In January 1999 the North Atlantic commercial fishing industry saw a deadly string of accidents. In a 13-day span, the Cape Fear, the Adriatic, and the Beth Dee Bob were lost at sea off the coast of New Jersey. In all, 10 men died, five never to be found.
Commercial fishing is widely known to be a dangerous way to make a living. But even in a profession known for its hazards, three ships lost in such a short period of time is extraordinarily rare, particularly when all three were from the same docks.
Investigations revealed the following facts about the three separate tragedies:
- None involved a hull breach.
- All three ships were piloted by veteran captains with 10 years or more in the wheelhouse.
- All three ships were near the end of their journey, less than 15 miles from home.
So what happened?
Two of the three ships were carrying too much weight, and one was carrying its weight improperly.
Commercial vessels on the water in early January are mostly clam boats, as were the Cape Fear, the Adriatic, and the Beth Dee Bob. A commercial clam trap is 3' x 3' x 4' and weighs 300 pounds empty. Laden with quahogs, they weigh in at between 1 and 1.5 tons apiece! The Cape Fear and the Adriatic each had 10 extra traps on board. That's 10-15 tons of excess weight!
Interviewers later asked other boat captains who fished these waters the following question: Why would a veteran boat captain completely ignore the papers on his boat and attempt to carry 10-15 tons more than was safe? Time after time, the answer came in the form of a quizzical look and a shrug. Simply put, the behavior was common practice.
These captains didn't perceive themselves to be in danger. They were simply doing what was normal in their industry.
Regrettably, commercial fishermen aren't the only ones who tend to carry too much. Have you noticed? Pastors and church workers do the same thing. In our "industry," workaholism is normal. It's normal for a pastor to never turn his phone off, always be on call, and never take a Sabbath day. And we don't perceive ourselves to be in danger.
Normal or not, however, this behavior is dangerous. We have, in large part, ignored the paperwork on our souls. It's an easy pattern to slip into. After all, in our culture, busyness is a virtue!
When you run into someone you haven't seen in a while and they ask how you're doing, how do you respond? More than likely, you say something like this: "Busy. Just super busy. Life has been really crazy lately."
Too many pastors look great above the waterline and lack the weight beneath to reach into people's lives.
Then the person who asked the question responds in kind. "Oh, yeah. Me too. I've been slammed lately."
Ever have someone try to one-up you on the busyness scale? It happens all the time. Why? Because busyness confers importance. No one would ever say, "What have I been up to? Nothing. I've just been sitting around with my feet up. How about you?" It would be socially unacceptable. A pastor who responded that way might be thought of as lazy, which is shameful and unacceptable to us. So, we stay busy. And we cast aside the commandment God has given us: to rest regularly.
Pastors are no different from other Christians in terms of our calling to keep the Bible's commandments. If anything, we are even more accountable. No one would ever use a position in ministry to excuse the violation of a commandment.
Can you imagine a pastor saying, "You know what, I'm a pastor, so it's totally okay for me to lie." Or, "I covet my neighbor's wife, but it's fine; I'm a church leader."
Never. We'd never try to get away with that. Yet, it's completely normal for people to say, "I'm a pastor, so I don't take a Sabbath day."
I realized that for me at least, this had to stop. All of us are under a biblical mandate to rest from our work one day a week. This is not optional—it's a commandment, the disobedience of which comes with some dire consequences.
The principle is this: we work for six days, and we trust God for seven days of provision. The pattern reminds us that we need him; that we can't do this on our own. When we ignore this commandment, we're telling God we don't need his help; we are self-sufficient. And we're telling ourselves we're so important that we cannot afford to step away from our labors for one day a week.
No matter how we frame it, like the doomed fishing boats, we're carrying too much.
Can a Pastor Punch Out?
Of course, resting from a position in ministry isn't easy. It's not as simple as, say, not getting on a fishing boat. Our "job" is a calling. A role. It's like being a parent—can you take a Sabbath from being a mom or a dad?
We don't punch a clock. Even when we're out of the office, there's never a moment when our role doesn't follow us. The calling is a constant. We can't punch out from being in demand. Someone is always needing our attention. There's always another person to care for, another issue to pray for, another book to read.
The only alternative is to seal ourselves off, and that's almost impossible.
Even as I type this article, I am reminded of how many emails have appeared in my inbox. People await my response. And I bet the same thing happens to you.
We are not helped in this by the proliferation of smart phones and tablets, both of which I use regularly and love. I love how these devices allow me to be constantly connected. And I hate how these devises allow me to be constantly connected. When it's time to rest, the temptation to check in is sometimes just too powerful. So I check in, and don't rest.
Our work is largely "thought work," and how can you turn off your thoughts? Try not to think about sermon preparation, or about a church conflict! Can anyone do that?
And yet, our Sabbath needs to be a 24-hour period where we rest, and that means not thinking about church. At all.
Some are reading this right now and thinking that this is altogether inconceivable. I know. But check your paperwork, pal. For one day a week, you are commanded to rest from your work. That means no phone calls or emails, unless, as Jesus points out, your ox falls in a ditch! And for pastors, somebody's ox seems to fall in a ditch every day. Bet on it.
So do we just give up trying to keep the Sabbath? No, I don't think that's what Jesus intends for us. How do we pastors actually obey the Sabbath command?
Jesus regularly got away from the crowds to pray. I believe my Sabbath needs to include a sharp break from email, phone calls, and any contact at all that would cause me to think about my "crowds," the church. This is so that even if we bear the weight of leadership for six days in a row, on the seventh day, the pattern of Sabbath forces us to place the church in God's hands.
Fail in this, and you greatly increase your chances of a shipwreck.
That's not to say that you're going to wreck the instant you violate the Sabbath. No. The landscape would be riddled with even more ruined pastors were that the case. But it does mean that we change our spiritual center of gravity and render ourselves less able to weather the storms.
The Cape Fear, the Adriatic, and the Beth Dee Bob all went down in heavy weather. Not the kind of weather that wrecks all ships in the area, not the "perfect storm" scenario, and probably nothing the respective captains hadn't seen before. But even when dealing with a "normal" sized storm, when you enter the equation compromised by too great a load, you greatly increase your chance for disaster.
According to Seatrade Review (Dec. 1994): "The accident rarely has a single overwhelming cause. Usually there are a number of elements, none necessarily of outstanding significance in isolation, whose combination proves fatal."
Improper Weight-Bearing
We learned earlier that two of the three ships were carrying too much weight. The third? Technically within the weight limits, but carrying improperly. The crew of the Beth Dee Bob had stacked full traps on top of empty ones (a practice the ship's architect had forbidden), changing the boats' center of gravity in a way that rendered it not crippled but compromised.
The arrangement of these particular traps left the ship's stability vulnerable to the waves that later broke over her bow. With this disadvantage, even a veteran captain and crew couldn't navigate the weather system they were facing.
The ship had violated one of the key principles of a seaworthy vessel: it must be heavier below the waterline than above. The nautical term for weight below the waterline is ballast. The weight below decks is what makes a sailboat pop back upright after the wind and waves push it sideways.
The ballast principle is another one widely ignored by pastors. It is in the secret, quiet places where our ballast is gained. It's time alone with God that gives us spiritual weight.
We've all heard messages from preachers who were saying all the right things but still not delivering the goods. Why? It's hard to quantify. It doesn't show up on a spreadsheet. They just didn't have the spiritual authority.
Too many pastors look great above the waterline and lack the weight beneath to reach into people's lives. Above the waterline? Teeth are whitened and clothes are stylish and hair has just the right amount of product. Our shoes work and the frames of our glasses create such the right vibe. We have the right amount of social media presence and from all visible accounts, things are moving up and to the right.
In other words, the ship looks great from the waterline up. The sails, the deck and the brass railings look fantastic.
Unfortunately, everything that makes a ship seaworthy is below the waterline, found in the invisible places. And many pastors who look great when tied to the dock get into real trouble when the wind kicks up.
A pastor who ignores God's commandment to rest has adjusted the center of gravity in the wrong direction. It doesn't mean you don't have anything good to say, nor does it mean that disaster is imminent. But it does mean that a common confluence of weather, pressure, and fatigue is far more likely to send you to the bottom.
Toss in a little marital difficulty, a health issue, or some mild depression, and you could quickly end up in real trouble.
Ready For Deeper Waters
So how do we escape this fate? One way is to keep to the shallows and never leave the harbor. Stay tied to the dock, all appearances in order and everything looking good. Sounds good, right? Nice and safe.
The only trouble is that sooner or later your calling will pull you into the deep. It inevitably does.
Part of what keeps me locked into my Sabbath routine is healthy fear. The respect that a good captain affords the sea is something akin to that healthy fear. I know that at any moment I could be called upon to speak into a family in crisis, called to the bedside of a dying child or the site of a horrible car accident.
If, in that moment, I am carrying too much or if, in that moment, my spiritual center of gravity has been compromised, my words will be hollow, I'll founder and stumble and place myself and all who look to me for guidance in the path of even further damage.
No, the only way to avoid the fate of the Cape Fear, the Adriatic, and the Beth Dee Bob is to pay careful attention to the paperwork issued to my soul by its Builder. God has warned me and commanded me: for one day a week, you will rest. Take on spiritual weight. Gain ballast below the waterline.
So that when my calling pulls me into deep waters, as it always will, I will find my soul seaworthy.
Bert Crabbe is pastor of True North Community Church, Long Island, New York.
Copyright © 2014 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
