THE HIGH SEAS OF COMMITMENT

On a sunny August morning, three different couples prepare for a weekend of "sailing." One couple gets out of their car, the one with the license plate holder that reads, "I'd Rather Be Sailing," and begin to haul their provisions to the boat. It takes them several trips to carry their picnic basket and the rest of their gear to their craft. Once aboard, they change their clothes, turn on the music, and then spend the better part of the day lounging around on the boat (which is still tied to the dock), reading and napping and talking. They sleep in the cabin Saturday night, and on Sunday morning go through roughly the same routine of the previous day, cleaning up the sailboat, reading and napping. Then about four o'clock, they pack everything up and drive back home.

The second couple gets to their boat early on Saturday morning. They travel to the same marina, they have the same license plate frame, they bring the same gear, turn on the same music, socialize a bit, but then they do something somewhat odd: They start up the motor. They untie the ropes. They back out of their slip and cruise around the harbor.

The couple may spend an hour looking at the other boats in the harbor and then drop anchor to cook a dinner meal. That evening, they may even venture out by the breakwater, to gaze out on the open seas, but then come back in, sleep on the sailboat, and repeat the whole process on Sunday.

The third couple gets to their boat early on Saturday, brings their gear aboard, backs out of the slip, and head straight for the breakwater. As they're heading out, they hoist the sails, and when the wind fills them, they shut off the motor and enter the open sea. They hear the sails straining and the water rushing along the hull. They feel the swells rising up underneath them, and they keep going until the sight of land is lost. They spend the entire night out on the seas, cooking in spite of the motion of the boat underneath them. They use a flashlight at night to look at the charts and to keep their bearings. And then they come back into the harbor late Sunday night.

On Monday morning, each couple will be asked, "What did you do this weekend?" and each couple will give the same answer, "We went sailing." But did they really do the same thing?

It's like that with our commitments, isn't it? Take, for instance, the commitment between a man and a woman. Some couples will promise to be committed to each other for a night of romance, but they make no pretence that they will leave the dock of autonomy or independence. In fact, they're not even going to untie the boat.

Another couple might make a deeper commitment. Maybe they'll agree to stay faithful to each other "as long as their love shall last." Perhaps they'll even move in together and share the bills. In this, they're willing to motor around the harbor of relationship for a little while, but they never go so far as to lose sight of the land or to seriously venture into the high seas of commitment.

Yet the third couple might enter into a permanent commitment called marriage. They leave the dock of autonomy far behind and even pass through the harbor of casual relationship, reaching the high seas of commitment. No matter how rough the weather, they rule out the option of returning to the dock. They came prepared to sail, and sail they will.

The same analogy is true of faith. Some people "play" at being a Christian. They show up at church a couple of times a month, drop a five-dollar bill into the offering, and do their best to look religious, but they never untie their boat. They always manage to maintain a connection with the safety of the shoreline. Others attend church every week, boost their offerings, and occasionally even show up to volunteer for something. They're willing to motor around the harbor and "experiment" with dependence on God, but since they stop short of the open water, they never really know what it would be like to trust God deeply and fully.

The really committed leave the safety of the harbor, accept the risk of the open seas of faith, and set their compasses for the place of total devotion to God and whatever life adventures He plans for them. These are the people who eventually experience the commitment-making-and-keeping nature of God. These are the ones who will someday sing, "Great is Thy Faithfulness" at the top of their lungs.

-- Bill Hybels in The God You're Looking For

 
#2812