Nearly three quarters (71%) of the earth is "underworld" – covered by the sea the great world ocean that we have arbitrarily divided into the Pacific, the Atlantic, the Indian, and the Arctic Oceans. Around the world and all through history, people have looked to the sea for its bounty. Our ancestors braved storms and waves to learn the sea and its benefits. They drew fished from small vessels and transported cargo in great ships. But beneath the surface of the sea lurked danger and death and all things abhorrent.
British journalist H.M. Tomlinson (1873 – 1958) wrote: "I do not love the sea. The look of it is disquieting. There is something in the very sound of it that stirs the premonition felt while we are listening to noble music; we become inexplicably troubled." (The Face of Earth)
Beneath the waves was the Abyss - a Greek word that you probably recognize – which means "bottomless." Though, in our modern age of science we've been able to measure the seemingly bottomless seas. The oceans of the world have an average depth of about two miles (13,124 ft.), but the deepest part of the ocean, the Marianas Trench in the Pacific Ocean, dives down to a staggering seven miles (36,198 ft.) That's deeper than Mt. Everest – the highest peak (29,028 ft.) is high. Beyond that lies the molten core of the earth.
The sea is fearsome because the sea is dark. Though seawater is relatively transparent, sunlight only penetrates to a depth of about 260ft. As you dive down into the depths the colors disappear one by one; first to go are the reds, then orange and yellow then the greens and blues. Beyond that, all is dark. Dark and cold. Ninety percent of the total ocean volume lies beneath what is known as the "thermoncline." The water temperature there is 0 - 3˚ Celsius (32 – 37.5˚ Fahrenheit).
Mankind isn't meant to live at such depths. It's too dark, too cold, and further, the pressure in the great deeps would crush us. Hydrostatic pressure – the weight of all the water above you – at the bottom of the Marianas Trench is calculated to be 1,095 times greater than that at the surface: 16,000 pounds of pressure per square inch. You can already begin to feel this pressure building even at the shallow depth of 5 – 10 feet, and without specialized dive equipment divers can't go much beyond 180 ft. down. Any further and the pressures would crush you.
But here in the dark and cold crushing depths of the abyss we begin.
From the depths I call to you, Yahweh:
Lord, hear my cry.
Listen attentively
To the sound of my pleading!
(Psalm 130: 1 – 2)
The psalmist cries from the dark, from the cold, from the crushing depths – from the place of anxiety, death, and despair. Dreams of the sea or of the ocean are often interpreted as a symbol of the unconscious – our deep inner selves that we are afraid (deathly afraid, sometimes) to confront.
It's easier to paddle around the surface of our day to day lives: "Hi, how are you? Good, good. Are you workin' hard or hardly workin' ha, ha, ha…" But when events in our lives force us to consider our own inner depths, when we're forced to look deep inside and to ask the question: "Who am I?" or "Why do I do the things I do?" we resist and struggle back toward the surface.
It's easier to coast along the surface of life with its idle chatter and everyday tasks. It's easier to drift with the escapism of television and movies and drugs and casual sex. It's easier to not take a reflective look at our lives; to not examine who we are and who we want to become. Many people spend their entire lives drifting along the surface like this.
"That which is far off and exceeding deep, who can find it out?" Ecclesiastes 7:24 KJV
The psalmist, however, crying out from the dark inner depths of his soul, looks at himself and, there in the dark depths, takes stock of who he is and why he does the things he does. What does he see when he looks at himself? The same thing that the apostle Paul said when he took stock of his own life:
I am a creature of flesh and blood sold as slave to sin. I do not understand my own behavior; I do not act as I mean to, but I do the things that I hate. While I am acting as I do not want to, I still acknowledge the Law as good, so it is not myself acting, but the sin which lives in me. And really, I know of nothing good living in me – in my natural self, that is – for though the will to do is what is good in me, the power to do it is not: the good thing I want to do, I never do; the evil thing which I do not want – that is what I do. But every time I do what I do not what to, then it is not myself acting, but the sin that lives in me. So I find this rule: that form me, where I want to do nothing but good, evil is close at my side. In my inmost self I dearly love God's law, but I see that acting on my body there is a different law which battles against the law in my mind. So I am brought to be a prisoner of that law of sin which lives inside my body. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body doomed to death? (Romans 7: 14 – 24)
The Danish philosopher / theologian Soren Kierkegaard described this as a leap into the "seventy thousand fathoms" of faith, and a leap into the loving arms of God.
There at the bottom of the abyss, when we discover that we don't really like who we are and what we do; when we see ourselves, as the apostle Paul did, as one "doomed to death," because of the sin we do not want to do and the good that we want to do, but are powerless to do – do we despair? Do we give up and drown in the depths?
If you kept a record of our sins,
Lord, who could stand their ground?
But with you it is forgiveness,
that you may be revered.
(Psalm 130: 3 – 4)
There in the cold, silent, darkness of our true selves we can begin to see the light of God. This light shines into our darkness (and the darkness has not overcome it…) and illuminates us. This was the Apostle Paul's experience as well: What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body doomed to death? God – thanks be to him – through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 7: 24 -25a)
"To see one's darkness proves the presence of a great light" wrote the Catholic writer Raoul Plus in the book Living with God. We could not see our own moral shortcomings if it were not for the light that God's Holy Spirit shines into us. We could not know ourselves if God did not know us. And so we must rely completely on God. We must believe – even if we cannot see. We must hope – even if we despair. We must rely completely upon God.
I rely, my whole being relies,
Yahweh, on your promise.
My whole being hopes in the Lord,
more than watchmen for daybreak;
more than watchmen for daybreak.
(Psalm 130: 5 – 6)
But it's a hope in a God that we can't see we can't touch with our fingers, we can't empirically prove. It's a hope grounded in faith.
I return to the thoughts of Kierkegaard who wrote: "If I am capable of grasping God objectively, I do not believe, but precisely because I cannot do this I must believe. If I wish to preserve myself in faith I must constantly be intent upon holding fast the objective uncertainty, so as to remain out in the deep, over seventy thousand fathoms of water, still preserving my faith."
His way of expressing things was rather complex, but what he says is that: IF I could see God with my eyes, or feel him with my fingers, or rationally prove his existence with physical and logical evidence then it would not be faith. But because I cannot see him, touch him, prove him – I must believe. I must hope. I must hold this "uncertainty" of God as certain. This is a leap into faith. A leap into seventy thousand fathoms of water. A dive down into the cold dark waters of the abyss, and there to find the loving arms of God.
For with Yahweh is faithful love,
with him is generous ransom;
and he will ransom Israel
from all its sins.
(Psalm 130: 7 -8)
With God is faithful everlasting unconditional love. With him is a generous grace – deliverance through the death and resurrection of his son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. And he will deliver his people from all their sins. It's a dive into the seventy thousand fathoms of that seemingly boundless ocean – not an ocean of despair we realize – but a deep ocean of love.
O boundless salvation! deep ocean of love,
O fullness of mercy, Christ brought from above.
The whole world redeeming, so rich and so free,
Now flowing for all men, come, roll over me!
My sins they are many, their stains are so deep.
And bitter the tears of remorse that I weep;
But useless is weeping; thou great crimson sea,
Thy waters can cleanse me, come, roll over me I
My tempers are fitful, my passions are strong,
They bind my poor soul and they force me to wrong;
Beneath thy blest billows deliverance I see,
O come, mighty ocean, and roll over me!
Now tossed with temptation, then haunted with fears,
My life has been joyless and useless for years;
I feel something better most surely would be
If once thy pure waters would roll over me.
O ocean of mercy, oft longing I’ve stood
On the brink of thy wonderful, life-giving flood!
Once more I have reached this soul-cleansing sea,
I will not go back till it rolls over me.
The tide is now flowing, I’m touching the wave,
I hear the loud call of the mighty to save;
My faith’s growing bolder, delivered I’ll be;
I plunge ’neath the waters, they roll over me.
And now, hallelujah! the rest of my days
Shall gladly be spent in promoting his praise
Who opened his bosom to pour out this sea
Of boundless salvation for you and for me.
-General William Booth (1829-1912)
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