Captain's Log, Part 7

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.

Following the Star

Shivering and wet, Apores examined the flotsam to which he was clinging. He found that he had his arm around a good-sized board. Nearby, other objects bobbed in the water. Apores saw planks, masts, spars, and other pieces of ships that had broken up for one reason or another.

Still clinging to his board, he reached for another plank, to which he found a bit of rope attached. He used the rope to fasten the two planks, and then a third that was not too far away. He had fashioned a makeshift raft, and he hauled himself out of the water onto it. For a while he just rested, but then he had the idea of picking up a smaller board and using it as a paddle. Smiling wryly, he mused that he was once again captain of a vessel.

Then the smile faded. Of course! Here he was, on the open sea and surrounded by materials from which he could construct a boat—or even a ship. In an instant his resolve hardened. Lifting his eyes to the darkening sky, he spied the Star. He would build a ship. He would enlist a crew. He would sail for the Destination.

Nothing could be more reasonable, he thought. There were people everywhere who had never even heard of the Admiral or the Destination. He would tell them. He would recruit them. He would train them. They would sail together.

At just that moment he heard a call come ringing over the restless waves. Seizing his board, he paddled toward it. He found the first mate from the Southern Fundie hanging on to a sea-chest. He hauled the mate onto the raft and tied the chest alongside (later he would find that it contained tools that would help him). He explained that he intended to build a ship and to sail for the Destination, and he invited the mate to help. Then the two of them set to work adding more planks to the raft, then outriggers, then a keel and gunwales, and finally a mast.

While they were working, they made another discovery. They were not alone in the water. In fact, every few moments they heard another mariner, adrift and calling out. Some of these they pulled aboard. Oddly, many preferred to remain at sea, some hoping that they might be taken aboard a pleasure craft. Nevertheless, their small craft was soon jammed with passengers, each one eager to help build a new ship.

Apores looked at his ragtag crew. To be sure, they were a motley collection of—what to call them? Refugees? Escapees? Hardly sailors. It would be his work to make them into master mariners. He looked forward to it.

His mind wandered back over the ships that he had visited. He thought of what they represented. Then he thought ahead to what he meant to do. As he pondered these things, certain fundamental commitments arose in his mind.

First, Apores was absolutely convinced of the worthiness and excellence of the Admiral Himself. The Admiral deserved more admiration than any mariner could ever offer, so splendid was He. At the Destination, admiring the Admiral would become the major occupation of every sailor from every vessel. In the meanwhile, the admiration of the Admiral was the single most important duty aboard any ship. A captain had a fundamental obligation to teach his sailors how to admire the Admiral rightly. The Admiral must receive honor worthy of His rank and accomplishment. Therefore, every mariner ought to be consumed with pondering the Admiral’s person, perfections, and mighty deeds. The awe and respect that resulted from this contemplation should be reflected in all corporate expressions of appreciation for the Admiral. Nothing was more important than offering admiration to the Great Commander of the Fleet.

Second, every ship was to be ordered strictly by the instructions of the Mariner’s Handbook. One thing that the Handbook made clear was that a captain held a unique kind of authority. His “command” was not, in the strict sense, the prerogative to bark orders at the members of the crew. Rather, he was to equip the sailors by instructing them in seamanship and in the ways of the Handbook. Most importantly, he was to exemplify sound nautical sense as well as absolute devotion to the Admiral. Instructed by the captain and led by the Mariner’s Handbook, the crew could be trusted to make its own decisions about the operation of the ship.

Third, for a crew to function healthily, it had to be fed. A fundamental responsibility of every captain was to ensure that his crew ate well. A captain who spent his time recruiting new sailors while his crew starved was guilty of a serious crime. No captain worthy of the name would ever prepare a stone when his sailors hungered for bread, nor would he offer them a serpent when they asked for a fish. The Admiral Himself commanded that his mariners be served the best bread possible. Preparing and serving the best bread was the most important aspect of every captain’s command over the ship. A captain had to give himself to this task. A captain who served good bread could rightly be called a “servant-leader.”

Fourth, seafaring skills like handling the tiller and rigging were only a means to an end. The end, of course, was to reach the Destination so as to appear in the presence of the Admiral. Every captain knew that he could get a temporary spike in efficiency from his crew by haranguing them about their inefficiencies. In response to scolding, many sailors would react viscerally and leap to their tasks. That kind of haranguing, however, would eventually scuttle the effectiveness of the ship. Visceral reactions could be maintained only by prompting ever-increasing gut reactions, and those would turn into progressively abusive treatment. In the long run, sailors who endured this kind of treatment would become hardened, at which point they would either abandon ship or else lapse into the motions of sailing without any real vision for the Destination. True, commitment to a long voyage could only be sustained by engaging the emotions, but they must be the right emotions. Affection for the Admiral and yearning for the Destination was a very good thing, but a perpetual sense of guilt over slippages in technique was different. To appeal to shame, pride, pity, vanity, or the like was manipulative, and Apores determined never to make such appeals. Indeed, he resolved never to host one of those itinerant “shipangelists” who drew their methodology from Finnegan and who specialized in manipulative techniques. No, he would direct the attention of the crew to the Admiral, and he would do everything he could to foster an ordinate love for Him.

Finally, Apores determined never to run the hazards of using pirates’ charts or to waste his time following captains who had no idea where they were going. Still, the seas were dangerous and many passages were difficult. He had discovered that the Old Captains knew of these dangers and had found ways to navigate them. He loved the Old Captains because they loved the Admiral and the Destination. He doubted that he would ever find much help from the captains who had come after Finnegan, though some exceptions existed. But the Old Ones had passed through fire and storm for the sake of the Admiral. If he needed help in ordering his ship, he would certainly pay more attention to the past than to his peers. He would teach his crew how to read the logs of the Old Captains, how to sing their chanteys, and how to navigate by their charts. And he would repudiate anything that came from Finnegan and his inexcusable minions.

These are the promises that Apores made to himself as he stood on the deck of his tiny ship and gazed upon his crew. These promises, thought Apores, are all one promise. It is excellent. It is good. It is true.

It is the Star.

Exultate Deo

Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Many a flower hath perfume for its dower,
And many a bird a song,
And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams
Frolic along;
Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise
In humble, peaceful ways.

Man’s high degree hath will and memory,
Affection and desire,
By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise;
Fire unto fire,
Deep unto deep responsive, height to height,
Until he walk in white.

This essay is by Dr. Kevin T. Bauder, president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary (Plymouth, MN). Not every professor, student, or alumnus of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.