by Kathy Douglass
I’ve been worshipping at St. Luke the Physician for about six months now. I’m slowly finding my way through the liturgy, the Book of Common Prayer, the hymnal, the caring and gentle faces that make this a place of genuine sanctuary.
A cherished moment in the service comes for me when Rev. Jennifer leads us in this prayer after the Gospel: “Dear Lord, be good to us. The sea is so wide, and our boat is so small.” I had not heard this prayer before coming to St. Luke’s. I am moved by the simplicity, desperation and trust it speaks all at once.
My great-grandpa Sam Morris was a lighthouse-keeper on the coasts of Oregon and Washington in the early 1900s. Up until a year ago, we had our family history details scrambled, thinking he was keeper in Bandon. A bit of research and a dear old woman at a tiny maritime museum pointed us in the right direction. He was keeper at Cape Meares near Tillamook in 1903. As a child, my family camped nearby, but never visited the lighthouse. We didn’t realize that we were gathering seashells, wading in the tide, and sleeping in the shadow of the great spruce trees that Grandpa Sam lived among.
My mom and I traveled to Cape Meares last month. We left the car in the lot where Grandpa Sam’s house once stood, and walked the tranquil, fern-lined path toward the water. Just a few steps down the walkway, the lantern room appears. It colored in a few plain spots in our stories to see it, to press our hands against the tower, to take in the sea-air he breathed, the lush ground he walked, the brilliant light he kept. I’ve wondered what it was like for him, keeping that light, tending to it, so that its beam could warn of dangers and provide safe passage through both gentle and howling waters to the small boats on that wide sea. Providing light in the dark to those trying to journey home.
Grandpa Sam is not the first keeper I have known.
“God is light. In Him there is no darkness at all.” ~ 1 John 1:5
There is danger on that wide sea. Darkness and deeps, shadows and shades that leave us feeling isolated, afraid, overwhelmed, drowning. And yet, there is a Keeper, a Light. God himself, offering Passage through, and Presence in, that wide sea.
The boat is small. But there is room enough for two… my Keeper and I.
This is why we can whisper our simple, desperate, trusting prayer.
Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free
Rolling as a mighty ocean, in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of His love
Leading onward, leading homeward, to His glorious rest above (Lyric by Samuel Francis)
The sea is wide.
The boat is small.
The Lord is good. Amen ~
A cherished moment in the service comes for me when Rev. Jennifer leads us in this prayer after the Gospel: “Dear Lord, be good to us. The sea is so wide, and our boat is so small.” I had not heard this prayer before coming to St. Luke’s. I am moved by the simplicity, desperation and trust it speaks all at once.
My great-grandpa Sam Morris was a lighthouse-keeper on the coasts of Oregon and Washington in the early 1900s. Up until a year ago, we had our family history details scrambled, thinking he was keeper in Bandon. A bit of research and a dear old woman at a tiny maritime museum pointed us in the right direction. He was keeper at Cape Meares near Tillamook in 1903. As a child, my family camped nearby, but never visited the lighthouse. We didn’t realize that we were gathering seashells, wading in the tide, and sleeping in the shadow of the great spruce trees that Grandpa Sam lived among.
My mom and I traveled to Cape Meares last month. We left the car in the lot where Grandpa Sam’s house once stood, and walked the tranquil, fern-lined path toward the water. Just a few steps down the walkway, the lantern room appears. It colored in a few plain spots in our stories to see it, to press our hands against the tower, to take in the sea-air he breathed, the lush ground he walked, the brilliant light he kept. I’ve wondered what it was like for him, keeping that light, tending to it, so that its beam could warn of dangers and provide safe passage through both gentle and howling waters to the small boats on that wide sea. Providing light in the dark to those trying to journey home.
Grandpa Sam is not the first keeper I have known.
“God is light. In Him there is no darkness at all.” ~ 1 John 1:5
There is danger on that wide sea. Darkness and deeps, shadows and shades that leave us feeling isolated, afraid, overwhelmed, drowning. And yet, there is a Keeper, a Light. God himself, offering Passage through, and Presence in, that wide sea.
The boat is small. But there is room enough for two… my Keeper and I.
This is why we can whisper our simple, desperate, trusting prayer.
Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free
Rolling as a mighty ocean, in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of His love
Leading onward, leading homeward, to His glorious rest above (Lyric by Samuel Francis)
The sea is wide.
The boat is small.
The Lord is good. Amen ~
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