Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship (9 page)

One secure anchorage that has a small sheltered cove is Port Charcot. Named for a French explorer, Port Charcot was a welcome safe harbor during our eight-man sailing expedition to Antarctica where we pulled in shortly before a snowstorm hit. All
around us the ice floes froze up causing us to spend two days there among the penguin colonies.

Finally, when the ice began to clear as shifting winds pushed it away from the coastline, the captain told us that we had a 14-to 16-hour window of good weather to motor another 30 miles farther south to a Ukrainian research station, where we could spend a day or two. Here we were in a safe harbor at Port Charcot, knowing a severe storm was on the horizon, yet something drew us out. We were willing to risk leaving our refuge for “greener pastures,” so to speak, to sail into unknown waters on our quest for adventure.

So, in the morning, we set out under engine power, and for a couple of hours made pretty good progress. Our 74-foot aluminum sailboat crunched steadily through the seams in the pack ice that was up to one-foot thick. Yet as we continued, the ice kept our speed down to two or three knots, and a few miles from safe harbor at the Ukrainian research station, the pack ice began to thicken to the point that we could see no water in the bay. Eventually, we found ourselves completely surrounded by ice. We couldn’t back up because putting the engine in reverse would have sucked ice into the propeller and destroyed it. Our extraordinary and exhilarating journey now threatened to become a fight for our lives.

The captain assured us that we were perfectly safe as long as there was no wind. Under calm conditions, we could handle the pack ice. If the wind kicked up, however, the pressure from the pack ice mixed with icebergs could move in and crush our vessel. Here we were, 600 miles from the nearest civilization, with ice closing in all around us, so we had to climb 50 feet up into the rigging of the mast and try to spot small seams and breaks in the pack ice where we could force our way through. With each minute that passed, the captain’s tone became a little more urgent, reinforcing
our need to reach the Ukrainian research station before the approaching blizzard hit around 10 o’clock that night.

Finally, at about 6 o’clock, when we had only a mile to go to reach the research station, we discovered that we were unable to make any more headway. We knew that safe harbor lay just ahead, but because the ice had grown so thick, the captain said we would have to turn around and go back before the wind picked up!

Go back? But we were so close—indeed, almost close enough to see the station on the other side of the island! Just half a mile ahead of us, another sailing vessel was making the turn to starboard that would bring it around to the lee side of the small island where the research station was located—the side that would be ice free. With our own eyes, we could see the other vessel moving into safe harbor, yet we could not get there ourselves!

Because we couldn’t back up, we used little seams in the pack ice to turn around. It was a disheartening and agonizingly slow process, but gradually we managed to reverse direction and began motoring north again through the pack ice, slowly pushing aside small bergs that were sitting five and ten feet deep off either side.

At 10 o’clock at night, still daylight because the sun never sets during the Antarctic summer, the wind grew stronger and stronger, eventually reaching a velocity of 50 knots on the wind gauge. Ice, sleet, and snow were blowing sideways, and visibility dropped to under 100 yards. Although we had finally broken out of the pack ice, we were now surrounded by giant icebergs fighting simply to find our way home into safe harbor once more.

We were in the middle of a gale trying to run north in an effort to reach safety, with only two places within 40 miles where we
could even consider tying up our boat. Finally, we pulled once more into the cove at Port Charcot. We could not simply drop anchor, however, because the wind and the ice could shift without warning causing the vessel to swing wildly and possibly run aground. Instead, we had to tie down by launching a 12-foot rubber Zodiac raft and then run four lines to the shoreline from the bow and stern, both port and starboard—all in the middle of a freezing blizzard.

About the time we got the boat tied down, the wind shifted and icebergs anywhere from 10- to 20-feet high began moving into the little cove, threatening to crush our vessel. One iceberg finally lodged against our hull, and we had to use the motorized Zodiac to drag our vessel out of harm’s way because, once again, we could not use reverse gear because of the ice. In one moment’s turn of circumstances, what had looked like safe harbor became a deadly trap that threatened to destroy us. But the harbor had looked so secure—so welcome! And besides, earlier we had camped out there for two days, and it
was
safe then. But it all depended on which way the wind was blowing and how that wind would cause the pack ice to pile up in that cove.

We fought for two hours to get out of that ice trap, finally making it back out into an open bay. Icebergs were everywhere, the gale was blowing at 50 knots plus, and we wondered where we were going to go now in the midst of this blizzard. The captain said our only choice was to head for Port Lockroy 20 miles to the north—if we could make it without running into any icebergs. Our boat was equipped with radar, but the blizzard with its wildly blowing snow seriously degraded its accuracy. Each man confronted his fears as we battled through 20 miles of raging winds and sleet blowing sideways. Every few minutes someone had to run up onto the forward deck and throw a bucket of water on the windshield because we could hardly see through the Plexiglas frozen into a slab of ice.

I could never describe to you the joy and liberation we felt, after fighting our way from morning until after midnight through pack ice, gale-force winds and blizzard, passing within feet of icebergs, and working our way up through the narrow Neumayer Channel, to finally enter Port Lockroy, surely one of the most beautiful places on earth! Upon rounding a bend at the head of the channel, suddenly the sun broke out and all around us, 360°, were mountains up to 5,000 feet high, covered with snow and glaciers in each valley! Inside Port Lockroy’s little bay, it was as calm as it could be because the mountains were blocking most of the winds. Outside was the fury and danger of the storm while inside all was peace and calm in a little haven of safety that for over 100 years had saved the lives of many whalers and other mariners.

A safe haven from the storms of life is what each one of us is searching for, but still so many can’t seem to find their way home. We either search for a safe harbor we have never known or seek to return to the safe harbor that once was ours, but have lost our way. At one time, we knew safe harbor. We tasted of Christ’s forgiveness, salvation, and peace. But through the circumstances of life, the sins of others against us, or our sins against others, we have found ourselves battling a blizzard, in the middle of a whiteout. With our vision blurred, it becomes difficult to hear the comforting and affirming voice of God. We struggle with the consequences of decisions we made, thinking we were pursuing something “better” in life, only to have fallen into a well-laid trap of the enemy that threatens to ice us in and freeze us into numb-numb-ville.

There is safe harbor, ready and waiting for us. We are on a quest for home again. God’s love is reaching out to us to guide us into that place of safety and security. But that safe harbor is
reserved for sons and daughters, not those with an orphan heart. A life of peace, rest, and fruitfulness in Father’s embrace is our inheritance, but only those who are dedicated to Father’s mission find it. Orphans subject to their own mission remain outside safe harbor, buffeted and blown by the wind and the waves, and limited in vision and hopefulness.

In Antarctica, even with all my years at sea as a licensed fishing boat captain, I did not know the way to safe anchorages or how to overcome such violent storms. Therefore, I chose to trust the captain of the expedition who had been there so many times before. I surrendered my independence and my pride as an experienced sea captain and became a “son” subject to another captain and to his mission, which was to lead all eight of us to a place of comfort and warmth.

Our quest for safe harbor begins when we acknowledge our need to give up the independence and self-reliance of the orphan heart and humble ourselves willingly to be fathered and mothered by other men and women who have been there before, people who know how to find their way through the storms and the gales of life and who know where safe harbor lies. Safe harbor—the heart and love of the Father, along with all the riches and resources of His Kingdom—is our inheritance when we enter in with a heart of sons and daughters. Whose son are you? Whose daughter are you? Remember—no sonship, no inheritance.

In the previous chapter, we looked briefly at what Paul had to say about sonship in Romans 8. Let’s examine that passage here in a little more detail.

“For all who are being led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God.”
In verse 5, Paul says that either we walk in and are led by the flesh, or we walk in and are led by the Spirit. Walking by the flesh leads to death while walking by the Spirit leads to life and peace. If we are led by the Spirit, we are subject to Father’s mission and life will flow. There will be growth and fruitfulness. A sense of unity and a sense of the fruit of the Spirit will begin to grow in us. We will begin to mature in our emotions and relationships. If, on the other hand, we are subject to our own mission, death will flow, and we will find ourselves becoming more independent and isolated in our relationships.

Movement toward the Father’s mission and away from living in darkness comes by focusing our life upon what Jesus focused His life upon. We don’t become like Jesus by focusing our life upon Jesus; we become like Jesus by focusing our life upon what Jesus focused His life upon. Jesus said,
“When you pray, say, ‘Our Father.…’”
Over and over again—150 times in the Gospel of John alone—Jesus makes reference to focusing our life upon the Father. And there is no the way to the Father but through the Son.

How do you begin movement toward a homecoming in Father’s embrace? By focusing your life on being a son or daughter. But if you are subject to your own mission, there is little spiritual growth. You find yourself in numb-numb-ville, surrounded by pack ice, with an inability to move forward in your Christian walk. You might see around you others making movement through the ice, but you remain frozen; you become locked in a sea of excuses, blame-shifting, and justifying. Your insecurity with love and relationships has stagnated your growth and maturity.

So look how movement begins in verse 14:
“For all who are being led by the Spirit of God”
—all who are subject to Father’s mission-
“these are sons of God”
(NAS) This word “sons,” means “mature sons.” Another word used for “child of God” is
teknon
, which refers to an immature child who lives for what others can do for him or her. Who is it that is going to move forward into the Kingdom of God? Those who have a spirit of sonship or a spirit of adoption. Verse 15 says, “For
you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, ‘Abba! Father!”’
This spirit of sonship or spirit of adoption is not the Holy Spirit but a heart attitude of being at rest in Father’s embrace. It is like saying, “That person has a meek or gentle spirit.” We either have a spirit of sonship or an orphan spirit; there is no middle ground. And whatever spirit we have determines whether or not we will enter into our inheritance—experiencing Kingdom life on earth.

Let me try to make this revelation alive with everyday life and language.

My whole childhood dream was to be a fishing boat captain. Growing up in Daytona Beach, Florida, a few blocks from the beach, I didn’t want to play tennis the way my father wanted me to; I wanted to captain a fishing boat. I fished every day of the year from the Main Street pier or the Main Street bridge. The house I grew up in, and where my mother lived for 53 years, was one block from Boot Hill Saloon, four blocks from the ocean, and three blocks from the oyster beds in the intracoastal waterway. I lived every day fishing, catching trout, snook, bass, drum, whiting, and flounder. My whole dream was to become the best fishing boat captain there was.

But the interesting thing about the fishing business is that it is one of the most difficult professions in the world to get into. Anyone can fish, but being a professional is usually passed down from father to son or father to daughter. Certain businesses and trades are kept secret and passed down as a generational inheritance from mom and dad to the next generation and the next generation and the next. If a fishing boat captain teaches his mate or any other member of his crew all his secrets, that person might become a captain of his own boat and steal his former employer’s fishing spots. It is a highly secret, competitive, every-man-for-him-self business. Few boat captains will teach anyone anything except his children. It is the children’s inheritance.

When I was 13, I began working as the mate on a boat at Ponce Inlet that belonged to one of my dad’s best friends. He had three sons and captained a six-passenger sport fishing boat, fishing for mackerel, tuna, mahi-mahi, and billfish. Often his sons were on the boat. And it was the most aggravating thing for me as a mate to be on that boat with the father and his sons. I wanted so much to say, “Captain, please take me up in the wheelhouse. Teach me how to run a boat. Teach me how to find fish. Teach me navigation.” I said nothing, and he left me on the deck to cut bait. The sons rarely did anything! They just sat up there with their father while he taught them everything about being a captain. Later, two of them became some of the best.