The following is an allegorical fiction story. I wrote it for my self, to help me realize the goals and purposes of leadership in ministry.
Tempest
Runner
I can’t see far
enough to know what’s out there. The sky is like lead, and not just in color.
It looks heavy and poisonous. There is no sunlight, no shadows or color, just
shades of grey for the short distance I can see.
I’m standing,
braced against the wheel of the tall-masted sailing ship as it dives into a
trench. It jolts as we reach the bottom of the wave and icy water falls over
the deck, then the ship climbs the next swell. My raincoat, some unique design,
keeps me dry, but for how long? Each wave over the deck brings a gasping shock
of cold. But the raincoat holds out.
From the raised
rear deck I can see the latest wave running off the main deck. The crew hang on
through each onslaught, then return to their watch. Their raincoats are just
like mine and they stay dry too. I wonder how many of them are waiting for the
next wave to finally soak through and begin to freeze them to death. I can’t
tell if they’re as frightened as I am. I am afraid, but I don’t let it on. I
stand tall, both hands on the wheel, and scowl into the rain. I hope this
encourages them.
Eugene
and Felix are with me at the helm. Eugene
is holding the mast, trying to huddle beneath the sails that we brought down
some time ago. It was his idea: bring down the sails before they’re either torn
to ribbons, or worse, the hurricane force winds catch the sails and scuttle
this ship, flinging it to who knows where.
Felix,
on the other hand, isn’t cowering. He keeps his eyes ahead into the storm. He
watches the black and gray clouds over the churning sea as if he sees something
through them. Felix is the one who advised me to stay at the helm when I wanted
to run and assist the crew.
They knew what they’re doing, he had
said. Do the job you were meant to do, David.
Felix
has a look, not surprised or even frightened, but a look of determined
anticipation. I want to feel that, to see what he sees. Eugene, however, looks more frightened, and a
little angry at how we’re continuing on with no regard for what’s ahead.
The
lightning flashes beneath the clouds, a visible bolt. For a moment the seas are
lit bright white. I step to the rail to look over at what I thought I saw, but
the ship rolls to the side and I stagger backward.
“Keep
your hands on the wheel,” Felix says. “Not just to steer either.”
He’s
right. Holding the wheel keeps me stable. I put both my hands on the wheel
again and pull to turn the ship. I know what I saw, and the crew saw too. The
next flash of lightning is up in the clouds, but we all see them now. Flotsam
and jetsam in the sea around us. And there they are, the people in the water.
Even Eugene
knows why we’re here now.
The crew gets to
work with ladders, ropes and reaching hands. People are helped aboard. Soon the
deck has a small crowd putting on the raincoats. Right away, most join the rest
of the crew in getting even more onboard. Many of these people are joyous to be
out of the freezing water. But not everyone. Some don’t put on coats. They just
hang onto the deck rails and stare back. The crew urge them to put on a coat
and to take shelter from the storm. But soon these people we’ve pulled on board
have disappeared back into the sea.
We will keep watch
for them. We can only hope to see them again in the water somewhere. The crew
are back to work keeping watch, fixing lines, checking each other’s coats.
They’re miraculous in design. Despite my fear, I’m still dry underneath mine.
“We’re going to
run out of those raincoats,” Eugene
says.
“No we won’t,”
Felix counters. “There’s an endless supply onboard.”
“Nothing is
endless,” Eugene
says as the ship pitches downward again. “Nothing except this storm and waves.”
The ship shudders
at the bottom of the trench. I can see and feel the timbers bend and shake with
the impact. How much more of this can the ship take?
Motion of lifting
up makes us feel heavy, then at the top of the wave, we feel just right for
less than a moment before weightlessness accompanies the decent. Going down the
wave feels like free-fall until we slam into the water. In the deeper trenches,
surrounded by water, it’s as if we have already sunk. Time goes by, only marked
by the regular shuddering of the ship and flashes of lightning. I see the crew,
watching out over empty seas. My arms ache from holding the wheel. The rain
starts to sting and I realize it’s beginning to hail. I’m sure my raincoat will
let water through at any time now.
“Why are we still
out here?” Eugene
asks.
“You saw why,”
Felix answers. “We’re pulling people out of the water.”
Eugene looks down to the deck, then out at
the waves. “They’re getting fewer and fewer,” he says. “Have you noticed that?
There are almost no more people in the water?”
“I know,” Felix
says. “It’s because we’re not really moving.”
The ship crests a
wave. For a moment, it looks like we’re at the top of a mountain looking over a
foaming seascape. I can’t see far with the heavy storm clouds hanging low. I
don’t see anything resembling wreckage or survivors. Then we’re on our way down
the wave and I brace for the impact and wash of cold water.
“You call this not
moving?” Eugene
cries over the quaking of the empty masts.
“We’re just being
tossed around by the waves,” Felix says. “The ship isn’t really going
anywhere.”
There are
obviously no landmarks to confirm that we’re just moving in circles, but I
think Felix is right, Eugene
does too.
I need to make a
decision. We can’t just let ourselves be tossed around like this. And we do
have the oars. But can the crew row? They aren’t galley slaves.
Felix knows what
I’m thinking of course. “They’re strong enough,” he says. “Rowing will help,
but it’s not the best thing to do.”
I don’t want to
give the order, so Eugene
does. We get crews to the oars. Like long wooden spoons, they extend from the
sides of the ship and strike the water. All at once, the ship turns and begins
moving alongside a swell, rather than down it.
“Stay at the
helm,” Felix reminds me. “You need to steer even more now.”
And I do. The
rowers move the ship forward, but now I have to grip the wheel even harder to
make sure we navigate along the waves rather than over them. Felix keeps an eye
forward, while Eugene
looks back.
And the question
is there, obvious as the driving rain: where do we go now?
“We have to go
back,” Eugene
says. “The crew are fatigued. The ship can’t keep taking this pounding.”
“We have a job to
do,” says Felix.
“There are other
ships to do that.”
“Other ships,
yes,” Felix says. “Ships whose duty is to rescue people from the waters.”
“Yes,” Eugene says. “Let them do
their job. We need to turn back.”
“It’s just this,”
Felix begins, and I know where he’s going. “It’s our job to pull people from
the water too, just like those other ships. Remember that? Pull people from the
water and give them safe place from the water and wreckage. That’s why we’re
here. It’s not to turn back, it’s to go forward.”
I’m sure Eugene will shout,
questioning this going forward to who knows where. He’s weary of it all and has
no idea what’s ahead. But he doesn’t shout. Instead, he hangs his head and
heaves a ragged sigh. I barely hear him over the wails of the storm, but I see
his whole body shudder.
“Forward to
where?” his voice breaks. “We don’t know what’s ahead. What kinds of dangers
are out there? What leviathans are waiting us out?”
“We can’t turn
back,” Felix says.
“We have to,”
there’s strength returning to Eugene.
“Don’t you understand? We don’t know where we’re going or what’s out there.”
Felix’s face still
holds the look of quiet confidence. “We know what’s ahead. What we don’t know
is what’s behind.”
“Behind? It’s
where we came from,” Eugene
says, his voice rising still.
Felix shakes his
head. “Where we came from, that’s not there anymore.”
“Of course it is,”
Eugene states. “Turn the ship around. We can go
back. We must turn back before the next wave washes everyone overboard and the
ship is hammered to matchwood.”
I feel his words
giving me strength and determination. He’s right. We have a ship full of people
that were pulled from the water. We need to get somewhere safe.
“The ship is
safe,” Felix says. Now I hear desperation in his voice.
I pull the wheel
around in a circle. Bit by bit I sense the ship turning round. The sky doesn’t
change, but the waves do. Now they seem to be helping us along and the rowers
barely have to work to move us. For a moment, my grip on the wheel relaxes.
Eugene leans forward, hands on his knees as if to catch his breath after a long
sprint. Only Felix braces himself more. And in a moment I realize why.
The current in the
water may be moving us forward, but we’re still headed into what feels like an
unstoppable force. Now, it’s the wind. I had not realized how the wind had been
mostly at our back before. Once we turned, we were driving straight into it.
And this isn’t like any wind I’ve experienced before. Crew are blown off their
feet and buffeted across the deck.
And the hail, it’s
blinding us now. Before, at least I could see that there were clouds hanging
low with waves and spray. But now the crew and I are shielding our eyes against
the hail flying straight at us.
“Steady as she
goes,” Eugene says. “If we stay pointed this way, we’re sure to get back to a
safe harbor.”
The oars are
pulled in and the ship moves with the current.
I hold the wheel and try to keep steady to where I hope is the safe
place we came from. The hail lessens and even though the wind is still furious,
we can begin to see better. For awhile, the lack of crashing waves is
refreshing. We seem to be moving forward. But from what we can see on the
water, there are no more people. And then something else starts to happen.
The crew, who had
been so vigilant in watching over the waters looking for people to rescue, they
are not seeing anyone now and are leaving their posts. Some of them wander the
deck. Others may have disappeared below. I desperately hope that none have
abandoned ship, but I’m afraid that has happened with some.
“The crew are
leaving their posts,” Felix observes.
I know they are
and I know why. They don’t see why they need to be there. Testing something, I
take my hands off of the wheel and the ship continues to move in a straight
line. Even I could leave my post now. It’s as if I’m no longer needed either.
Even the rain has
eased back, and I do believe that the wind is finally dying down. And with it
all, the waves are not as towering. The ship eases on and the waters begin to
calm.
Eugene smiles for
the first time in as long as I can remember. “Thank God,” he says. “I think
we’re out of it.”
“Look,” Felix
says. “Look at that.”
I look to the deck
and see fewer crew than ever stand looking out over the easing waves. Some have
removed their raincoats.
“Not the deck,”
Felix’s voice holds a hint of fear. I look up and out at the horizon. Is that
sunlight?
“I knew we’d be
safe if we turned back,” Eugene declares. “Look at that. Calm waters.”
“It’s worse than
calm waters,” Felix says. “Look how still it is. Do you know what’s there, what
we’re headed into?”
Eugene looks, now
with concern, and shakes his head.
“Doldrums,” Felix
announces. “Waters so flat, with no wind or current, that our ship will come to
a dead stop. We’ll just sit, motionless.”
Eugene looks again
and I certainly see sunlight there reflecting off what looks like polished
glass.
“We’ll be safe,”
Eugene says.
“We’ll be
trapped,” Felix counters. “There will be nothing there for us to do and nowhere
to go.”
The current seems
to have slowed down and the wind in our faces is a gentle breeze. My raincoat
has become warm and feel I want to slip it off.
“We won’t be
trapped,” Eugene finally says. “We can get the crews to the oars.”
Felix’s face
darkens in a frown and he utters the words, “What crew?”
I look down. The
deck is almost empty. Eugene almost looks panicked.
“We’ve got to turn
back around,” Felix says. “While there’s still time.”
“We can’t go back
into that storm,” Eugene says, his voice rising in disbelief. “That…” he
searches for the word. “That tempest, it’ll wreck this ship.”
“This ship!” Felix
shouts. “This ship has a name. It’s Tempest
Runner. Its purpose is to drive into the storms and pull people from the
waters.”
I remember that
now. The ship has a name, and yes, it has a purpose, just like we do.
“The ship has a
name,” Eugene murmurs. He runs his hand along the rail feeling the touch of the
Tempest Runner. Feeling the ship,
knowing its name, and knowing its purpose begin to fill me with a new feeling.
It’s dissatisfaction. We don’t belong here, heading away from the storm. There
is a new urge to get back in there and do what we were meant to do.
I put my hands on
the wheel and rotate it. The ship begins to turn, and at the same time, to list
to one side. Crew suddenly hang on. Finally we’re pointed away from the
doldrums. But something is wrong. The ship continues to be carried toward them.
Yawing like someone shaking their head in protest, the ship is pushed backward.
“The current’s too
strong,” Eugene says. “We’re moving backwards. Ships aren’t supposed to do
that.”
I glance back over
my shoulder. The calm waters are closer now and the wind is barely blowing.
“What are we going
to do?” Eugene cries.
Felix steps up to
me. “You know what to do,” he says. “It’s time for you to step up and lead
now.”
I bow my head and
try to slow down my breathing. But he’s right. I can’t overthink this anymore.
I’ve known all along what to do. I’ve just listened to the wrong voice
sometimes. So I stand on the deck, alone, like I have all this time. No more
debating inside my head. This ship, Tempest
Runner has a purpose. And so do I.
So I call out to
the crew. “All hands on deck.” My voice is characteristically calm. But there
is still strength. Eyes are lifted up to me at the helm. I take a deep breath,
and give the order:
“Raise the sails!”
The crew know what
to do. Like the ship, and like me, they know their jobs. The covers come off
and ropes flash. In moments, the sails are going up. As soon as they’re
unfurled, they fill with wind.
The push is
strong, almost like the shudder of being hit with a wave, and the Tempest Runner is sailing forward again.
We’re going against the waters and the bouncing begins again. But as the current strengthens, so does the
wind and we continue forward. Then the rain begins again.
“Get your
raincoats on,” I call out. “Batten down the hatches. We’re going in.”
It’s not long
before we come across people in the water. All are brought onboard, and as
usual, some don’t stay. But as we head deeper into the storm, we bring on more
and more. Soon, the deck crowded. All are helping pull others in.
Once again, the
sea is a furious cauldron. But the wind and hail are at our backs. The sails,
made of the same material as our raincoats, hold out against the wind. Then a
rope breaks. I almost hear the voice of Eugene, but instead I call out the
trouble. Crew get onto the flailing
lines and the rope is secured.
Eventually, other
people are there at the helm with me. I stand back from the wheel and instruct
others on how to navigate. Keep the wind at our back, steady as she goes.
At one of these
times, we from a wave crest and the ship nearly reels completely over. I take
the wheel and turn into the rolling motion. I’m feeling frightened again.
Eugene’s voice tells me how it’s not too late to turn back. I want to hear
Felix. What’s more I want to see what he saw when the sky was dark and full of
the crashing sea. What was he looking to?
I look out over
the bow, ahead to the crashing ocean. Did he really see anything? Or was he
imagining something? How can I see something that isn’t there?
What is there? A voice seems to say. What do you really see?
We’ve rescued more
than ever and the decks are full of crew members now. We’ve saved so many.
These souls are saved, the voice says. Because you drove back into the storm.
Lightning,
brighter than ever fills the sky. I see what’s ahead, more stormy sea, with
more souls to save. My hands grip the wheel of the Tempest Runner, our ship. What do we need a safe harbor for? The
ship is our safe haven from the storm and waves.
So what is ahead?
What did Felix see? He saw the seas ahead, filled with opportunity. We are in
the right place. We’re driving forward, pushed by a power greater than
ourselves, doing the work we were meant to do.