The reception is cool. The guard is a large man, uncommunicative and does things according to the book. He follows a detailed interrogation process to determine the exact reason for Danie's visit. Danie has a Bible in his hand and explains, but it makes no impression. The guard decided to get permission for the visit from a higher authority. He babbles an incomprehensible message for transmission over the crackling two-way radio. He motions, sternly, that Danie has to wait.
While waiting with Job's patience, for approval, the crew scrambles across the deck with meaning. They are all from the Ukraine. Danie says that even in their diligence and in the way they conduct their daily work, the wounds of a destructive war is visible. Each face reflects, unmistakably, the stress. War is not limited to the areas between borders, it continues, unabatedly on deck, where they are working. The frustration, anger and insecurity are carried within and are aggravated by each new media report.
Radios sound with conversations and the chances for a visit on board shrink as Danie waits. Only when he is really feeling convinced of a failed visit, the steel door in front of him swings open. A young man, also of large stature, rubs shoulders with the door frame as he scrambles to get to his next point of work. Apart from the large stature, the first other thing one notices, is the prominent cross swinging from a heavy chain around his neck. For a moment, while he is still running, their eyes meet, but it is the familiarity of the book in Danie's hands that fires the light in the young man's eyes and causes him to pause for a moment. The large cross on the chain and the cross on the Bible in Danie's hand form a symbiotic common denominator.
"Aleksander", he introduces himself. Without a word from Danie it is clear that Aleksander understands the reason for Danie's visit. Immediately Aleksander says something to the radio and moments later Danie enters the ship in his company. The timing is perfect. In the dining area the men arrive, one by one for lunch. Aleksander talks and explains. He introduces Danie and the others approach with a friendlier attitude.
It does not take long for the discussion to turn to the sombre topic of war. With Aleksander in their midst the discussion flows easily from war to faith. It is not only at home that things are broken and in tatters. There is a deep longing to find God in all the chaos. Throughout their stories one hears the refrain, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?'.
Two crosses opened the steel door of the ship for Danie, but the story does not end at the Cross. There is also the promise of Ascension, the message of hope and comfort - with the assurance that we are not orphans that have been left behind. For each man from the Ukraine, God remains present and there through the Spirit. That is why we can lift our eyes up to the heavens and know where our help will come from. Upon leaving, Aleksander confirms the importance for each on board to hear this again. Even the guard on deck greets Danie politely and friendly as he leaves.
Every donation brings the message of the Cross, but also the promise of Ascension - that we are not orphans left behind. We thank you for that. We also hope that you will experience the presence of God in your life in this special time.
Everyone bears a cross. In telling about the horrors and sorrows that have dragged on for almost 400 days, the emotions and feelings of surrealism about a brutal war are buried in a shallow hollow in their hearts. They have three months left before embarking on the cross-roads home.
Their stories are unashamedly horrible. They tell of friends and men working at sea that have been injured beyond belief, that died, that lost their homes and many other unspeakable things. The things that are not spoken about became part of their everyday existence. The shrapnel of every rocket and every bomb that hits a home or building in the Ukraine, also hits them here, even though they may seem safe and sound, thousands of miles away in a safe harbour. It is so far and yet so near.
You could be forgiven to think that the crosses that the two men, Alexi and Yuri carry with them are unjustly heavy. No one should be exposed to so much bloodshed, death and sorrow. "Eli, Eli, lemá sabagtani?", "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? This is a refrain, like a thread, searching through each aspect of their stories.
Every story also contains longing, a longing for mercy, love and peace. The unspoken undertones of telling the stories shout loudly and unashamedly. "We have thirst". It is an urgent and deep search for the peace that transcends all.
For a short time Danie can help bear the crosses. He spends time with them. He listens, encourages, listens again, tells, listens yet again, prays and does everything possible to lighten the load for them, even if only for a moment. He does this against the background of the Cross and the Man that eventually, with the taste of sour wine in his mouth, before the escape of his last breath, said: "It is done".
Everyone bears a cross, but only one Cross, finished what had to be done. Eventually, tired of bombs, rockets and mutilation, we cannot but say, "Father, I give my life into Your hands". Hours later, the two men, knowing that Christ also died for them, they take the small steps to the quay. That gives hope.
We will continue, without pause, to share mercy, hope and love of the One that died for all of us, in a bitterly broken world. The message is a Light on a light stand, a light that will not give in to the dark. By supporting our work financially, you strengthen our hands to bring light to places where crosses are heavy to bear. Please consider supporting us in prayer and deed.
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Listen to Dr Wimpie van Schoor's personal message to you.
Silence can scream. The boundaries that we build with care around our hearts, to stave off attacks from outside, eventually become prisons for our voices and souls. Silently we conduct our daily business and tasks. With pious faces, pacing ourselves and convincing smiling masks we convey that all is well. For the unpractised eye, the silence seems like calm and peace... 'He said nothing, therefore there is nothing', never realising that the silence is screaming...
The young man from the Philippines has a mask smile. He is quiet and quickly says that all is well. But, in the silence, Danie hears the screams as he visits the ship in the PE harbour. Danie asks carefully, first this way and then another, but the walls are high and the gates locked. Eventually Danie asks if there is anything that he could do to help. ‘Batteries for my torch’, is the shy answer. Unbelievable how something that is so commonly available on land could cause a crisis at sea. Four batteries delivered a little later, break the silence and it is like a red ripe pomegranate...
It is only his second contract. The Captain is new, the crew is foreign and there is not a single friend among them. Insecurity, constant longing and emotions that threaten to swallow him are locked in the silence. For a moment he lowers the walls that he built so carefully. He allows Danie to see behind the protective layers. The silence screams for help, but no one on board seems to hear.
This is a universal story. Men working at sea, passing like ghosts without reacting to greetings or making eye contact. Their eyes are focused somewhere beyond, on an unknown destination. When the silence takes hold and the passers-by confuse silence with peace - that is when everything is most fragile. At the CSO we try to listen to the screams. It is not psychology or based on our own power, it is from the Word of God. We believe and know that the Holy Ghost can break up silences when we bring the Word on board the ships.
After talking for a long time there is a moment of hope and light in the man's eyes. That is how it should be. It may feel as if light and hope are dying, but then the Bible in the young man’s own language, that Danie places in his hands will be a reminder of Him that gives hope and light - and that He never takes it away.
The need is enormous. Please consider a donation to help us continue to serve the people working at sea each day.
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It is a time for essential reflection. One does not pour wine into old wine bags. The quiet moments to prepare the tally cards for the new year and do the necessary checks and balances to consider the results are absolute necessities. 2022 was a year full of so many different aspects.
In the world of seafaring workers there was hope to see the storm clouds relating to Covid dissipate early in the year to allow picking up the pieces and to repair what had been broken. Unfortunately it is not so easy to repair something that had been shattered. How can you forget that 600 000 men working at sea, all over the world, had been held captive by the deadly, invisible monster? How can you forget closure of border after border, how airports were transformed into ghost villages where aeroplanes gathered dust? For many people the price was very high... mothers, fathers, grandparents, friends or other people close to them succumbed to the virus and those empty chairs can hardly be filled again. These are not things that you simply shrug off. These leave eternal lesions in lives.
But, the CSO was there to help. We were there because our donors made it possible for us to be there.
Just before the year could really gain traction, Russia sent heavy military armour to invade the Ukraine. Suddenly 6% of seafaring workers from these two countries were locked in the centre of an angry war. Their stories tell of catastrophe and heartbreak. Men received news that their homes were wiped off the earth, that their families had to flee to strange countries or that someone close to them died a horrible death in the war waged by power hungry usurpers.
But, the CSO was there to help. We were there because the contributions of our donors made it possible for us to be there.
We remember the economic crisis that created chaos in Sri-Lanka and the men from that country that arrived in our harbours with little or no hope.
But, the CSO was there to help too. We were there because our donors made it possible.
During the time of the tornado in the Philippines, but also in case of a thousand other disasters, the CSO could play a role because you strengthened our hands with your contribution! In 2023 we will continue to spread the Word, continue to play an active role and continue to be carriers of hope. We can do this because of our dedicated donors that we are so incredibly thankful for.
Thank you so much for your contribution. May 2023 be a year that is richly blessed for you.