The last few weeks, my life has felt pretty rocked by sin and it's consequences. I've sinned. I've been sinned against. I've watched lives be destroyed by sin, and I have watched lives be redeemed from sin. Like it or not, sin is literally everywhere we go (mainly because we are everywhere we go, and let's face it - we're all hot, sinful messes). Not only is it everywhere, but so often we either cannot see it for what it is, or we simply choose not to care. As ugly and terrible as sin is, sometimes it is so easy to dismiss it as part of life and fumble our way through the ensuing consequences; I can think of a million and one sins in my own life that I would rather refer to as habits/tendencies/character flaws because it just makes them seem more innocuous. In short, we allow the toxic effects of living in a flawed and fallen world to somehow become part of our normal routine.
So what does this have to do with the giant, white ship I call home? Well, the funny thing about living on a ship is that it's actually really easy to forget that you live on a ship. The first day or so, it seems like you can feel every little list and roll, but soon your mind adapts and the only movements you ever really notice are the big, jarring ones (when we're in the harbor, that is - sailing the Indian Ocean is a completely different and utterly nauseating story). From the inside, everything seems perfectly level and calm; however, step off the ship and it is a completely different story. You can watch the ship float forward and backward, and side to side. You can hear the Yokohama fenders respond to the pressure as the ship is pushed into them. You can watch the bowlines rise and fall as the bow moves toward and away from the shore. You don't have to know a single thing about ships to know that the one you're staring at isn't staying still.
So tonight, as I watched my floating home bob around and as I considered that no one on the ship could feel the movement I could so clearly see, I realized that my sin is just like that. From the inside, I may not always see or feel the effects of sin on my life...but from the outside, my sins are often pretty hard to miss. So what is the solution?
For the ship, the solution was to drop anchor. Our wise and experienced Captain decided we needed to plant one of our anchors in a very precise and calculated manor. Once the anchor was where it needed to be, life became much more comfortable and stable. The ship still moves, but we are much less at the mercy of the sea.
The solution for my life is the same: drop anchor. In the Bible we are told that we have an anchor which provides security and stability for our soul: hope. Not just any hope, but the Christian hope, a hope which is found in Christ:
"So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf..."
--Hebrews 6:17-20a (ESV)
Life here on Earth will always be rocked by sin - that is just the reality of life in a fallen world. But even when life is hard, like it has been the last few weeks, my anchor is planted. There is no wave or storm which can ever break the chain securing me to my "sure and steadfast anchor"; because of Christ's mercy, I will never be at the mercy of the sea of sin which surrounds me.
Will you help me remember this? When you're standing on the dock, and you see my bowlines being pulled taut or hear my Yokohama's groan under the pressure of a big wave, will you remind me that I am held firmly in the safety and refuge of the harbor by my Anchor? Will you love me enough to do that?
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