A Leap of Faith

I had been working at camp for about a month when the day that I had been trying hard to avoid
finally arrived.

They decided that it was time to teach me to crew the camp boat, the Pioneer III.

The camp I worked at was located on an island on Shoal Lake. Campers were bussed in to the neighbouring reserve, and then took a 20 minute boat ride on the large camp boat out to camp.

The PIII was large enough that docking it or pushing off from the dock required the assistance of two camp-counsellor-by-day crew members. When leaving the dock, it was their job to push the boat out in order to maintain a safe amount of space between the boat and the dock, thus preventing damage to either, until the boat was safely away from the dock, then at the last minute to hop aboard for the voyage back to camp.

I just had a feeling that this wasn't going to end well for me.

However, I was reassured that everyone who worked at camp learned to do this, and it wasn't really all that hard, and I was more than capable of doing it too! So, after dropping a group of campers back at the mainland, my friend decided that the return trip with the empty boat was the perfect opportunity to teach me this necessary skill.

So we set off, with my friend showing me how to keep the proper amount of distance between boat and dock, and then telling me it was time to hop on the boat. She went first--but, seeing the growing watery gap between boat and dock, I hesitated, fearful that I couldn't make the leap. And because she who hesitates really is lost sometimes, the moment passed, and the boat set off back toward camp--with me standing on the dock looking dumbly at my departing ride home.

This created a dilemma for the captain and the two other staff aboard the boat. From the dock, I could hear them discussing the need to re-dock the boat to pick me up. But, as they began to draw closer, it became very apparent that the captain of the boat had no intention of docking. Instead, he was determined to pull the nose of the boat up to the very end of the dock for me to jump aboard before quickly reversing the boat to head back out into the water.

As the boat got closer and closer, I began to sweat more and more. Then the moment came when, with what seemed like a ridiculous amount of water between me and the boat, I could hear the boat switch gears from forward into reverse, and knew that the time had come.

And, because I was determined not to make a fool of myself in the same way twice in a row, I closed my eyes, put my arms out, and jumped as far as I could, then waited for the inevitable splash as I landed, fully clothed and without a lifejacket, in the drink.

Much to my surprise, no splash came, and by some miracle when I opened my eyes I found myself hanging off the deck of the boat, with each of my colleagues hanging on to one of my hands, my hiking boots having found leverage on a slim, 5 cm wide ledge running at water level around the boat. The wake of the boat up to my knees, I found a railing to hang on to, and the boat began its journey home, with me hanging overboard, my boots and jeans saturated with water, my two friends hanging onto me for dear life, as the three people aboard the boat began an animated conversation about how to achieve the next necessary step: actually getting me aboard the boat.

A few ideas were tossed about that I recall vividly to this day. One suggested that I stay where I was for the 20 minute ride back, then try to jump from my perch to the dock before I was crushed between boat and dock. Another suggested bringing the crash boat (a motor boat pulled behind the boat in case of emergency) alongside to rescue me. (I liked that one better).

While the three of them stood on the deck discussing their options, and I focused on not losing my precarious grip on the boat and falling off into the depths of Shoal Lake, one of them looked up and realized that, in the excitement about how to rescue me, nobody had been actually driving the boat, and we were quickly headed on a collision course with a nearby island. One ran back to the cabin to set the boat back on its correct course, while the others continued to debate workable solutions and my arms increasingly turned to rubber.

As it became ever more apparent that chin-ups are not and will never be my strength, even when my life actually might depend on it, the solution was arrived at: my athletic, good-looking former high-school classmate turned camp colleague would jump down from the deck and position himself beside me, and I would use him as a human ladder, climbing up his body to safety. Even hanging from the side of the boat, that was exactly as humiliating as it sounded.

It was made even more so when afterward I lay on the deck like a limp fish, all strength in my arms and legs gone, while he casually pulled himself up onto the deck behind me.

We did, however, make it safely back to camp. (And that is how I got my 'camp name,' Stallone, a subtle reference to the movie "Cliff Hanger." Forever after, campers and staff alike knew me only by the name "Stallone," thereby ensuring that my humiliation would be memorialized for all eternity.)

I never did, incidentally, learn to crew that boat.

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I was reminded of this long ago adventure today as I thought about my faith journey these days.

I'm standing at an intersection. My work as a pastor at House Blend is done, and I'm not sure what comes next or where the road ahead may lead.

But I find myself really, really hoping for something safe and familiar as the next chapter. I'm oh, so tempted to arrange for something safe and familiar myself, instead of staying present to the harder work of listening to what God may be speaking into my life right now.

Leaps of faith have never especially been my specialty, as you may be guessing right now.

But, as C. S. Lewis so aptly said of Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia, "Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good."

God may be good, but he certainly isn't safe. I'm increasingly aware that so many of the places that God calls us to follow him are counter-cultural, and that to truly follow God often requires sacrifice and making the risky decision. Several of the disciples, after a lifelong career as fishermen, left their nets behind to follow Jesus on an unknown adventure. The rich young ruler was told that to inherit eternal life he must first sell all he possessed and give it to the poor.

I don't know what comes next, but I sense that whatever it is may once again require a leap of faith of one variety or another. And that terrifies me!

But I pray that. when that time comes, I might have the courage to close my eyes, stretch out my hands, and jump. And I trust that, when I do, I will find strong hands ready to catch me and help me even when I find myself in situations that I'd never have imagined myself in.

Standing on the dock overthinking it might just be the hardest part...