Tugboats, The Things That Turn Us

Shortly before Christmas, on a weirdly warm and foggy December afternoon, I was walking on the river. As I headed from the car to the path, immediately I noticed a large ship. These freighters, carrying heavy loads of cargo, are common in this part of the Detroit river. Uncommon was that it was in the process of turning around.

From my shoreline perspective, the ship looked way too big to turn. No way was there enough room. I wasn’t the only onlooker. I imagine I wasn’t the only skeptic. The river at this spot is narrow and not too deep. The distance from Detroit to Windsor, Canada seems like a literal stone throw away. The likelihood of this ship successfully turning around without crashing into a rock wall on either side seemed slim.

About a month prior, another large ship near this same location made the local news. A 623-foot-long freighter transporting some 21,000 tons of wheat ran aground. It was stuck for days. In the end, it was two comparatively small tug boats that moved the ship safely to deeper waters and back on course to deliver their goods.

The idea that two tugboats have the ability and the power to move and shift the future of such a massive ship seems almost silly or foolish. But they did. And they do. Regularly. Since the early 1800s, tugboats have played a key role in maritime life and the shipping industry. They are not only used to get large ships and freighters unstuck, but they also steer them safely in and through shallow harbors and narrow ports, and assist with rescues, putting out fires, and breaking up ice.

On that day just before Christmas I don’t recall seeing any tugboats. Maybe it was the eerie fog of the day, but watching that ship turn had a mysterious aura to it. How was it turning? Why was it turning? Where did it set sail from? Where was it originally headed? Where was it going now?

In the Christian tradition, next Wednesday is the start of Lent. A season of self-reflection, a journey of examination leading to Jesus’ crucifixion. It is a mysterious, contemplative time of asking questions. Where did I come from? Where am I now? Where am I headed?

Lent is often seen as a time of sacrifice, a season of fasting or giving things up. Over the years I have given up ice cream or diet coke, social media or swearing. Some years, I have tried to pick up a new habit instead of letting go of an old one. I have started meditation practices, reading specific works by particular authors, writing letters, and introducing new exercises to my day. None of these things are inherently good or bad, and I wonder how they influenced or enhanced my faith and spirituality.

Repentance is another theme commonly examined during Lent. In the Hebrew language, the verb meaning to repent means “to turn around and go in a new direction.” To wholly repent is not simply to turn away from one thing, but to then follow that by turning toward something new.

Sounds like a beautiful and wonderful. And like thinking about those ships on the river, I wonder how. How do we turn around? And once we do that, if we do that, how do we then get going in a new direction?

Life isn’t ever all smooth sailing. Directions are continuously changing. Decisions about direction are always before us. I know so many who are experiencing storms in their personal lives. Riding waves of uncertainty stirred by illness, loss, grief, addiction, change, financial struggles, job stress, conflicted relationships.

And the world is in a collective sea of trouble that seems to deepen and intensify every day. The violence, the disregard for human life and suffering, the human capacity and desire for enacting revenge and amassing power.

As I read about presidential elections and another day of politicians using immigrants and trans lives and marginalized people as pawns and scapegoats; another day without a cease fire in Gaza or the release of the remaining Israeli hostages; another day of climate change being denied while creation floods and burns and quakes, I get stuck. Stuck in shallow and narrow waters of fear and worry, pushed around by waves of despair and apathy, heading toward rocks of resignation and indifference.

And that’s what the creators of war and escalators of violence, aggression, and oppression want from us. They want us stuck. White supremacy and extremism want us to feel and to stay stuck.

They want us to not care or try, or even believe that another world, another way of being is possible. They want us to think that our small efforts and actions have no purpose or meaning. They want us to accept the direction we are collectively headed without asking questions, without examination or reflection. They want us to view the current sailing route as the only direction possible. They want us ignore the warning signs. To deny the troubled waters. They want us to think tugboats are silly and foolish.

Tugboats, those seemingly little things that have the power to move huge ships and massive freighters, to put out fires, to break up ice, to help us turn away from trouble and toward the good, away from war and toward shalom, away from greed and toward equality, away from disaster and toward recovery, and away from isolation and toward community.

When I look back over my life and remember big shifts, I am reminded of little and small things that made those changes possible. Sometimes the tugboats on my journey have been people, other times attitudes or beliefs or unexpected epiphanies. Often it took time to recognize that a shift was even happening. Or to realize that the source of energy fueling the movement was a tugboat.

This Lent, I am committed to looking for the tugboats, to connecting and joining hands with the tugboats, to being a tugboat, to living my faith in a tugboat spirit, to making room on my spiritual journey for tugboats to enter and do what they do best.

Tugboats, those mysterious, miraculous, small vessels that get us unstuck. That turn us. Turn us away from destructive evil and turn us toward abundant life and love.

If you want to share more about your Lenten practices or how you plan to journey Lent this year, or your thoughts on tugboats, I invite and welcome your comments or messages. If you write, I will respond.

Water-fully Yours,

Rebecca & 10 Camels

---

---