On the other hand…

The Outgoing Tide

By Timothy J Cullen

" But such a tide as moving seems asleep,/ Too full for sound and foam,/ When that which drew from out the boundless deep/ Turns again home. " ("Crossing the Bar," Tennyson)

Noone can say with certainty when the tide can be said to have turned in one’s life nor when God will call one home to where the tide will turn no more, but it can be said with certainty that it is never too early to prepare for that moment. Upon reflection, one might say that the tide begins to go out at birth, a process that may be fast or slow, depending upon God’s will, but in the normal course of events for those who live for the Biblical span of three-scoreand- ten or for a longer period, there certainly comes a point at which one becomes aware that in terms of time, the tide has turned.

Those who raise children to adulthood cannot help but sense a sea change in the course of their lives when the nest empties and sacred family responsibilities have been fulfilled.

Worldly concerns ebb, the flow of events and changes slows, one’s attention begins to become fixed more on the hereafter than on the here-and-now.

Those who have married will eventually face the loss of their life’s companion.

Those who have lived unmarried will eventually face the prospect of a final solitude as well. All these will come to understand that in the final accounting the "crossing of the bar" will lead them into the boundless depths of eternity, depths of either light or darkness, depending upon how each has prepared for the voyage.

All too often, as the metaphorical river of one's life flows to the sea, one gives little attention to what awaits when the flow ceases. The running of the rapids that is youth tends to focus the attention of the young with the thrill of carving out a course, unwary of the rocks both hidden and visible, unwary of the Scylla of sin poised to strike the unwary.

Charting the course does not depend upon the "skill of the helmsman," as Chairman Mao declaimed, but rather upon closely following the chart to salvation drawn by the Church and her teachings. This metaphorical "chart" is tried and true and while nautical charts must be updated to conform to changing physical conditions, the same is not true for the chart that guarantees safe passage through the unchanging conditions of the metaphysical; that "chart" is as valid today as it was when it was first drawn.

It is the responsibility of parents and the Church to ensure that the young learn this and learn it well, to teach them to carefully study the symbols and warning signs, the safe channels as opposed to the uncharted waters that could well be marked with the warning of yore:

Hic sunt leones , though the alternate form Hic sunt dracones might be more appropriate, given that it was used not merely to mark the unexplored but to indicate danger as well.

Dragons there are, if we take the dragon to be a symbol of the seven deadly sins, as is the case in The Apocalypse of John. Dragons that come in all shapes and sizes, dragons everywhere you look. The legend on the map of today’s societies might just as well read Ubique sunt dracones outside that narrow channel charted by the Church. Temptation is now indeed practically ubiquitous, even in the backwaters. The young can so easily be lured off course by the siren songs of concupiscence; of greed for goods the media convince them to covet; of envy by the soul adrift unable to differentiate between needs and wants; of the false pride that comes with feeling oneself au courant with ever-changing fashions and mores; of the gluttony that can be served up on every city block and country crossroads; of the free-floating anger that creates a collision course between abstract collectives of "us" and "them"; of the sloth that sends the soul into the slough of despond. Dragons here, dragons there, dragons, dragons everywhere !

As the years pass and the metaphorical tidal river widens on its way to the sea, the flow begins to slack as we sailors meet the high tide of middle age, but as the tide turns toward its end, the outgoing tide then exerts its pull. During middle age, those who have successfully navigated through the first zone of dragons and become captains of their fate are still some distance from being masters of their souls. In calmer waters, the dragons lurk beneath the surface awaiting their opportunity to strike.

These are the years in which one must balance worldly concerns with the spiritual, neglecting neither one’s worldly duties nor the needs of one’s immortal soul. The co-captains of the family ship must keep the household on course while instructing the younger crewmembers in how to take the helm in their stead, the course they must follow, the dangers both in plain sight and hidden. The middle-aged represent the mainstream of a society and the Church must be their polestar lest they go aground.

The Church is the flagship of the Catholic fleet with Peter at her helm in his papal role as Admiral of the Fleet of the Faithful. His responsibilities are those of the prudent householder raised to an exponential degree. High or neap, full or slack, he can never take the tide for granted. Imagine: he must oversee the captains and commodores, who oversee the executive officers and the lieutenants, those who tend to a farflung flotilla that covers the globe. Urbi et Orbi says it well, particularly in an age when orbi has through technology become an urbi if not quite yet Marshall McLuhan’s "global village". As Pope Francis is learning the hard way, "loose lips sink ships," but this is a lesson we all must learn at one time or another.

There is a Spanish saying that fits in well with the nautical metaphors being floated throughout this essay: " Por la boca muere el pez ," which translates literally as "The fish dies by way of the mouth." Prudence is almost always a better plan than "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead," at least while one takes the measure of the Enemy, the Trickster known for frequent changes of tactics but never a change in his grand strategy, made clear to all long, long ago. Pope Francis should not expect smooth sailing; one doubts that he does. What he does have a right to expect is that he need not fear a mutiny while he is still getting his sea legs. One hopes and prays his expectations will be met even by those who must stand watch as lookouts always ready to warn of danger ahead.

The Barque of Peter has gone off course repeatedly in the past, has even foundered, but has not sunk. Remember Who it was that calmed the frightened sailors just as He calmed the waters that had shaken their faith. His is the Voice that knows what must be whispered into the papal ear, His is the Voice that the pope will follow, His is the Voice to which we must first pay heed, the Voice to which if we listen carefully in the stillness of the sanctuary will call us all to silence when silence is called for. Voices always raised in anger soon become strident and shipboard stridency is never welcomed by anyone aboard, even when opinions may be shared.

Tantrums are best left to toddlers, to be corrected in measured tones; how much more true should that be in the case of those who have reached middle age?

Storms calm, and the ship sails on. Be still and hear the voice of God rather than the echoes of one’s own angry words.

When one has reached a certain age, one becomes well aware of the pull of the outgoing tide and the boundless deep that lies ahead. The Four Last Things act as lighthouses to warn of the final dangers to be faced and how to steer clear of them by trusting to those lights and the message they convey. If one’s course has stayed true, the boundless deeps are in fact the safe harbor that awaits at voyages end. One wishes to know that one has discharged responsibilities to God and to shipmates, and can finally become the master of one’s soul soon to cross the bar. That crossing is not to be feared if one has kept the faith and discharged the attendant duties. One can say that one has a weather eye peeled for that bar as the pull of age’s outgoing tide grows stronger and stronger. One looks back with nostalgia and a small touch of wonder at what one recalls of the landmarks along the voyage, the ship’s company present and departed, but one’s gaze grows more firmly fixed upon what lies ahead at voyage’s end. And when that outgoing tide reaches the fullness that makes it seem "asleep, too full for sound and foam," one who has arrived there in a state of grace "turns again home." v THE REMNANT ~ www.RemnantNewspaper.com