Swimming in the Deep End

"Swimming in the Deep End"
Mark 1:16-20


I love to swim.  I pretty much have always loved being in the water.  I was fortunate to grow up next to a golf course our family belonged to, that also had a swimming pool.  And Lake Washington was just over the hill.  I swam on the swim team and played water polo every summer through junior high and high school.  Swimming was just great fun for me as a kid.  There is something about swimming that is sensual and makes me feel alive.  But it took a huge risk on my part to become comfortable in the water.

As a child, I liked the feel of my feet on the bottom of the pool.  I liked to keep my head above water.  The deep end especially scared me.  No amount of prodding or teasing by my friends could make me venture out past where my feet wouldn’t touch the bottom with my head still above water.  If I went into the deep end, I’d cling to the wall and pull myself along until I got to the ladder and then I’d quickly climb out.

I remember the time I first really swam in the deep end.  Our family was on vacation.  We were swimming in a motel pool.  For some reason, my father had brought along a couple of bright orange life preservers on the trip.  I don’t know why.  He came out to the pool while the five of us kids were swimming.  He was carrying a life preserver.  He asked me to get out of the pool, so he could strap the thing on me.  Nothing says “LOSER” like wearing a huge, bright orange life vest in a tiny motel pool.  Then he informed me that he wanted me to jump into the deep end.  Off the diving board.

Now the diving board was another one of my fears.  I had never jumped off a diving board either.  I’m afraid of heights, and even that little height above the water looked like jumping off a cliff to me.  I had gotten on a diving board before, but when I got out to the end and looked down, I would get down on all fours and crawl back and get off.  I would watch my friends go flying off the end of the diving board.  They would squeal like stuck pigs, but I just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it.

But that day, at the motel, on our family vacation, my father was forcing me, with life preserver tightly strapped on, to jump off the diving board into the deep end.  I stood at the end of the diving board looking down, way down, at the gyrating surface of the aqua water of the pool.  I think I stood there at least a couple of hours.  My father was down in the water waiting to catch me if and when I jumped.

I found out later he could barely swim himself.  I was probably lucky we didn’t both drown that day.  I stood there.  Then I’d get down on all fours, and plead with him not to make me do this.  Then I’d stand back up, turn around and look back longingly at the ladder to the diving board.  All the while I was hearing my father, while treading water, encouraging me to jump.  Then his encouragement turned into demands and irritation.  All the other guests around the pool were chanting, “Jump, Stephen, jump; jump Stephen, jump!”

Finally, I squeezed my eyes shut hard and jumped.  I hit the water to the cheers of everyone who was glad the ordeal was finally over.  My father held on to me for a moment, then to my horror, let me go, and pushed me away.  I floated there in the deep end, dangling, reaching with my too short legs, frantically extending for something solid to stand on.

And then it happened.  A feeling of enjoyment started creeping into my five or six year old psyche.  I felt weightless.  I felt free.  The deep end was actually not a horror, like I had so long imagined.  It was fun.  Really fun!

That was the summer the deep end and I became friends.  It wasn’t long before the life jacket came off, and I was dog-paddling with delight all over the deep end.  It took a while longer to become friends with the diving board.  But with my fear of the deep end vanquished, the diving board didn’t seem quite so ominous anymore.

The fall of one fear lead to the conquering of other fears.  That summer, I became like an otter in the water.  I went on to become a fairly fast swimmer and a fairly good water polo player--a sport where you aren’t allowed to touch bottom at any time, even in the shallow end.


I have a feeling that’s how most of us take risks when we are faced with going out of our depth.  Most of us are gradual risk takers.  We stick our toes in.  We sit by the side with our feet swishing the surface.  We crawl over the side.  We go down one or two steps of the ladder.  We push off from the wall but quickly return.  We take our time, until we feel we’re comfortable taking the full risk of pushing off for the middle where there is no safety.

By definition, that’s what it means to take a risk.  It means to put ourselves in a place or position of being unsafe.  It means taking a chance in the face of danger.  It means exposing yourself to the possibility of some kind of harm, either physical or emotional.  It means going out on thin ice, that may hold you up.  But it may not.  Taking a risk means putting yourself in harms way.

And, by definition, taking a risk also means the promise of some reward.  That’s the double headed dragon of risk taking.  It’s the dual possibility of real danger, and the promise of gaining something really valuable.  Someone once said, “Don’t be afraid to go out on a limb--that’s where the fruit is.”  That’s the yin and yang of risk:  the branch you’re on may break, but the only way to get the most luscious fruit is to take the chance.

That’s why the stories of the disciples of Jesus are so amazing to me.  Jesus simply said, “Follow me,” and they left the only life they knew, their father, their fishing buddies that they had grown up with--left it all to follow a guy they didn’t know.  Nor could they ever know where it would all lead.  What a risk!

That’s what true risk is all about, isn’t it?  It’s taking a chance that gets you way out of your comfort zone.  At some point you have to get further in than the shallow end.

Some people take risks simply for the thrill, the rush.  All those extreme sports people are, in my mind, bordering on the edge of insanity.  Like the guys in the show, Jackass, who put themselves in positions of danger or extreme embarrassment.  These are the kinds of people who take stupid risks.

But you can also take a risk in the hopes of achieving some higher goal.  You put what is comfortable and sure, what you know for certain, at risk for the chance of achieving some great goal.  Like the disciples.

I read about a minister who had some friends who were high trapeze acrobats at a circus.  He came to watch them rehearse for their show.  Then the trapeze artists called down to the minister and beckoned him to climb up and try it.  Just like the people around the pool the day I jumped into the deep end, onlookers began chanting, “Do it, do it, do it…”

Finally the minister gave in and began to climb the tall pole to the platform above.  When he got up there and looked down, he said he felt like he was on the top of a mountain looking out over the world.  Everyone below looked miniature.

They gave him instructions on what he had to do to swing out, jump from his swing, and be caught by the partner swinging over from the other side.  (I need to add there was a safety net below.  Still, I would have never even climbed a couple of rungs on that pole.)

The moment of truth came.  The other trapeze artist began his swinging back and forth from the other side.  The ones coaching the minister told him when he should jump from the platform in order to meet the other swinging man.  “Go, go, go…” the onlookers were chanting from below.

The minister jumped and swung out.  He let go of his swing, was caught by the other trapeze artist and swung back to safety to the other platform.  Everyone below let out a tremendous cheer.

Once down on the ground, the minister caught his breath and then said to those gathered around, “I’ve learned some valuable lessons today.  First, you can’t experience what I just experienced if you don’t first jump.  That first step off the platform of my comfort was so scary.  But nothing that happened after that would have happened if I didn’t take the chance and jump.

“Secondly, you can’t grab on to the other who is waiting to catch you if you don’t first let go of your own swing.  The only thing holding you up, your only security in the world is that swing.  But in order to do what you have to do, you have to be willing to let it go and grasp for the one waiting.  You have to let go entirely of your swing, because that’s the only way to span the chasm between you both.  The swing isn’t long enough to reach, so you have to totally let go, if you are going to reach the other by flying out into insecure air.

“And lastly, you have to totally trust the strength and skill of the one who is reaching out to catch you.  If you have no confidence in the other, you would never be willing to take the risk in the first place to let go of your swing.”

The lessons of the minister on the high trapeze are good ones.  You have to jump to reach what God has for you, as scary as that is.  You have to let go of old forms of security to reach the future God has for you.  You will certainly, at some point, be in a state of being totally unattached--where you are between the security you just let go of and the new security you are reaching out for.  That is risky and scary.

The most important lesson is trusting the one who is reaching out for you.  For the disciples it was Jesus.  Do you trust Christ to catch you, to hold on to you, and bring you safely to your new future?  Your whole jump depends on the answer to that question.  Are you willing to take a risk with Christ?  Or will you, like I did so many times on the diving board, shrink back and climb down in order to hold on to the old and familiar?  God has something new for you in your life as a disciple and as a church.  Will you take the risk?