Wind in Our Sails
by Anne Le Bas

I can remember the classroom; I can remember the teacher. I can even
remember where I was sitting when I first heard one of my favourite poems.
It is one of those that I expect many of you could recite…

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking. "

John Masefield’s Sea Fever – whether you are a sailor or not, it stirs
something in many of us. I lived for many years in Gosport, on the other
side of the harbour from Portsmouth. Often I would stand at the harbour and
see the ships leaving port. Cross channel ferries like floating blocks of
flats, naval vessels, small sailing boats – there was always something
going on. As I watched those ships leaving I’d think to myself “you could
go anywhere from here”. Of course, most of them weren’t powered by the wind
anymore, but just occasionally there would be tall ships, and you’d really
get an idea of what it might have been like when the harbour was full of
the “wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking”. It is quite awesome to see
a ship moved by nothing but the power of the wind – wind that has taken men
and women from one end of the earth to the other – wind that has powered a
thousand adventures and explorations

Today is the feast of Pentecost, when we give particular thanks for the
Holy Spirit. The Spirit is the member of the Trinity about whom most people
find it hardest to talk. That was just as true in Biblical times as it is
today, because we often find the Spirit described using picture language.
The Biblical writers couldn’t think of a way to explain the experience, so
they had to say it was like something else. The Spirit is described as
being like a dove, hovering over the waters of chaos at the beginning of
the Bible; as something like water which will be poured out over those who
prophesy, in the book of Joel; as flames of fire, and of course as wind,
which is why I started where I did.

The apostles gather in an upper room on the Day of Pentecost, facing a task
that seems quite impossible – that of taking the gospel message out into
this hostile world – the world that killed Christ. As they wait they hear
what sounds like a rushing wind. Suddenly it is as if the penny drops.
Before, they thought that God was with them – now they know it.
And the effect is dramatic. These frightened men and women are blown out of
that upper room by the force of what ever it is – this thing that is like a
mighty wind – out into the streets, and begin to find themselves
proclaiming that gospel. The gospel that they were once so scared to
proclaim now they can’t keep to themselves. They are swept out of that room
by the wind of the Spirit and they start a journey that will take them and
their message to the end of the earth. It is an amazing transformation.

And that, in a way, is the key to understanding the Spirit. Like the wind,
you can’t see it. You don’t know where it comes from or where it goes to,
but you can see the difference it makes. You can see it changing things,
moving things – situations and people too. Like the wind in the sails of
the ship, the Spirit has the power to take us away from the familiar
harbour walls – to take us on a journey.

Sometimes people will comment after a service that they found it moving –
we sometimes say the same of a piece of music, a poem or a story. “But
where has it moved you to?” I often want to ask. What people often mean is
that it has touched their emotions. But the feelings come and go, leaving
them the same. It is moving in the sense that a roller coaster car is
moving. It starts at point A and goes all the way around until it comes
back to where it started. You get off feeling distinctly moved, but you are
actually in the same place. But the ship that sets sail from the harbour or
the person who allows the Spirit of God to fill their lives is moved from
one place to another – from A to B to C and onwards on a journey that will
take them to places they’ve never been.

As a church and as individuals we are challenged at Pentecost, just as the
disciples were, to let our faith be real, to let God change us, to untie
ourselves from the safety of the harbour wall and let the Spirit of God
blow us out over our horizons.

“I must down to the seas again,” says Masefield, “for the call of the
running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.”

Perhaps the journey God calls us to – “a wild call and a clear call that
cannot be denied” - is one of personal growth, or political action, or
involvement in community or church. Perhaps we won’t know what it’s about
until we arrive at its end.

The wind in the disciples’ sails, both literally and spiritually, carried
them all over the world – even to the damp shore of a damp little island
called Britain. People here  - our ancestors -heard the message that the
Spirit brings – good news for the poor, release for the captives – if they
hadn’t we wouldn’t be here today. We tell their tales, amazed at their
courage and persistence. I wonder what tales will be told of us and what
tales we will tell at the end of our journey with God? I wonder how our
journey will affect others, will change the world? Or will we prefer to
stay safely moored – tied up firm to the harbour wall of the familiar,
never venturing into the deeper waters.
Here’s how Masefield finishes, and how I am going to finish too, because I
think his words describe just as well our journey.

"I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted
knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. "

Amen.

"Sea-Fever"

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/masef01.html

(Comments to Anne at annelebas@DSL.PIPEX.COM.)