A ship is not a cathedral. There is nothing quiet and holy about the atmosphere. There are no leaded windows breaking the light softly to cast pastel coloured shadows. There is no organ music or a choir that fills the silence with harmony or words to move your soul. No one hums 'Pie Jesu' to transport your feelings to a place of peace. 

The Italian captain motions Chris to sit down on a crooked unstable chair in the small iron clad office. It is a busy office. The captain is en route home and is in the process of handing over to his replacement from Montenegro. The two communicate in difficult, frustrating English. English is not the mother-tongue of either man. The process is slow and complicated. The replacement makes a mistake on the computer, almost deleting important documents forever. Outside the office two of the men on board are involved in a heated argument. They shout angrily at each other. No one in the office even looks up to find out what it is about. Shipping agents rush in and out. Stacks of documents seem like chaos to the untrained eye. Cranes crackle and move. Iron bends as the ship’s curves are stretched and stressed by the movement of the water in the harbour. Dust and grease stick to everything, making it look black and dirty.  

A ship is no cathedral. A ship is like life. It is chaotic, loud and hard. It is real. It is removed from any pretence that life is quiet and peaceful.  

In the midst of this, Chris courageously tries to have a meaningful conversation with someone without being in the way. In a totally unexpected moment there is a break in the relentless rhythm of the chaos. Only the captain and Chris remain in the grey office. They talk about the Bible in Chris’ hand. In a tone of secrecy the captain says that his grandmother had told him about the book. Without prompt, the captain talks about the Man of the Cross. For a single moment there is peace.  

A while later a crew member from the Philippines approaches Chris in a short run to talk. He asks Chris whether he might have a Bible for him. His colleague sees this and immediately asks for a Bible too. Chris takes a picture of the two with their broad smiles.  

Not long after a third officer from India joins them. It is clear that something is wrong. He is only fifteen days into his contract but the depression and tiredness already attacked. He stares at Chris with empty eyes. It is clear that he longs for hope. Chris has time to spend with him and as they say goodbye, the man describes their meeting as the highlight of his fifteen days at sea. 

A ship is a cathedral. Every man working on the ship is a cathedral. A cathedral is not a hiding place to escape from life and its chaos. Rather, it is a place of peace and quiet in spite of the noise. It is not a place that pretends a peaceful or quiet life. Instead it is a place that allows us to find Hope, Love and Peace that transcends all within ourselves. This is the Peace that He gives that allows us to look at the chaos in a radically different way. 

It is a simple task - to remind seafaring men, within the chaos, of love, peace and hope. It is so incredibly important. Each of us needs this peace in these chaotic times. You can give this to seafaring men by supporting us financially. Please consider it in your prayers. 

May you also be blessed with His peace.

There are only fifteen notches in his belt. The first, probably the most difficult and painful was the first day away from his beloved bride. After a few months on shore, the reality of being back on the floating iron giant, one can see the lines on his forehead and along the eyes. The remaining, yet unmarked notches, stand just beyond one hundred and fifty. That is how many days he would have to wake up without her at his side. 

As Chris meets the third officer in Durban, he needs no special qualifications to diagnose a severe condition of the heart within the man from India. His body language shouts despondency, powerlessness and exhaustion. His empty eyes stare into nothingness. In itself, that is a sign of a sombre story that does not allow a prognosis of speedy recovery.

'It is only day fifteen', he states heavily and stiffly, as if the weight of the statement is unbearable. He is quiet and Chris sort of expects that he is about to leave and disappear into the bowels of the iron vessel.  

But, he sits.  He tries to explain the implications of working at sea. He tries to explain, with emphasis, how difficult it is to be far and away from those you love. Chris can only try to understand. He can listen, encourage, be there and pray. 

It sounds like nothing, nothing essential. It sounds so simple, but it is rare. It is rare to find someone that really listens without constantly checking his watch and without a personal agenda. This is rare wherever you are, on land too. It is even rarer when you live on the open seas within the confines of a giant ship with only a handful of colleagues on the floating vessel.  

As Chris leaves the man explains with half a smile that Chris' visit is the highlight at notch 15. This is how enormous it is to find someone willing to listen to you... 

For this we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. Donors make a huge difference every day, often considered non-important and simple.  Sometimes there is hope in the smallest of acts. In each of these small moments, the Kingdom of God becomes a matter of importance. 

A 'Ping' and an audible vibration indicate a new WhatsApp message to Danie. The notice, the name and the tiny profile picture make Danie scramble to open the message. He types in the code to unlock the phone. The message is from the other side of the world, way across the sea. As Danie reads, he smiles a relieved smile. The news is what he has been waiting for and he has been praying for this for months. 

The origin of the story can be traced back to a few months ago, with the arrival of the gigantic iron ore carrier in the Port Elizabeth harbour.  Danie visited and was barely on deck before being summoned to the captain's office. It was as if the captain had been waiting, watching the quay, hoping for someone to appear from thin air, expecting that person to climb the hundred or so steps and trusting that it will also be the right person to arrive... 

Arriving at the captain's door it became clear, very quickly that the captain was ready to explode, like a red-hot grenade. He had to talk urgently. It had to get out of his system. The secret became too heavy to bear alone. The symptoms that the experienced seaman listed were classic symptoms of fear. Restlessness, the feeling that you are standing on the edge of a dreadful abyss, rapid tiring, concerns that simply won't go away and nightmares of his ship sinking into the deepest darkness. Fear leaves a person in a very vulnerable condition. It leads you to believe that everything is an emergency. It does not rid tomorrow of sorrows, rather it empties today's power. This, in a nutshell summarises the captain's emergency call.

This emergency call was the start of the road Danie and the captain walked together. They shared information through countries and across oceans until Danie received the WhatsApp message: 'I am home, with friends and family with whom I can talk. I am better. Thank you, thank you for everything!' On that first day he said that he wished to talk to someone for a long, long time. But who could he talk to? There are many sweet stories about handling mental health within the industry. However, reality remains that a scar of 'fear', 'depression' or 'emotional instability' renders you worthless for getting or renewing a contract. On the first day they prayed together, the Bible open on the office desk. That was only the first of many discussions, lots of prayers and of continued hope. 

This is what we do at the CSO. We walk the road if necessary. We walk that road in the Name of the One that taught us to care, love, to have mercy and to hope...  To do this we need donations. Please consider financial support for our work. Do so in prayer and careful consideration - it makes a difference in many lives.

The atmosphere is almost tangibly electric. They laugh and talk - broad smiles, bubbling energy, dressed in their best. How long they have waited for this moment and day! It has been months, some have been waiting from as long ago as 2021 - to feel solid ground beneath their feet. Harbour to harbour. From Covid to the war on the other side of the earth, to the mood of the harbour Master - all considered sufficient reasons to stop them from going ashore.

But now they have a chance to leave the ship and go to, or rather escape to, the streets, beaches and shopping centres in Port Elizabeth. It is more than a mere chance to buy something at a shop. It is a chance to see ‘normal life’ away from being held hostage on the ship. It is a chance to see people and their habits, their preferences, their wonders, their smiles, their good and their bad - even seeing people has become a luxury.

Danie stands around and chats, ready to take to the streets with the seamen. Each has something to do on his wish list. Danie will be the ‘tour operator’. He will need a small miracle to fulfil all the wishes. 

Then they get the news as the agent walks up the long steps from quay to deck. It will cost each man almost a thousand rands or more to exit the harbour gate. They need Covid declarations, information for the Department of Health, immigration documents and a number of other small items that add up to a small fortune. It is as if the news sucks up all the oxygen in the universe within seconds. The disappointment is gigantic. It could even be described as painful. The calculation is simple and so is the answer: Could they use money earmarked for the families, for the children’s education, for food at home - only to visit the city? The answer is clear: No.

The atmosphere is very different from that of a few moments earlier. Danie tries to console. He quickly rummages in the CSO store to provide each with a small gift and to take orders for shopping. He tries to provide a solution within the disappointment and frustration. 

Later, after they had cooled down a little and once they find some oxygen in the atmosphere again, Danie talks to them. They get a chance to talk around a Bible. They talk about sacrifice. They talk about what each of them sacrifices to care for those at home. The discussion flows naturally in the direction of Him... He who made the biggest sacrifice of all. They talk about how that sacrifice was for each on board. Suddenly the day that had been planned so differently, becomes much, much better. They can pray together - for the wish list of each, for the cares of each on board, for family, for everything they sacrifice each day and for those they sacrifice it for - all against the background of Someone that made a far bigger sacrifice.

Each day, our faith heroes, you our donors, take the message of the Biggest Sacrifice to men working at sea. Your contribution allows us at the CSO to be there, to give a hand when those men are sea-tired, overloaded and frustrated. It is of immense value to them. 

Thank you for that!