In preparation for the Launch Party, I looked for YouTube videos I could run in the background. Surprise!!! I found one that showed whaling as it was and told the story of the Essex. While Ann is waiting to be transferred to the Christopher Mitchell, she listens to a crewman tell the story of the sinking of the Essex. She immediately begins to doubt the decision to which her anger has driven her. Sandy and I watched the documentary and it’s good. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71sn-WDQoXI
“Render unto Caesar…” What do you think?
Early Baptists believed Matthew 22:21 was our Lord’s indication that there is a two-fold form of government, civil and spiritual, and that these should be separate. How we define separation impacts how we view our society today. What do you think is meant by separation of church and state?
Most folks today will say the term “separation of church and state” comes from the phrase wall of separation appearing in a letter from Thomas Jefferson to the Danbury Baptist Association in 1802. However, the idea was not new. Our Baptist heritage is replete with proponents of both a “civil and spiritual state.”
In 1644, Roger Williams used the term wall of separation. [“Mr. Cotton’s Letter Lately Printed, Examined and Answered,” The Complete Writings of Roger Williams (New York: Russell & Russell Inc. 1963), Vol. 1, 108]
Thomas Helwys believed government exists for the benefit of all citizens be they “heretics, Jews, Turks, or what-so-ever.” [A Short Declaration of the Mystery of Iniquity, Classics of Religious Liberty 1 (by Richard Groves), Copyright, 1998, Mercer University Press, Macon, Georgia, USA.] This could not be true if one religious belief became THE established faith of the land.
John Leland, leader of Virginia Baptists following the Revolutionary War, discusses the idea of a “national church” in a sub-section titled “The Reasons of Their [Baptists] Dissent.” In that book, he writes, “The notion of a Christian commonwealth should be exploded forever…Government should protect every man in thinking and speaking freely, and see that one does not abuse another. The liberty I contend for is more than toleration. The very idea of toleration is despicable; it supposes that some have a pre-eminence above the rest to grant indulgence, whereas all should be equally free, Jews, Turks, Pagans and Christians.” [“The Virginia Chronicle,” The Writings of the Late Elder John Leland, G. W. Wood, 29 Gold Street, New York, 1845, p 117-118]
In his dedication to Parliament, John Clarke states the Lord Jesus has been given all power in Earth and has chosen to wield that power by a “two fold administration of power suitable to the two fold state or being of man.” [Ill Newes From New England, H. Hills, 1652, p 4-5]
What do you think is meant by separation of church and state? I’d be interested in your thoughts.
To Hunt a Whale – Part 5
Lean forward…dip the oars into the water…pull; lean…dip…pull. Over and over. Again and again. And the ship gets no closer. Towing twenty tons of dead weight slows the whaleboat down. Lean…dip…pull. By the time the sun is directly overhead, the blood from the whale’s final fury has dried on your clothes and skin. The sweat rolling down your face turns it into a sticky mess.
Closing your eyes, you lean…dip…pull, hearing the shush of the oars and timing your strokes to coincide. Groans get louder. You listen. They’re coming from your mouth now. Lean…dip…pull. The pain from the cracks in your dry lips are barely noticeable. Lean…dip…pull.
The sun is halfway down to the western horizon. Your arms are numb; the muscles in your back seek rest when you lean, only to rebel when you begin to pull…again. Lean…dip…pull.
At last…the ship…you see your friends. Lean…dip…pull. You can almost touch it. Lean…dip…pull. The Mate yells something, but the words are lost in a fog or weariness. Somehow the whaleboat ends up beside the ship. There, arms are reaching down. You lift dead weights up; no, they’re your arms. Someone grabs them and you’re being hoisted out of the boat. You collapse to the deck.
Your body might be as dead as that whale. But the Captain doesn’t care. At the moment, you hate him. He’s demanding that you get back on your feet. It’s time to cut it in.
To Hunt a Whale – Part 4
Blood rains down upon you, and the smell fills your nostrils. As the whale thrashes and spins in a fury, the Mate has you back off and wait. When the water is still and you think its fight with death is over, the Mate brings your little whaleboat around till it is head on with one of the whale’s eyes. Cautiously, he leans out with the lance. Every one of your muscles is tensed and ready to take the boat to the stern should the beast rally once more. The Mate stretches the lance forward and with a quick motion pricks the eye. The whale makes no response. Finally, you let out the breath you’ve been holding; your body suddenly feels as limp as a wet rag.
Now you scan the horizon for your ship. Ah, there it is, at least its sails, maybe a mile off. Unfortunately, the breeze has stopped.
The Mate returns to the steering oar, and the harpooner returns to the front thwart.
“Man the oars!” yells the Mate and you begin towing BIG twenty ton sperm whale to your ship.
To Hunt a Whale – Part 3
Finally! The boat slows till its movement could be due just to the breeze, or the current. But you know what keeps the line taut. The Mate loosens the rope from the loggerhead and orders you and the other 4 crewmen to begin pulling it in. Pull after pull, one draw at a time, your boat advances…toward that 50 ton monster that you pricked with a harpoon. The rope disappears in the sea in front of you.
Suddenly, shivers rise up your back; and your arms want to cease in place; not a hundred feet in front of you the line ends…attached to a black form just below the surface. It dwarfs your little whaleboat; and its tail moves slowly, powerfully up and down tugging constantly on the rope.
“Pull on, men!” The Mate bounces up and down with excitement.
You don’t want to bring yourself any closer. It can’t be safe! But you do.
“That whale is ours!” screams the Mate. “Take your oars.”
The boat is maneuvered square on to the beast’s side. With a sweep of the steering oar, the harpooner brings the boat in close and the Mate sticks the lance into the whale’s side. When the long, sharp weapon enters his flesh, the whale’s head turns to bite. But the harpooner uses the steering oar to pull the boat to safety just in time. The whale’s massive jaws follow the boat but can’t quite reach it.
“Shhushhh!” The whale is struggling to breathe. You hear his fear. He moves his head back forward and his tale splashes trying to escape. But he’s tired. Suddenly, in a frenzy, it strikes out wildly in all directions, then settles down again.
The harpooner sweeps the boat in and the mate churns the lance down…up…down… The whale raises its tail toward the boat like club over a pest. The boat is swept away just as the tail crashes down.
“Fire in the chimney!” yells one of the men.
To Hunt a Whale – Part 2
…”Stern all! Stern all; for your lives!!”
You lean back, pull the oar handles to your chest, dip the ends into the sea, and push with every muscle. Your breathing is quick; your eyes are riveted open; your muscles quiver as the beast behind you thrashes about. Your little boat is now attached to a creature more than 60 feet in length and weighing over 50 tons. You lean, dip, and push even harder.
“For your lives!!” yells the officer again.
You’re facing him as he stands in the stern staring with wide eyed excitement at what you cannot see. The thrashing has stopped, and the officer tells you lift the ends of the oars from the water and quit rowing. The boat is picking up speed as he tosses another loop of rope about the loggerhead. The line runs from its tub, back to and around the loggerhead, and then, tight as a bow-string, over each oar, and out the bow. It moves so fast you cannot see its threads, though you feel them flying past your wrist. You and your mates struggle to bring the oars inboard. Smoke rises from the loggerhead as the rope winds around it.
“Wet the line!” yells the officer.
The seaman with the tub of rope in front of him pulls off his hat and dips water from beside the boat onto the rope as it flies from the tub. You turn to face forward carefully avoiding the rope. To get tangled in it would result in your being pulled overboard and down.
As the speed of the rope diminishes, the boat races faster and faster until your stomach flops from your gut into your throat each time the whaleboat careens up and down an ocean swell…over and over. Spray covers you. The rope…it stretches forward into the sea…pulling you on taking you where it wills. What kind of wondrous power churns at the end of that line!
Calvinist or Arminian…Particular or General…
While this new faith, derogatorily referred to as Baptist, found unity in persecution, its adherents soon began to take issue with each other. One of the first points of debate was whether salvation was a free choice or was it limited to those whom God chose. General Baptists held the former position; Particular Baptists the latter. This subject often led to heated debates. I wonder if these Baptists ever looked forward to the future time when Baptists would finally settle this matter. Surely time would clarify the waters!
In the late 1630’s, while Colonel John and Lady Lucy Hutchinson became Particular Baptists, many common folk were becoming General Baptists. Did you ever stop to ask yourself why the elite who converted to the Baptist way of thinking would tend toward Particular Baptist teachings while the common man would tend toward General?
To Hunt a Whale – Part 1
While whalers had many jobs on the ship, their main purpose was to man the whaleboats and hunt whales. (Take the link for a picture of the whaleboat.) The ship cruised looking for signs of these giant creatures. When a spout was seen, the Captain maneuvered the ship closer and the whaleboats were launched, each with six crewmen. An officer steered the boat in the back. The harpooner took the front thwart. The remaining four seats were taken by the other men and, in our case, a woman. If you were Ann, you would have the middle rowing position with two rowers behind you and two in front, each with his own thwart, and each staggered right and left. When rowing, they faced aft; when paddling, they faced forward. This is what you’ve learned. This is what you are here for.
“There he blows!” A whale’s spout is seen! The ship is hove to; you take your position at the side of the ship, over your whaleboat; the whaleboats are lowered; and, at command, you jump into your boat. Facing aft, you take your oar, set it in the oarlock, and on your officers order lean forward, dip your oar, and PULL! Adrenaline pumps into you and excitement spurs you on. Gradually, the wearisome leaning and pulling takes over and, staring at the rope wound up in a tub just on the other side of the seat before you, you live just for the next stroke. As you pull, you feel that rope, for it winds out of its tub, around the logger head beside the officer, and forward over every oar. As it rubs your wrist when you pull the oar, you think about the harpoon to which it is tied; and you realize again why you are here. You breath…dip…lean forward…lower the oar to the water and pull…again!
Suddenly, you hear a distant “SHHHHH!”…like the sound of steam engine starting. Your ears perk up and you listen more closely. “SHHHHH!” There it is again…CLOSER…a whale breathing…the sound of power. Who are you to battle a beast maybe 5 times longer than the boat…a monster that could smash you and your friends out of existence with one swipe of his tail!
“Peak oars!” whispers the officer; and you raise your oar out of the water. With his steering oar, he suddenly changes the direction of the boat. The sound of water breaking is behind you at the front of the boat. You strain to get a peek. Something BIG and black is just in front of the little whaleboat. Your muscles tense; your eyes pop open; you can’t breathe; you turn back. “Let him have it!” yells the officer. The grunt of the harpooner says he launched the harpoon. Almost in unison with the grunt, the line that rubbed your wrist begins to shoot forward and out the front of the boat.
You are attached the whale!
Tune in next month to see what happens.
Abstract of Systematic Theology by James Boyce
While today “the World” lies open at our fingertips, in 1979 our small town in Colorado was more concerned with local issues than problems outside of our community; denominational arguments did not concern our small Baptist church. When one retired member, who had gone to the mission field as a volunteer, wanted to attend the 1979 Convention in Houston, Texas, we all voted to send her; no one had ever asked to attend the Convention before. She wanted to go because of the rising debate over the literal interpretation of scripture. Even though she tried to explain the issues, most of us had no idea what was happening and really didn’t care much! That was the year conservatives in the Southern Baptist Convention organized and put into action a plan to placed conservatives into key positions within the denomination.
In 1993, our daughter and her husband attended Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. They arrived on campus at the very end of the conservative transition and saw the emotions that stirred those in the faculty affected by the changes. The period from 1979 until the early 90’s saw a big change in our denomination. In the early years, “The Abstract of Systematic Theology” by James Boyce was given out to students who would accept it. A conservative document, it swayed many of its readers. It is available on the Internet today.
The Tortoise of the Mystic Isles
This picture of a tortoise might be what the crew of the Mitchell saw when they stopped in the “Mystic Isles” (Galapagos Islands) to stock up on Tortoises. These creatures provided meat and water during a long voyage west along the equator. They could be kept alive for months in the hold of the ship.
Melville: “These mystic creatures, suddenly translated by night from unutterable solitudes to our peopled deck, affected me in a manner not easy to unfold. They seemed newly crawled forth from beneath the foundations of the world. Yea, they seemed the identical tortoises whereupon the Hindu plants his total sphere […] The great feeling inspired by these creatures was that of age: datelessness, indefinite endurance. And in fact that any other creature can live and breathe as long as the tortoise of the Encantadas, I will not readily believe. Not to hint of their known capacity of sustaining life while going without food for an entire year, consider that impregnable armor of their living mail. What other bodily being possesses such a citadel wherein to resist the assaults of Time? […] With them I lost myself in volcanic mazes, brushed away endless boughs of rotting thicket, till finally in a dream I found myself sitting cross-legged upon the foremost, a Brahmin similarly mounted upon either side, forming a tripod of foreheads which upheld the universal cope. Such was the wild nightmare begot by my first impression of the Encantadas tortoise. But next evening, strange to say, I sat down with my shipmates and made a merry repast from tortoise steaks and tortoise stews” (Melville 1967 [1854]).