Photo credit: Nikos Kosmidis/WCC
I’ve delivered many sermons in my life, in places as varied as quiet chapels and bustling town churches, but there’s something uniquely moving about preaching on a ship. Standing there, the ocean stretching out endlessly around us, the air heavy with salt and the hum of engines beneath our feet, I often feel a deeper urgency to connect with the hearts of those gathered.
The Gospel Amidst Waves of Uncertainty
Today’s sermon drew from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 23—a passage that recounts Jesus hanging on the cross between two criminals. One of them mocked Him, challenging His divinity with a sneer: “If you are the Christ, save yourself and us.” The other, a man who recognized his own guilt, turned to Jesus in simple, raw faith and asked, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus responded with a promise of paradise, a moment that is, to me, one of the most poignant in all of Scripture.
On a ship, with the uncertainty of the sea ever-present, this story takes on new significance. The sea is unpredictable, much like our own faith journeys. Some days, our spirits cry “Hosanna!” in joy and belief. Other days, they shout “Crucify!”—full of questions, doubts, or even anger. Standing before the seafarers, I reminded them of this paradox: how faith often comes and goes in waves, how our relationship with God is rarely linear or simple.
The Human Condition and the King of Kings
I spoke of how earlier in the Christian year, we celebrated Palm Sunday with triumphant cries, only to see those same voices demand Jesus’ crucifixion a few days later. It’s a stark reminder of how fickle the human heart can be. And isn’t that true for all of us? Our faith can be as changeable as the sea itself. Some days, we trust God wholeheartedly. Other days, the struggles of life make us question everything.
Yet, on this Feast of Christ the King, I told them, we are invited to hold onto a truth that doesn’t change: Christ remains King, even when our faith wavers. Even in the messiness of our human condition, God’s love and sovereignty endure. And that’s not just a theological idea; it’s a promise we can cling to when the storms of life threaten to overwhelm us.
Where Christ Reigns
I didn’t want to offer empty platitudes. Life at sea is hard, often marked by long separations from family, rough waters, and a deep sense of isolation. So, I spoke about how Christ’s reign must start in our own hearts and lives. The only way Christ truly reigns in the world is if we first allow Him to reign in us. That’s where transformation begins. It won’t necessarily make the seas calm or our problems disappear, but it will anchor us.
When seafarers question, “Why is my family struggling while I’m so far away?” or “Why is this journey so difficult?” I pointed them back to the hope that Christ walks with us in those questions. If we invite Christ into our hearts, even the toughest circumstances become opportunities to be vessels of God’s love, right where we are.
A Call to Hold Faith Steadfast
As I wrapped up the sermon, I emphasized that while we may feel adrift in our struggles, God’s love remains constant. It’s a love that embraces our doubts, our anger, our joys, and our sorrows. On the Feast of Christ the King, it’s not about a faith that is always neat or unshaken. Rather, it’s about a faith that holds onto the belief that even through life’s storms, Christ is with us, reigning over our hearts if we let Him.
As I stepped down from the small pulpit, I prayed that these words would be more than just a Sunday sermon. I prayed they’d be a lifeline, a source of strength for the sailors as they navigated not just the physical ocean but the spiritual waves of faith and doubt that all of us face.
