Into every life, points from which there can be no turning back.
Yes, I am on this rollercoaster, I am feeling the “thunk” of the restraint that will hold me in place. I am hearing the rattle as the coaster starts up, up, up. There is nothing I can do now if I change my mind about the ride ahead…
Yes, I am on this airplane taxiing down the runway. It is leaving the ground…
Yes, I am on this gurney. The anesthesia is taking hold, and I am losing consciousness…
Most of the time, these points of no return represent temporary departures. The plane lands. The surgery is concluded. Life goes on.
Rollercoaster rides of the literal variety last a few minutes at most.
But… rollercoaster rides of the metaphorical variety can last a very, very long time.
Rollercoasters, real and surreal
At the amusement park, riding the rollercoaster is always a matter of choice – nobody makes you get on.
In life, though, that point of no return can arrive without our permission – unwelcome, even terrifying. A medical diagnosis. A betrayal. A pink slip. A traffic accident. A global pandemic. Fill in the blank.
At the amusement park, the ride has a clear beginning, middle, and end. You can scope out the route ahead of time, so’s to anticipate the big descents and sudden twists. In life, the duration and the content of the ride are always mysteries. And the ride itself almost always lasts much longer than we think we can endure.
The screams that come out of us on those metaphorical rollercoasters may be silent, but they are far deeper and more visceral than anything heard at Six Flags.
Metaphorical rollercoasters = no escape from the agony
How did we get here?
All castaway on a lonely shore
I can see in your eyes, dear
It’s hard to take for a moment more…
“Burn the Ships”, a favorite song of JoJo’s by For King and Country, sets the scene of helpless desperation as effectively as King David does in Psalm 69:
I sink in deep mire,
where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters,
and the flood sweeps over me.
I am weary with my crying;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God.
No-turning-back, sick-stomach-falling of the soul echoes across the centuries – silent screams from generations strapped in where they did not choose for what they cannot control.
Strapped in and moving… and then what?
What to do, when the restraint is locked in place and the forward momentum has begun and there is no turning back and it is real life we are talking about, not some afternoon’s entertainment?
For King and Country suggests whole-hearted surrender:
We’ve got to
Burn the ships, cut the ties
Send a flare into the night
Say a prayer, turn the tide
Dry your tears and wave goodbyeStep into a new day
This commitment to being fully present in the place of unchosen terror is radical and (quite frankly) looks lunatic, except for the assumption that God is going ahead, making a way. King David helps us out here, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil… for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4)
The alternative to the focused surrender David describes? A lethal distraction. Recall the different fates of Lot and Lot’s wife, both unwilling refugees from epic disaster. He faced forward, following God out toward the future; she faced backward, lamenting what was lost in the past. He lived; she died.
The beloved old hymn translates that stark, sharp reality into an inspirational call to trusting God:
I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
I have decided to follow Jesus;
No turning back, no turning back…The world behind me, the cross before me,
The world behind me, the cross before me;
The world behind me, the cross before me;
No turning back, no turning back.
Psalm 69’s version of this paradigm is explicitly celebratory. Up to his neck in the mire, shuddering under the injustice and cruelty of his enemies, David insists on adoration.
I will praise the name of God with a song;
I will magnify him with thanksgiving.
31 This will please the Lord more than an ox
or a bull with horns and hoofs.
32 Let the oppressed see it and be glad;
you who seek God, let your hearts revive.
33 For the Lord hears the needy,
and does not despise his own that are in bonds.
This about-face of David’s, mid-Psalm, spells out his trust in God through a commitment to look ahead, straight at the whatever-it-is, rather than risk whiplash with backward glances.
And David makes explicit what For King and Country and “I have decided” just imply: it is the presence of God that makes the suffering of “now” bearable. It is the gift of God that drains the power of pain, loneliness, fear. Only God is truly bigger than any circumstances; only God’s goodness is sufficient at all times. But God IS bigger, better, able, and willing. Always.
Boat burning as worship
What does it mean, to “burn the ships”? What are the implications of such a sentiment, sung as a hymn of praise to God?
Ancient Persians. Vikings. Normans. Conquistadors. All of these people groups burned ships, routinely. This tactic, in military history, was the ultimate commitment to the present moment: the literal elimination of the option of retreat.
Cortes famously torched his ships on arrival in Venezuela in 1519. Those burned boats demonstrated to his army that no matter what they were marching into, that was their only option – there was no way back to where they’d begun. The New World held unseen, unknown terrors, but there was no way back to Spain. So, onward!
For invading armies, boat-burning provided the ultimate focus. Without an escape route, victory became an imperative. The only option. For King and Country takes this military strategy and leverages it for Christian application.
There is no going back, there is only going forward – so choose to go!
Choose the here and now!
Choose to focus on the One who is leading into the fray, rather than on the fray itself (or the far country of the past).
So long to shame, walk through the sorrow
Out of the fire into tomorrow
So flush the pills, face the fear
Feel the wave disappear
We’re comin’ clear, we’re born again
Our hopeful lungs can breathe again
Oh, we can breathe again
What we can choose when we have no choices
Holocaust survivor Victor Frankl said, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
In Christian terms, that means choosing to fix our eyes on Jesus regardless of what’s happening to us or how we feel about it.
Burning our boats behind us means deliberately committing ourselves to being fully present in the now and whole-heartedly trusting in God’s capacity to bring victory to whatever our circumstances.
Regret, nostalgia, “what if…” – all those boats to nowhere up in smoke so we are undistracted in our focus on the future we have in Christ.
No, we don’t get to choose the “ride” in life.
But we do get to choose our focus.
And we do get to claim the assurance that – when Jesus is our focus – nothing will be able to derail us or cheat us of the joy of arriving safely at our destination.
Step into a new day
We can rise up from the dust and walk away
We can dance upon our heartache, yeah
So light a match, leave the past, burn the ships
And don’t you look back.
