Then the hull was made of oak, the masts, oars and interior carved from pine or cedar. This was before the intrusion of steel. Now ships are hi-tech iron and steel hulks. Then men working at sea could spend some days ashore, now they have a few hurried, super-fast hours ashore. Then the letter home took months to arrive, now the WhatsApp messages flitter across the globe in seconds. Then Evangelists arrived at the quay on their bicycles, now they arrive by car and carry digital devices in their pockets to allow a seafaring man to watch his daughter’s ballet performance on the other side of the world.   Then ships groaned under the heavy black smoke from the chimney, now they glide silently through the waters run by giant engines that diagnose their problems digitally should something go wrong.  

 It is frightening to see how fast things change. The pace can be compared to a river rapid that swallows you before you can catch your breath. The slow unfolding of events, like morning dew on a leaf, has changed into a flash, a shard, a shake of time without time to think, to be quiet or make sense of it. The world turns faster, screens flash brighter and our souls stumble under the load of incessant innovation. It is so for modern seafaring men too. 

It requires constant adjustment, continuous rushing, unstoppable continuation. Our hearts beg for peace, but we find mostly only noise. Our thoughts flap like the wings of birds without a nest, faith is diminished, while we remain in full sight of merciless information bombardment. Silently it makes us ill, tired and uprooted, secretly longing for something that does not change constantly. We long for Someone that will stay.

Yet, within all the change, one thing remains irrefutably strong: the Word of Jesus Christ.

Danie, in the Bay, walked the steps to the deck with the same message as the Evangelist carried with him in 1944 as he climbed the rickety rope ladder to the deck. Chris, in talking to the Philippine man working on the ship, carries with him exactly the same message of mercy, just as relevant as when the CSO brought the message more than eighty years ago. André in Cape Town talks about the same love as the love that mattered then. Loffie explains hope to a weary man, based on the One that was then, that is now and will be forever. 

Then there was a calling for each seafaring man, soldier or traveller that is far from home, to know that God is near. Now that the world has changed dramatically and the context seems to be worlds apart from what it was, the essence remains: Christ is enough. 

The CSO has survived the years because of mercy, but also because of the open hands and hearts of our donors. Please consider contributing to our work financially. It helps us to remind the people working at sea each and every day, despite the chaos surrounding us, of the one constant: The Cross that was planted for each of them and us on Golgotha.

 EFT

Christelike Seemansorganisasie

ABSA Bank. Tjek / Current 630509. Rek / Account: 1520-230-226

Ikhoka aanlyn donasies: / Online donations:  https://bit.ly/4k2N60e