The Peak of Inspiration

For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?  1 Cor. 14:8

Like a lot of others, my interest in the Titanic disaster has been triggered again, mostly due to the tragedy of the submersible that attempted to reach the wreck a few weeks ago.  In reading and researching a few things, I came across some facts that intrigued me, and from which I think we can take a lesson or two.

Find an image of the Titanic.  Look closely at the smoke stacks.  On the front side of each of them is a vertical pipe with a ladder attached.  This assembly extends up to where the gold paint meets the black.  At this point, the pipe merges into a few fittings, valves, t’s etc.  At the top of all that sit three gold cylinders, one large one in the middle, a medium size one on the right, and the smallest on the left.  These were the ship’s whistles.  They weighed in at 750 pounds and stood about four feet tall. 

The Titanic used them for the same reason any ship would.  They were sounded once a day at noon.  They were blown when leaving port.  But perhaps their most important job was during inclement weather, when visibility was poor or when it was doubly important that other ships would be aware of their presence.  These whistles were exceptional in their size and power.  In good conditions they could be heard for up to eleven miles.  They were the voice of the ship. 

I won’t go into the lessons we could learn from the sinking, the iceberg, the cowards, or the heroes.  There are many lessons there, I am sure.

In 1985 the Titanic wreck was located on the ocean floor, and amongst the carnage they discovered an intact set of the whistles.  In 1993 an expedition was launched to salvage these and bring them up.  They were painstakingly restored.  Six years later the job was completed.

They took the whistles to Union Depot in St. Paul where they were connected to compressed air.  The public was invited to attend the event.   Organizers expected around 2,000 people to attend.  That estimate turned out to be a little on the low side.  100,000 folks came.  The whistles were given two – ten second blasts.  And I think it is safe to say that those whistles affected more people, and affected them more deeply, than any of the times they were blown when the ship was afloat.

I believe, if you have any age on you at all, you can relate to hearing voices from the deep.  When they were with us, we took them for granted.  We heard them every day.  Praying for the meal.  Communicating the day’s plans.  Warning of danger.  Sometimes, maybe a lot of times, we tuned them out. 

But we trusted that voice.  Trusted that it would be there for us.  That it would keep us safe.  That it would sound the alarm when needed. 

But time passed, and a storm came that they could not survive.  Their voice followed them to the grave. 

It’s a little odd, but it seems like their voice refuses to stay buried.  It comes back.  In many ways it isn’t the same, and when I hear it, it affects me differently than it used to.  When I add the context of their final voyage, the final, futile struggle with life, it seems to add a resonance and import to their words that I don’t remember hearing before. 

I hear my father’s daily prayer, I hear him encouraging me to tell the truth.  I hear him sharing a struggle with loving a neighbor.  I can hear his words of support.  I hear his bass voice, singing the bottom line because he could.  And it affects me, again.  At times the influence is greater than when he was with us.

His isn’t the only one.  I had a grandpa, if you knew him you called him Papa Bob.  I hear him sometimes too.  He didn’t sing bass, but that didn’t stop him from singing tenor.  I will never sing “By the River” without hearing an extra tenor voice.  Don’t want to either…  There are many more.  And each one carries a weight, a significance that wasn’t there before.

I can conclude a few things.  First, we will not be here long.  As fine and as unsinkable as we believe our vessel to be, there will come a storm that it cannot survive.  We will make a last voyage.  Probably sooner than we think.  Something is ahead of us that we are no match for.  Maybe we will see it coming, most likely we will not.  And our voice, as we know it, will sink with us. 

But to the ones that we care for, the ones that we love and lead, it will come back.  They will hear it again.  And, here is the sobering truth, at that point it cannot be changed. 

Today is the day.  The time is now.  Don’t be silent.  Let your voice be heard.  But pray that it will make a true sound.  That it will not be uncertain.  That, even from the deep, it can be a guide, a comfort, a reminder of truth.  And while it may not be eloquent or melodious, it will lead to a safe harbor.

I hope that those who hear my voice, whether it be now, or from the deep, will be lead on the right path.  That they will be comforted and encouraged.  That they will hear a certain sound.  Clear and sure.  Let that be my goal.