Boatbuilding and theology
17/12/14 05:14
Because I built wood strip boats, several of my friends have suggested that I check out the canoe that is hanging in an urgent care facility on the north side of our town. They have commented on the excellence of the craftsmanship and the beauty of the boat. As I understand it, the boat is part of the decor of the waiting area in the medical facility.
I know of people who build boats like that. I have seen a few boats that are so immaculately constructed that they are works of art worthy of the finest museum. In fact there are boats that have been constructed for both historical and art museums that have never seen the water. They were designed and constructed to be displayed for others to see their shape and form and beauty.
A boat is a lovely thing. I really enjoy looking at boats.
But so far I have not gone to see the canoe hanging in the urgent care center. That particular boat doesn’t seem to call to me yet.
I know of some really good boat builders who are very happy building boats for others. Some of my supplies are purchased from shops that specialize in building strong, beautiful and functional boats for others. The craftsmen and craftswomen of these shops seem to enjoy their work and gain great joy out of the delight of their customers in the boats that they make. Northwoods Canoe in Atkinson, Maine, recently completed its 1,000th hand-made wood and canvas canoe. The proprietor of the shop, Rollin Thurlow is one of the world’s finest boating craftsmen. They devised a really fun and fair contest to give away the boat and I’ve seen pictures of the winners paddling their boat across a lake.
I admire boat builders who are able to produce consistent quality and beauty in their work.
I am, however, a different kind of boat builder. I’ll never make 1,000 boats. To date, I have built three canoes, two kayaks and one rowboat. A third kayak is under construction in my garage. I’ve restored a couple of other boats. At my current rate, I might make it to ten boats by the end of my life.
On the other hand, I have personally paddled one of the boats i made by hand in the waters of the Black Hills, down the Yellowstone in Montana, in various lakes in Idaho, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Alberta. In the Puget Sound and the Pacific Ocean, in the Atlantic Ocean and the Bay of Fundy, in Lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan and a host of lakes in Ontario, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan. And that is just one of my boats.
The way I build boats, the result is not a finished product that is somehow “finished” and ready to be displayed for the world to see. My product is a kind of performance art, I guess. My boats are continually in search of new waters, fresh sunrises and new experiences. For me there is a continuity between building and paddling. Both are a part of the same creative process.
It is not unlike the practice of telling stories. A truly great story is never over and completed. It is a relationship between the story itself, the teller and those who hear the story. As a passionate story teller, there is much I can do to strengthen my relationship with the story. I can study it, memorize it, look at it again and again. I can examine its impact on my life and on the lives of others. I can practice my vocal inflection and gestures and facial expressions. I also have the ability to strengthen my relationship with those who hear the story. I can get to know them, their thoughts and intentions, their hopes and dreams, their struggles and pains. But these things that I can do, are in search of something that is beyond me. The reason I tell stories is to develop the relationship between the story and the people who hear it. Maybe if I tell it well enough the hearers will also fall in love with the story. That is the hope.
So I am never finished telling a story. There is always a new opportunity to tell it again. And the next time I tell the story, the context will be different. I will be different. The people who hear it will be different. Each telling is a fresh opportunity to make the story come alive in the lives of those who hear it.
The stories I love best were in circulation millennia before I was born:
“And it came to pass in those days, the there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be enrolled . . .”
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void and darkness was on the face of the earth. And the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. . .”
“And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test saying, ‘Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?’ . . .”
“Now on the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus saying, ‘Where will you have jus prepare for you to eat the passover?’ . . .”
These and other stories are never finished. We keep telling them again and again. And they will be told by generations of people long after our time on this earth is finished.
So, for now, I’m not attracted to a canoe that was built to hang indoors in the same way that i am attracted to a boat in the water.
And I am not intrigued by people and places where religion is all figured out, set in stone, and all of the answers are discovered and known. A living faith encountering real doubts engaged in the real struggles of life is more fascinating to me.
The boat in my garage will last a century or more if it is properly maintained. I might own it for a quarter of that time. I hope that the next owner doesn’t hang it up for display, but finds opportunities to put it in the water.
And I hope that those who hear the stories of our Bible won’t just keep them in a book for show, but will use them to navigate the sometimes rough waters of real life.
I know of people who build boats like that. I have seen a few boats that are so immaculately constructed that they are works of art worthy of the finest museum. In fact there are boats that have been constructed for both historical and art museums that have never seen the water. They were designed and constructed to be displayed for others to see their shape and form and beauty.
A boat is a lovely thing. I really enjoy looking at boats.
But so far I have not gone to see the canoe hanging in the urgent care center. That particular boat doesn’t seem to call to me yet.
I know of some really good boat builders who are very happy building boats for others. Some of my supplies are purchased from shops that specialize in building strong, beautiful and functional boats for others. The craftsmen and craftswomen of these shops seem to enjoy their work and gain great joy out of the delight of their customers in the boats that they make. Northwoods Canoe in Atkinson, Maine, recently completed its 1,000th hand-made wood and canvas canoe. The proprietor of the shop, Rollin Thurlow is one of the world’s finest boating craftsmen. They devised a really fun and fair contest to give away the boat and I’ve seen pictures of the winners paddling their boat across a lake.
I admire boat builders who are able to produce consistent quality and beauty in their work.
I am, however, a different kind of boat builder. I’ll never make 1,000 boats. To date, I have built three canoes, two kayaks and one rowboat. A third kayak is under construction in my garage. I’ve restored a couple of other boats. At my current rate, I might make it to ten boats by the end of my life.
On the other hand, I have personally paddled one of the boats i made by hand in the waters of the Black Hills, down the Yellowstone in Montana, in various lakes in Idaho, Oregon, Washington, British Columbia and Alberta. In the Puget Sound and the Pacific Ocean, in the Atlantic Ocean and the Bay of Fundy, in Lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan and a host of lakes in Ontario, Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan. And that is just one of my boats.
The way I build boats, the result is not a finished product that is somehow “finished” and ready to be displayed for the world to see. My product is a kind of performance art, I guess. My boats are continually in search of new waters, fresh sunrises and new experiences. For me there is a continuity between building and paddling. Both are a part of the same creative process.
It is not unlike the practice of telling stories. A truly great story is never over and completed. It is a relationship between the story itself, the teller and those who hear the story. As a passionate story teller, there is much I can do to strengthen my relationship with the story. I can study it, memorize it, look at it again and again. I can examine its impact on my life and on the lives of others. I can practice my vocal inflection and gestures and facial expressions. I also have the ability to strengthen my relationship with those who hear the story. I can get to know them, their thoughts and intentions, their hopes and dreams, their struggles and pains. But these things that I can do, are in search of something that is beyond me. The reason I tell stories is to develop the relationship between the story and the people who hear it. Maybe if I tell it well enough the hearers will also fall in love with the story. That is the hope.
So I am never finished telling a story. There is always a new opportunity to tell it again. And the next time I tell the story, the context will be different. I will be different. The people who hear it will be different. Each telling is a fresh opportunity to make the story come alive in the lives of those who hear it.
The stories I love best were in circulation millennia before I was born:
“And it came to pass in those days, the there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be enrolled . . .”
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void and darkness was on the face of the earth. And the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. . .”
“And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test saying, ‘Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?’ . . .”
“Now on the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus saying, ‘Where will you have jus prepare for you to eat the passover?’ . . .”
These and other stories are never finished. We keep telling them again and again. And they will be told by generations of people long after our time on this earth is finished.
So, for now, I’m not attracted to a canoe that was built to hang indoors in the same way that i am attracted to a boat in the water.
And I am not intrigued by people and places where religion is all figured out, set in stone, and all of the answers are discovered and known. A living faith encountering real doubts engaged in the real struggles of life is more fascinating to me.
The boat in my garage will last a century or more if it is properly maintained. I might own it for a quarter of that time. I hope that the next owner doesn’t hang it up for display, but finds opportunities to put it in the water.
And I hope that those who hear the stories of our Bible won’t just keep them in a book for show, but will use them to navigate the sometimes rough waters of real life.