No Turning Back

Going to the ocean will make a country boy feel both important and extremely unnecessary at the exact same time.

I’d always wanted to go deep sea fishing. You know how some fellas dream about Alaska bear hunts or owning a bass boat that costs more than their first house? Well mine was going out into the deep ocean catching fish bigger than a Family Bible. But life kept happening. Money was tight. Timing was off. Opportunities never lined up.

Then one afternoon a buddy called me and said, “Hey, I chartered a boat down around Nags Head. You want to go?”

Friend… I didn’t even let him finish the sentence.

I was packed before he hung up.

We left after church on Sunday, drove through the night, and got down there with all the excitement of four hillbillies about to become professional fishermen. On the ride down we noticed rain bands and storms rolling through the area, but the weather app said it would mostly clear up by Monday. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:

Weather people and politicians are the only people I know that can lie continually and never lose their job.

Next morning we’re up around 5:30 heading to the marina. Captain gives us the speech. “Boys, we’ll be about fifty miles offshore. Might be a little rough today.” Now when a seasoned ocean captain says “a little rough,” that translates into Appalachian language as: “It is gonna be like a Gravitron ride at a sketchy parking lot fair.”

We shove off anyway. At first it was wonderful. I was sitting on the little step outside the cabin, wind blowing, waves rolling, looking back at the shoreline disappearing behind us feeling like I owned a yacht instead of wearing a hoodie that smelled faintly like gas station sausage biscuits.

I remember thanking the Lord for good friends and the chance to experience something I’d always wanted to do. About forty-five minutes into the trip, I started thinking about the theme song from Gilligan's Island: “The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed.” Only this wasn’t a tiny ship, and it sure didn’t feel quite as tough at the moment. One of the younger guys suddenly exploded out of the cabin like he’d been launched from a catapult. He leaned over the side and got violently seasick.

My Spiritual gift being sarcasm and not compassion, I waited until he finished and kindly asked, “Want a chew of tobacco? Might settle your stomach.”

He answered by throwing up harder. A few minutes later the second young fellow came flying out doing the exact same thing.

Now I struggle with sympathy sometimes. The Lord’s still sanding rough edges off me with industrial-grade equipment. But right then I genuinely felt sorry for those boys because I realized something terrible:

There was no turning back.

That boat ride was committed.

The dock was gone.

The shoreline had disappeared.

And those boys still had over seven hours left on that floating washing machine.

And it only got worse.

When we reached the fishing grounds the ocean looked like God was stirring coffee with the Atlantic Ocean. One minute you could see nearby charter boats and the next minute our boat would drop down between waves so deep those boats vanished completely before popping back up again.

All. Day. Long.

Those poor boys laid inside the cabin looking like extras from The Walking Dead. Pale. Sweaty. Questioning every life decision that led them to that boat.

Meanwhile I was over there eating pickled eggs and potted meat thinking how bad they must feel. Eight hours later we came back with one fish and two survivors.

On the drive home they slowly started turning human again, but that trip stuck in my mind because it reminded me of something far more serious than seasickness.

There comes a day when you cannot turn back.

Jesus told a sobering story in Luke 16 about a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus. The rich man lived for himself. Comfort. Ease. Luxury. He had opportunities. Chances. Warnings. But he ignored God.

Then death came. And suddenly the boat had left the dock. Scripture says: “And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments...” Luke 16:23

One of the saddest parts of that passage is when the rich man begs for someone to go warn his brothers. “I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house.” Luke 16:27

He understood too late that rejecting God never affects just us. Sin splashes onto everybody around us like ocean water over the side of a boat.

And the frightening truth is this: Once eternity begins, there is no reverse gear.

Hebrews 9:27 says: “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.”

Friend, there’s no checkpoint after death where God says, “You know what, let’s retry that whole salvation thing one more time.” Let's go back to the dock. The ticket is punched. The boat has sailed.

But I’m thankful the Bible also gives us another ship story.

In Acts 27, Paul is aboard a ship caught in a violent storm. The winds rage. The sailors panic. Everybody thinks they’re going to die. Scripture says: “All hope that we should be saved was then taken away.” Acts 27:20

That sounds a whole lot like this world sometimes doesn’t it?

People tossed around by fear.

Families rocked by storms.

Minds filled with anxiety.

Lives beaten by sin.

But right in the middle of the chaos Paul stood up and said: “There shall be no loss of any man's life among you...” Acts 27:22

And later he warned them: “Except these abide in the ship, ye cannot be saved.” Acts 27:31

Can I say it in mountain language?

Get on the right boat and stay on the boat!

Stay with Christ.

Stay with the Gospel.

Stay on the old rugged barge of salvation.

The storms may toss us.

The waves may scare us.

This old world may rock until we can’t tell sky from sea.

But one glorious day we’re docking safely home where the Lord Himself stands waiting on the shoreline.

So don’t load up another day without Jesus.

Because one day every one of us leaves the dock… and after that, there’s no turning back.