The Venerable Richard I. Cluett
March 12, 2006
Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Romans 8:31-39; Mark 8:31-38
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have direct revelation from God - whether Father, Son or Holy Spirit, - about what is about to happen, or what you should be doing, or not doing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a godly “heads-up” about what is up-coming, or around the corner? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have an angelic earful about what is necessary in a given situation? That was perhaps the first blessing received by Abram – God revealing plan and purpose and direction to Abram.
Well, my experience is not that of Abram nor of those who walked in the company of Jesus. My life is filled with gray areas, unanswered questions, lack of clarity, too many options, and a reluctance to make the wrong choice, the wrong decision.
Since we can feel so removed from the biblical times we read about, how are we to know what to do, what direction to go in?
Let me try to answer this with what you might think of as a “personal parable” – beginning with a little bit of Cluett history.
I grew up on the water - specifically Long Is¬land Sound, a long finger of salt water separating New York's Long Island from the Commonwealth of Connecticut. From my earliest days I sailed. First as a passenger, just enjoying the motion and the breeze. Then as an occasional pilot, with my hand on the hand on the tiller; then later as the pilot of little boats and then captain of big¬ger boats. Sail¬ing and racing up and down Long Island Sound. I was nurtured and raised on the knowledge, practice and lore of sail¬ing. Boats and wa¬ter were home to me.
One summer when I was in my early-twenties, a friend and I had the use of a 34 foot sloop for an entire summer. That was like being in heaven. For a few weekends, we would take it out and sail around Long Island Sound. After a while though, we felt too con¬fined, it was boring. We needed to move out, explore more of the water and expand our boundaries.
We decided to sail to Block Is¬land, Rhode Island. A long day’s sail out into the ocean from Guil¬ford, CT where our boat was moored. It would be the first time I had navigated out of the sight of land, but I had been sailing and navigating all my life. So, not to worry.
We made all the preparations and set sail just at dawn. One hour out of the harbor, the wind died, the temperature dropped and the fog rolled in. In just a matter of moments we could not see from the stern to the mast. It was a granddaddy of a pea-souper. No wind. Strong currents. Heavy fog. We were in serious trouble.
I had never taken a course in navigating. I had just learned it as I sailed with older folks as I grew up. It had become natural to me. But, I had been navigating all my life within the safe bound¬aries of Long Island Sound. This time, if I miscalculated, if we missed Block Island - a very small island - we would find ourselves on our way to the next landfall — which was Portugal; with a lot of water, miles, storms, huge ships, and danger in between.
We were in the fog, in the soup, in trouble, becoming more and more frightened. Which way do we go? Why did we ever decide to do this? All of a sudden, I was unsure. I felt too young, too inexperienced, too immature, too naive, not good enough, didn't know enough, and we could die.
Turning back was not a good op¬tion, unless I could turn the clock back and find myself warm and safe in my bed. But it made no sense to turn the boat around because there are shoals and rocks all along the coast of New England. And we couldn't stay where we were because we were in the shipping lanes. What were we to do?
In the fog, in the dangerous situation, in the fear, in the unknown, I prayed. I prayed mightily, as I never had before, but have many times since, and I found God there in the cloud, in the danger place, in the unknown, in the fear. God is there. God is there with us. God is there with a word of love. God is there with a way to go through. If we will just listen.
Trust what I had been taught. Trust what I had learned. Trust my experience. Trust what I believed. – And go forward.
In the 19th century there was a whaling captain by the name of Eleazer Hull. (I wanted to name our second son Eleazer, but Patricia uttered a definite, “NO”, so Eleazer become Sam.)
Eleazer Hull was the finest of whaling captains. He was known, for each season sailing the farthest, catching the most whales, coming back the earliest, and losing the least sailors. He was the finest navigator. He would go up on deck, look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to chart his course.
One year the company which insured the whaling com¬panies issued a policy that all officers had to attend and pass a course in navigation. Captain Hull went over strong objection. Learned how to use a sextant, and all the latest technologies and techniques, and passed the course.
The next season, again, Captain Hull sailed the far¬thest, caught the most whales, came back the earliest, and lost the least sailors. When asked if he used the new techniques he learned. He replied, "Oh yes. I go up on deck with my instruments and perform all the calculations and go below and make notes on the charts. Then I go back on deck and look at the stars, smell the breeze, watch the wind in the rigging, get the drift of the seas, and then go below to change my course.
I had been raised to sail. Taught, nurtured, and practiced, so long, so much that it was part of my nature, part of my very being. Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that I had been taught, nurtured, and pre¬pared to deal with situations like this. Do what you know and be¬lieve.
Each one of us at one time or another finds ourselves in a real pea-souper of a fog. Unsure of the way to go, fearful of making the wrong choice, going in the wrong direction, wanting to go back to a safer, more secure time, regretting the decisions we had made that had got us into this situation. Feeling afraid, bereft, alone, inadequate, lost at sea, and feeling ourselves to be in a danger place.
It is especially in times of uncertainty and fear that God speaks louder than usual, seems more obviously present than usual to tell us of his love and to remind us that if we listen, we will make it through. We have been taught, nurtured, lived and loved in God for so long, that it is part of our nature, part of our very being.
Listen to all that. Trust what, in the clear, obvious calm, moments was so easy to trust. Believe that we had been taught, nurtured, and prepared to deal with situations like this. – and go forward.
One of the times, (there have had to be many) I learned to trust again was on a sailboat in the middle of the sea lost in a cloud of fog and fear. God was there, and so I trusted. I did what I knew: watched the wind in the rigging, sailed across the current, checked the charts, watched the compass, and tooted the fog horn. And listened to God speak in my heart that somehow we would get through.
We motored on, and on and on. Finally a zephyr of a breeze came up, we raised the sails and finally the fog lifted and -- we were dead -- dead on the harbor. A mile ahead of us, with the early evening sun slanting across the houses on the hillside.
We came out of the fog on course for the harbor and for safety. – As will we all – if we have the courage and the faith to continue on with the journey. Thanks be to God - who is always “there.”.
