There’s an old story of a warship out on the sea on a foggy night. The captain sees a light just ahead that is on a collision course with his ship. Immediately the captain radios ahead, “Sir,” he says, “we are on a collision course. Please change your course ten degrees.”
“Thank you for the warning, sir,” comes the reply, quickly, “but I’ll need you to change your course ten degrees.”
“Sir,” replies the captain, already irritated, “I am a captain. Please change your course!”
“I understand, sir,” comes the reply, “I am a second lieutenant, but you’ll need to change your course.”
With his voice raised to a fever pitch, the captain barks, “Young man, I am a warship. Change your course immediately!”
“Sorry, sir, I am a lighthouse. Change your course ten degrees.”
With the captain’s new knowledge, we are not at all surprised at what he does: He quickly changes his course ten degrees.
Lighthouses, you see, don’t move. We do, because they are stable. They are set deep into the ground. Really, they are “immovable.” It doesn’t matter the rank of the officer or the size of the warship, the lighthouse is not going to move to accommodate a ship. Ships must alter their course, adjust their direction, change their purpose in relationship to the lighthouse.
You understand.
There are some principles, some standards, some morals that must set as immovable lighthouses in our lives. We cannot trust our lives to somebody standing on the shore waving a flashlight. We need lighthouses! We need tall, steady, dependable, life-directing lights to guide us, to keep our ships from washing violently into the rocky shoals of the shore.
Friends, when you have such a lighthouse guiding your life, sail confidently: It will lead you safely home.
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