There is noise - everywhere. In the harbour, on the ship - chains rattle, alarms shout without end and without fail, two-way radios chatter all the time, men shout against the wind. It is noisy.  

 In the wider circles, the world drones like at a market square. Political rhetoric sounds over the air-waves. Opinions clash like swords and the harvest of empty promises leads to angry shouts from all over. Wars moan and shout in images, reports and explosions. It is noisy.

Lights, screens, messages, knowledge, opinions - constantly, restlessly, without pause. It is a luxury to be heard.

The Romanian seaman that Chris visits, starts his story like a rushing steam engine without pause, simply sharing his story. He does not have a fellow countryman on board. His colleagues are from Pakistan, China and Bangladesh. The ship’s iron walls cannot hear or listen. Every theme under the sun is covered. History - his history, that history, the history, the future and everything in between. After a while the hour clock sounds, but he is still on speed, rushing along. After about ninety minutes the chattering radio puts a stop to his discourse, because he is needed elsewhere. When they say goodbye, he leaves with a Romanian Bible in his hand. Someone made time to listen. He was heard...       

On the next ship, this time in the smoking room, a captain sits. He has weary eyes. His contract has expired, but he cannot go home. There is war and it would mean reporting immediately for military duty. He is angry with his government, he is angry with the church, he is angry with the world, he is angry with his ex-wife. He is angry with everyone. Chris simply sits there, listening, but honestly and sincerely. He does not judge, he simply listens.

Next ship... 

Next ship...

... always ready to listen and assure that in the midst of all the extreme noise, there is a Whisper that had remained constant through the ages. It is always there, reminding us that God is a living part of each story.    

This is what we do at the CSO.   

 Sometimes the biggest burden is lessened by the smallest gift - a listening ear, a heart that can share the burden.

 To be heard, restores our humanity.

 Thank you for your contribution and making it possible.  

The storm hangs around Port Elizabeth like an uninvited guest. The wind screeches through the taut ropes and tugs at the majestic ships as if they were toys in the hands of a giant. Even in the safety of the harbour, the waves crash against the hull of an ore carrier, distributing blobs of foam that twirl high up against the gigantic steel hull. It is sitting high in the water, because it has not been loaded yet, the enormous vessel creaks ominously in the onslaught of wind and weather. 

The storm in the Bay is barely a hint of what is happening on the other side of the world. There they have to deal with Bualoi, a tropical monster that unleashes its anger over the Philippines. Homes are torn apart as if they are made of cardboard, roads turn into rivers of slush and mud. In an area where rain is considered normally, a blessing, each drop of water now represents a tear. The tears run over a village, East Samar, forcing about 433 000 people to flee and escape the rising water levels and mountains that lose their feet in mud slides that demolish entire villages. People lose their lives. Bualoi is not a mere name on a weather map, it is a dark hand that grabs everything of value to erase it from the surface.

On board the ship that Danie is visiting, two of the men carry storms within, storms that cannot be silenced by anyone. Mario and Trevor sit quietly in the dining area, but the silence is loud. Their faces seem calm, but they have tornadoes within. The news washes over them like angry waves. Their village was also demolished by a mud slide. The phone on the table is an ominous messenger. It can bring a message of hope, but it can also bring the worst tiding of all... The fear threatens to overcome them. No gear or rope on board their ship can control their stress or thoughts. They are stuck on a battlefield of thoughts and fears. The waiting is like torture of questions without answers. The past night was just a dark sea of dreams in which they try and try again to return home, but always arrive too late.

Danie cannot change anything about Bualoi and its anger, but he is there. He stays for the afternoon and evening, to wait with the two men. They pray, beg and search for comfort in the Word. In between, when words fail, he is comfortable with the silence between them, satisfied to just sit with them. He stays until the message comes that the families of the two men are safe.  They can pray again, read again, but now with new eyes. What if the news had been different? What if they received the dreaded worst news? Then, they would also have prayed and read again. Because the God in whose name Danie came on board, is not only the God of calm seas. It is also the God that commands storms to calm. That is what the CSO does. We are there when storms rage. The emotional and grateful goodbye from Mario en Trevor when Danie finally left to go home, testifies to this.    

Please consider helping us to take care of the people working at sea when storms are raging. Your financial contribution can make a material difference across oceans.

 The ship has become a familiar silhouette against the Platberg in the Cape. The HECTOR N visits the Mother City yet again. If you get the rare opportunity to visit a ship again and again, a very special bond develops: trust, a link and a spiritual friendship that spans oceans. That was how it was for André when he visited the HECTOR N again this week.

Very quickly the grapevine works across radio links and other means of communication. The re-encounter is warm and friendly, as it is when an old friend visits. The giant ship carries a world in itself. It is a floating mosaic of culture and character.

The Philippine men bring with them a spirit of brotherhood. The laughter fills the passages and their loyalty toward each other is like anchors on the stormy seas. The Russians carry with them a silent determination - eyes that have seen much, few words, but carrying a heavy load. The Rumanians on the other hand bear determination and silent power, reminding one of the mountains in their home country - the Carpathian peaks enveloped in mist, standing silently fast against storms for centuries. Then there are a few young men from Ethiopia, from the high plateaus of East Africa, bearing their faith as old as the mountain churches of Lalibela. They are quiet and humble, with eyes full of light, like people that know the spirit is mightier than any ocean. Together they form a family, brought together, not by accident, but by the deep blue ocean.  

Rollie is the chef and as on any ship, the most important man on board. Upon seeing André again, he quickly dries his hands on an oven cloth and greets him with warmth displaying more than mere gratitude. This is where he started a new way... 

A few visits ago he received a Bible in Cebuano from André.  Now he is in a hurry to give feedback again about the ways in which this gift keeps surprising him. At first it was only a reading routine. Now it is an anchor. It is no longer a duty, but a deep desire to live a life in God. Prayer is more than a daily ritual now. This is where he seeks and find peace and quiet. 

From within the ship’s kitchen with its steel walls and seeing the endless horizon, Rollie discovered, step by step, that faith is not fixed to a certain spot, but that it lives everywhere, even here despite machines, noise and isolation. 

For him Cape Town is more than a mere harbour. It is a place for rediscovery - a spiritual anchor point. André’s visits represent more than mere friendship, they are also quiet reminders that God is here too, He is also at sea, He is present. The fact that André revisits the ship again and again, gives him a sense of care - something that every seafaring man needs.

In such moments we realise - our presence, even a brief visit, has a lasting effect. As the CSO we are more than visitors - we are spiritual beacons. When a ship anchors and a familiar face waits at the quay, the crew knows: Here is someone that cares. This is someone that listens. This is someone that prays. Thank you so, so much for making this possible with your donation!

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

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