy. Look up. It looks like you are sitting under a large upturned boat. Like Brendan and his companion monks, each congregation is a band of pilgrims called to set out into the deep.
Let’s set out together on the adventure of seeking the vast expanse of God’s mercy and delight. Let’s open ourselves to being transformed by the by God’s grace such that we bear the fragrance of heaven. And let’s dare to set out into the deep of the communities around us bearing witness to the gospel of life and peace, justice and truth. And serving with them to do what we can to make the world rhyme a bit more with the kingdom of God in anticipation of the Day when God’s will be done on earth as in Heaven.
Let us teach the world to yearn for the vast expanse of God and invite them to join us as we set out into the deep.
* The actual passage that gave rise to the quote above is probably,
"One
will weave the canvas; another will fell a tree by the light of his ax. Yet
another will forge nails, and there will be others who observe the stars to
learn how to navigate. And yet all will be as one. Building a boat isn’t about
weaving canvas, forging nails, or reading the sky. It’s about giving a shared
taste for the sea, by the light of which you will see nothing contradictory but
rather a community of love."
–
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, ‘Wisdom of the Sands’
