I came across the following quote from a John Calvin sermon while I was preparing my own sermon on 1 Timothy 1:19-20. In the passage the Apostle Paul warns young Pastor Timothy against forgetting the goal of Christian ministry, which is a life of love driven by clear faith and both positional and practical rightness with God (see 1:5). If the goal is forgotten, one suffers “shipwreck” of faith, a vivid image of utter disaster and death, employed to describe when someone seems steady in Christ but then proves their unsteadiness by leaving their faith.
Calvin’s admittedly long quotation is as follows:
What is human life, and what is the whole of its course? A navigation. Not only are we travelers, as the Scripture tells us (1 Pet. ii.11,) but we have no solidity. They who travel by land, either on foot or on horseback, have still their sure and firm road; but in the world, instead of being on foot or on horseback, we must be, as it were, on a sea, and have no solid footing. We are like people who are in a boat, and who are always within half a foot of their death; and the boat is a sort of grave, because they see the water all around, ready to swallow them up. Thus is it is with us, while we live here below. For on the one hand, there is the frailty that is in us, which is more fluid than water; and then all that surrounds is like water, which flows on all sides, while at every minute winds, and storms, and tempests arise. Let us therefore learn that our life is but a kind of navigation, which we perform by water, and that we are, at the same time, exposed to many winds and storms. And if it be so, what shall become of us when we have not a good boat or a good pilot?*
This profound set of insights is well worth extended meditation, but I’ll only note a few items. First, Calvin rightly notes that Paul, in the 1 Timothy passage, takes the frequent biblical illustration of the believer’s life as a journey, and adds that the journey is like a sea-journey, navigated by boat. Journeys at sea are at least by some measures much more dangerous than other modes of travel. Water, which we need for survival, can also easily be the means of our death. And, as Calvin notes, we live our lives surrounded, as it were, by water all around, with no apparent solid footing as though we were on land. As such we step and are shaken, sliding a bit, living ever so close to our demise. Storms rise, tempests come, all threats to the boat’s integrity without which we will easily sink into the deep, and drown. Isn’t it the case that, as Christians, we can’t walk with faith and fruit apart from Christ keep and empowering us? Without him we’re like a boat with no navigator. But I’ll get back to that later. Suffice to say that we do experience all manner of trial, suffering, pain, and fear, even as we look to Christ.
Second, note that the frailty is both outside of us and inside of us. Yes it’s a storm outside, but there’s also a world of ungodliness within us: “Their throat is an open grave” (Rom.3:13); “Out of the heart come evil thoughts” (Mk.7:21); “Your passions are at war within you” (Jms.4:1). Even if the sailing is smooth because the “weather” becomes serene, we still have the inner storm of sin, pride, anger, unforgiveness, covetousness, etc. Folly is bound up in the heart of a child (cf. Prov.22:15) and since we remain God’s “children” all of our days (1 Jn.3:1-2), it ever applies to us for the duration of our days. Thus we are to take heed if we think we stand, or else we’ll fall (1 Cor.10:12)—we might make ourselves fall even if the boat is steady. While I understand the monastic impulse (think monks and nuns) because it means separation from the world and its darkness, I also know that there’s plenty of darkness and worldliness in my own heart that I can’t really escape it.
Finally, note Calvin’s takeaway question: Since the faith journey is like a boat on the water, what will happen if it is not a good boat or captained by a good pilot? Remember that this quote is from a Calvin sermon, not a book. It seems then, at least to me, that this was Calvin’s pastoral question to his congregation about the state of their sight of Christ by faith (the pilot) and their commitment to stick with him regardless of the danger, outcomes, etc. (the boat). If we have Christ the Pilot as well as a clear commitment to trust him with the ship, we’re safe: “He who calls you is faithful” (1 Thes.5:24); if we’re looking to him and sticking with him, committed to truly die to ourselves and take up the cross daily, the dangerous journey to the Celestial City will be a success. But the question remains, are we looking to him? Are we living our daily lives bearing the cross? As you look at your own life, are you sure that Christ is the pilot of the vessel? And do you make the conscious decision every day to take up the cross, and live crucified to the world and the world to you? Liberal folks, as far as I can tell, are usually in love with the present world. But conservative folks are often in love with the world of yesterday, drowning in nostalgia, wanting to go back. Is that any better?
But let’s think about cross-bearing a different way. Ask yourself this question: How much do you depend on your habits, your phone, your social media, your “me-time” every day? Do you get grumpy if any of it is threatened? I do! And I have to remember this life is not about my plans and my wants, but Christ’s plans and Christ’s wants. In discipleship, a good ship is under the handle of a good captain. Here the good ship is submission to Christ, and the captain is Christ himself.
Jesus calls us to see our lives as such a ship journey, him leading us through the darkness, storms, and sea, as we trust him to get us home in the end. May we love where we’re headed and love the one who loved us first and is taking us there. The ship will arrive safely in harbor, with much wear and tear, but nevertheless, still floating and safe in the hands of its able Pilot.
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*The quote is from a Calvin sermon, and is footnoted in his commentary to 1 Tim.1:19 in his Commentaries on the Epistles to Timothy, Titus, and Philemon, translated from the original Latin by William Pringle (Baker Book House), 47.
