Chapter Ten, SPIRIT ON THE SAIL

SPIRIT ON THE SAIL

Chapter Ten

Entering the Marina

Chubasco’s sails swell wide here in our downwind approach along the arch of Harbor Island’s shoreline.  We both seem to take a deep breath of satisfaction with our pre-storm arrival at the marina entrance.  Yet for me the contentment is only partial.  A mixture of success and failure furrow my brow as I bring Chubasco about, head-to-wind, fire up the engine, and strike her sails.  

Chubasco almost seems to whimper sympathetically as the wind buzzes over her naked shrouds (The cables supporting the mast).  Stoically she holds steady, while I make sure her mainsail is neatly flaked, cradled within the lazy-Jack.  Then, with her fenders arranged, I swing her back around toward the mouth of Sunroad Marina.

Gliding into the marina corridor, row after row of slips filled with impressive vessels nod respectfully behind a roofless colonnade of white concrete pylon sentinels.  Like a military troupe under inspection, each pylon stands silently in line bearing the alphabetic insignia of its column, from Z to A.  

Conscious of Chubasco's dignity, I deliberately straighten up so I don't detract from her royal entry.  After all, it's not her fault I failed to discover empirical proof of God’s existence. 
   

A lighthearted voice from somewhere inside the columns greats us, “Ahoy, Captain John!”   Without actually seeing Gus, a fellow charterboat captain, I answer back, "And ahoy to you, cap'n Gus."  It is amusing that sailors actually greet each other with “ahoy,” but such foolishness is well received within the small professional maritime community here in San Diego.  We are just a bunch of guys, and a few gals, who prefer playing with boats, rather than making a real living.

“What’s up?” he yells as we cruise by. 

“Ho, just a boat transfer for Seaforth.”  I respond adding, “What’s up with you?”

Almost apologetically he answers, “Oh, you know, winter…doe’n what I can.”  Passing on to “C” dock, I wave, and yell over my shoulder, “See y’a on the water." 

Now out of Gus' sight, I feel the need to accept my defeat.  “O.K., I give up, Lord.  Why can’t I just leave it at that…should I?  Yet, it seems incredible to me that You really left us with no readily observable empirical proof of your existence?  Is that the end of story?”

I'll be forced to fall back on the old arguments of the ages, which are completely ineffective today.  They point to evidence, which may satisfy those of us who are already convinced, but offer not one shred of universally personal first-hand belief changing experiential and observable proof of God's reality to an unbeliever.

Chubasco’s slip is number thirty-five, some distance down the row on "C" dock.  Thankfully, there is an   unoccupied pier connected to the "C" dock entrance.  I decide to press Chubasco’s finders against the landing, temporarily lash her there, while I scroll down to slip #35.  

Here it is, but it is occupied.  However, the one next to it is empty.

“Either, I have the wrong slip number or there is an intruder in Chubasco’s space.”  

Puzzle Solved
Unwilling to move the offending boat without authorization, I take a few moments to check things out.  "Well that's strange."  Slip 35 has no electric outlet, but the empty one next to it does.  Part of my instructions included recharging the onboard batteries from the slip’s shore-power outlet.

 “I’ve got the wrong number.  I’m claiming the empty slip for Chubasco.”  

Feeling rather pleased with myself I swagger back toward my waiting sloop thinking, “Why am I almost giddy about such a simple conclusion?”  Sure, settling the mix-up now beats solving the problem while on the water.  In this wind, even a brief hesitation could jeopardized a clean landing.  Yet, my euphoria seems unrelated to the slip.

Slowing my pace I reason, “What is it?  It's as if I'm aware of something now, I wasn’t a moment ago?"  Puzzled, I cock my head to one side, as if tilted, might drip some clarity down to the low side.  "Come to think of it, I did observe a feature originally overlooked, which resulted in an actual proof."  Truly experience shapes beliefs.

I sense that if God really wanted to be recognized, like Captain Gus, He would be waving and shouting to get our attention, but we simply don't see Him.  "That’s it!” 

The rest of the way back to Chubasco I find myself skipping and shouting in the wind and rain, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve finally got it!"  I have not recognized God as God, though He has been yelling and gesturing to all of us individually the whole time.  

Universally Observable
God is right here, signaling us each one by His Spirit from within.  What more proof do I or anyone else need. “True, He is not a material object, like an electrical box on a dock, but spiritual reality does not consist of objective ingredients.  Yet, His existence is not merely a subjective mental experience either.  On the contrary, His reality is so completely universally observable that it is overlooked, and mistaken for natural qualities of the human species.

God is Spirit.  He is constantly waving is immaterial arms of holy love to our human spirit.  His holy love exists, and not at all natural.  It is a supernatural quality.  A quality of God's reality displayed within every human heart.  

Experiences of His presence is also heard, "Do this, don't do that!"  No matter where we think that voice comes from it exists within the heart of everyone, approving some things while rejecting others.  It's source is spiritual.

I stop at the end of the dock and lean against Chubasco, as a rapid procession of thoughts brake through some neural dam.  Streams of ideas flow into well-worn channels of memorized scriptures,  and then pour into fresh pools of understanding. 

Verification Flood
The first combination of scripture to rush forward are from Romans. “God's invisible qualities - His eternal power and divine nature - have been clearly seen, being understood from" (also translated by) "what has been made,” (Sense we are the only things "made" that have the capacity to see and understand such things the reference is obviously human beings) "so that people are without excuse."

 Amplifying that verse, the one before it describes the invisible qualities we see in God's Divine Nature;  "faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love."  

Seeing Love in our heart is actually us looking at God's Divine Spiritual Nature.  His perfect self-giving goodness is not natural to humans.  The same is true of two other qualities mentioned there; faith and hope.  These three are parts of God's Self-exposure seen by our human spirit. 

The other quality mentioned is His Eternal Power...God's ever-present moral authority.  The voice we hear that rules on what is good or evil, is God's Spirit.  Cultural anthropologist of course, ascribe the source of morality to other sources, but they cannot deny that humans all have this basic ethical screen.  This is a quality beyond material reality, which rightly belongs to the supernatural.  That voice is actually God's moral authority, shouting demands over our conduct, directing us to accept what is right and reject the other.  Sensing that ethical imposition is an first-hand experience of God's Eternal Power.

Those qualities (Divine Nature and Eternal Power) are not, as we imagine, characteristics of our better nature or aspects of human virtue.  The invisible and inaudible qualities of God are made known when faith hope, and love are observed, as well as when our heart hears a thing  declared good over evil.  These are invisible and inaudible revelations of God Himself within and to us. 

Taking Her Home

While awash with related ideas a moisture laden wind stretch Chubasco’s mooring lines.  “I almost forgot what I’m supposed to be doing.”  

As I release her lines, the breeze pushes her off the dock.  Leaping aboard, I spur her with a short reverse blast, which spins her counterclockwise off the pier.  Her pretty nose now aligned with the waterway between the slips, I shift her into forward.  

 Almost dizzy with the realization that the God of the universe actually stepped in and satisfy the quest of an old confused boat captain, I turn my rain drenched face toward the splattering storm.

“Thank you, Lord.  We've arrived, and You granted the proof I sought.”

“Oh, and thank You, for beating the storm.” 

With sufficient engine power to keep us moving forward, and still offset the wind pushing us portside, Chubasco compliantly enters her slip.  A final reverse propeller-blast settles her in without a fuss, and at last she calmly rests in her new home.