For most of my life I have been a paddler. In a canoe, a solo paddler kneels or sits near the center of the boat facing forward. If the canoe has much rocker, it will turn much more nimbly with a solo paddler. When there are two paddlers, one sits or kneels in the stern, the other in the bow. The stern paddler steers. The bow paddler simply provides forward motion, except on occasions when sudden maneuvers are required. The one sitting in the front providing the vision is not the one who is really steering, no matter how it looks from the shore. The tool of the stern paddler is the J stroke. It is not too difficult to learn, but it takes a lifetime to master. Once you get it, it feels very natural. I prefer to paddle stern.

Somewhere into my learning about canoes, I discovered the double paddle. I use a double paddle when paddling my lightweight “Wee Lassie” canoe and also when I paddle kayaks. Using a double paddle is a very natural motion. One doesn’t have to think about it much at all, just reach, stretch and pull. Repeat on the other side of the boat. Steering is a subtle bit of how hard you pull and the angle of the paddle combined with a bit of body language and leaning in the boat.

Last winter, I built a rowboat. I built it because I wanted a boat for my grandson. A rowboat is stable and has less feeling that it might tip and capsize. And it has more room for an active explorer.

I really didn’t know much about rowing, except that the rower faces the stern. It is a technique that is basedon looking where you have been with only an occasional glance over the shoulder to see where you are going. It isn’t a technique for white water. Drift boats and rafts are rowed facing ahead – downstream or into the surf. But most other rowboats are rowed from the opposite perspective. The position enables a much stronger stroke with the oars. A good rower can put most of her or his weight into the pull of the oars, bending and straightening the knees and bending from the waste to use the entire body to pull.

I imagine that the Native Americans who greeted the sailors who arrived from Europe must have found it very silly to see the boats launched with the rowers facing rearward as they raced out in their sleek and fast canoes. Talk about inferior technology! How could people who could craft an ocean-going ship that carried many tons and was powered by the wind not know how to build a simple canoe?

Now, however, I have a summer of rowing under my belt. I am more skilled at rowing now. I can make my craft go wherever I want. I don’t run into the dock. I don’t row a crooked course. I have learned how to pull strongly and go must faster. My beamy little rowboat travels at the speed of a slender canoe that is a couple of feet longer.

I have been refreshed by the change of perspective. I am grateful for the rowboat. Contrary to what you might think, it is easy to go where you want without always having to look in the direction of travel. In fact, I find that I notice more and see more when I row than when I paddle.

It is a lesson for me. It might be a lesson for the church as well: You don’t always have to be looking forward to make progress.

The future is not as disconnected from the past as some might believe. Those of us with a clear view of where we have been need not be an impediment to moving forward. Sometimes we do more to move things forward than those in the bow of the boat shouting out orders.

Sometimes I take a couple of others for a ride in my rowboat. They look forward, but I provide all of the energy for motion. The only one looking backward in the boat is responsible not only for propulsion, but also for steering. All this is accomplished with just an occasional glance over my shoulder.

I can clearly see myself in the report on Christian Faith Formation and Education in the United Church of Christ. There is a direct reference to me on page 70. Yes, I’m one of those who are named by the report as “in their final years of ministry before retirement.” It doesn’t take a genius to know that there are some in the church of Jesus Christ who are just waiting until the day I and other colleagues my age are put out to pasture.

I’m comfortable with that. I don’t know if I ever aspired to be one of the ones in charge. I can remember thinking, at one time, that I’d like to be a Conference Minister. But things have changed. I know that I am much happier as a local church pastor. I don’t need to be the one who is center stage in the national setting of the church. I’m happy with others taking the lead.

Still, it seems some days like I’m the only one in the boat who knows where we have been. Some days it seems like I’m the only one who remembers our story. I’ve been traveling this road for several generations of curricula and several generations of ministers in the offices at Church House.

And, contrary to those who see themselves as the visionary leaders of the church of the future, I’m still doing all of the rowing, which mean’s I’m still doing the steering as well.

I don’t really want that much control. I don’t mind if others row. But in order to do so, they’re going to have to look at where we have been. You can’t steer the boat while standing in the bow with your finger pointed at the horizon. The rower knows that there is more than one horizon. The rower knows that you can know where you are going without ignoring where you have been.

If I got my way, everyone who serves our church in its national setting would have to spend a bit of time rowing a boat. Read any of the Gospels. Jesus’ first disciples spent quite a bit of time rowing across the Sea of Galilee.

Copyright © 2012 by Ted Huffman. I wrote this. If you want to copy it, please ask for permission. There is a contact me button at the bottom of this page. If you want to share my blog a friend, please direct your friend to my web site.