Becoming a Sailor

I just got back from Steven Page Summer Camp. By now, you probably know I'll always find a way to go to camp.

One of the highlights of the week was getting to sing in the Camp Choir, led by Steven's son, Isaac.

One of the first songs Page released after leaving The Barenaked Ladies and venturing out on his own was "New Shore."

It opens with a confession that many of us have made (perhaps not as eloquently):

"I'm relinquishing command for something I don't understand... this man's about to turn his whole life upside down."

Note: auto lyric caption really failed me here, so you can see the lyrics when you listen on Spotify or find the lyrics here

You don't have to be a famous musician standing at a crossroads to feel this song.

Most of us will find ourselves in a similar place more than once in our lives. Those moments when we realize we aren't nearly as good at steering the ship as we thought we were.

We like certainty.

We like routines.

We like faith practices that "work" for us.

And then... life happens.

A diagnosis.

A divorce.

A death.

A derailed career.

A church that harms instead of heals.

A prayer that seems to go nowhere—and to no one.

Or maybe it's nothing we can quite put our finger on, but it's definitely something

This is what Doubting Believer has always been about: recognizing that these seasons "at sea" will come. They aren't signs that we've failed--or that God has failed us. They're part of the journey of a faith life...of real life.

"I do most of this by feel and let go of the wheel. The constellations do the navigation on their own."

The Bible is full of people who didn't have maps.

Abraham followed a promise.

Israel followed a pillar of cloud and fire.

The Magi followed a star.

The disciples followed a teacher who spoke in parables and rarely answered a question directly.

None of them knew exactly where they were going.

They simply learned to trust the One who did. (Simply. HA! If you know your Bible you know those were some hard-earned lessons.)

Sometimes we become so consumed with navigation that we forget why we started the journey in the first place.

"I set a course for a new shore... and I forgot what I'd been sailing for."

Yeah. Happens to be best of us.

We become so comfortable in our practices that we forget why we started them.

We become so committed to preserving our traditions that we forget those traditions were meant to draw us closer to God—not become God.

We forget that the church, our faith practices, and even our routines are the ship, not the shore.

Sometimes, in order to remember or reclaim what we're sailing for, we have to change ships.

Or change course.

Or loosen our grip on the wheel.

The song ends with an emphatic cry:

"Land ho!"

The shore has been spotted. We don't know what he's gonna find there, if the people there are friendly or how long he'll stay. But that's not the point of this song or our faith lives.

I really hate to sound like a greeting card (I can't tell you how much), but sometimes the clichés persist because they're true.

It really is more about the journey than the destination.

God doesn't promise calm waters.

God doesn't promise short voyages.

God doesn't promise we'll never have to leave another familiar shore.

BUT God doesn't leave people stranded at sea.

Over and over again, God meets people in boats, in storms, in crossings, and on unfamiliar coastlines.

The shoreline may shift.

The ship may change.

But the presence of God remains...always.

If the faith that sustained you ten years ago doesn't quite fit anymore, don't assume you've failed—or that God has failed you.

You may be ready for a new shore.