Church on the Choppy Seas: Discipline on Deck (Titus 2:15--3:2)

The crew of sailors howled and jeered, hooted and hollered, crooned and spat. The lot of them were drunk. John was used to it. He was one of them. He'd seen it on every ship he'd been on, and ever since he was a teenager, he'd been on plenty. He'd been a halfway-decent kid when he started out. But being around sailors like these, well, he thought about it as the 'ruin' of his principles, their 'ill example' set for him. Bearing their whip-scarred backs as a badge of pride, they drank, they caroused, they were vulgar and filthy, they ran hither and yon, they cultivated smut like it was their garden, they cursed like it was an Olympic sport and they were aiming for the gold, they dreamed of a pirate life and from time to time whispered of mutiny.

John was notorious for the same. He remembered his penchant for composing dirty songs mocking the captain and secretly teaching all the rest of the crew. He remembered the day he was slow to get out of bed, so another midshipman sliced the cords to his hammock and dropped him unceremoniously to the deck. He remembered how his youthful faith had been snuffed to ashes by the schemes of clever atheists aboard the vessel. He recalled that evening of drinking where he'd gotten so wasted, drinking rum concoctions from a seashell, that he'd “danced about the deck like a madman” and tried to hurl himself overboard. And he'd seen the rest of the crew do nothing less. They blasphemed, they mocked, they were drunk so very enthusiastically. Even in the wake of near destruction, they soon forgot all about it, took no thought to the implications of their mortality. John alone did, and he had “reveled in all the sottish debaucheries and in all the murderous brutalities in which the crews of such vessels engage.” John was the sole sailor who let his heart be moved, though he was “notorious amongst rough and godless sailors for his blasphemy and cruelty.”

So John was unsurprised as he watched the sailors howl and jeer, hoot and holler, croon and spit, as they mocked everything. They mocked God, they mocked Christ, they mocked John, they mocked each other's mothers and fathers, they mocked the captain and the midshipmen, they mocked the wind and the waves, they mocked kings and queens, presidents and prime ministers – they had a crude epithet for everything under the sun, not to mention the sun and every higher thing, too. They were quite as toxic, quite as grave a mess, as any bilge-scum that polluted the brig, as any rats that gnawed their rations or any scurvy-spotted bloody stain.

In time, John would learn the Scriptures – he had to, before he could sing of the sweet sound of God's amazing grace – and no doubt his memories of crews like that resonated with Paul's description of some people as “foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating each other” (Titus 3:3). Paul was writing, of course, to Titus, the admiral he'd appointed over the fleet of churches they'd built together in Crete, a large island of the Mediterranean, south of the Grecian coast. And over the past five weeks – this will be our sixth – we've been considering Paul's letter to Titus as something like a naval manual, something like an injunction to Vice-Admiral Titus for each ship in the fleet to take to heart.

And as we sail over the choppy waters of our own twenty-first-century American culture, just as Titus tried to bolster his fleet for the choppy seas of first-century Cretan culture, well, there's plenty for him to teach us. We've learned the importance of maintaining a sure anchor in a God who never lies – God whose promises cut through all the untruth and half-truth and 'post-truth' nonsense swirling around us. We've learned the importance of the radiant light of Christ, who shines from the lighthouse with twin beams of grace accomplished at the cross and glory turning 'round our way. We've learned the value of looking up to the star-chart laid out in the Scriptures, the pattern of Christ written as a Heavenly Sign by which to navigate toward the harbor of God's embrace. And given how toxic and diseased the waters are, we've learned the imperative of swabbing the deck clean from any compromised half-gospel and of having good officers at the helm who can steer the ship right and administer healthy teaching to keep spiritual scurvy at bay.

And given that we – each of us, Paul says – had rather too much in common with the sailors of John Newton's acquaintance, these ships' officers are charged to announce the grace and truth of Jesus Christ authoritatively, definitively, life-savingly, life-changingly. And they are charged with the responsibility to wield that same hefty burden of authority to correct and direct, to challenge and guide, all the sailors on this new churchly ship. That's why Paul says to Titus, “Declare these things; exhort and rebuke with all authority. Let no one disregard you” (Titus 2:15). He wants to underscore the authority that Titus rightly wields to discipline his fleet, and which those whom Titus appoints as officers on each ship in the fleet will rightly wield to discipline their crews as they share in Titus' commission. Because it's very important that there be discipline on deck. The church cannot afford to be staffed by the sort of sailors Newton knew, at least without them being brought to heel and changed inside and out.

So what does it look like for a church-ship to have discipline on deck, discipline from port to starboard, from bow to stern, and in the bunks and the mess as much as up on deck, for that matter? First, Paul says, the spirit of mutiny has to be put to death. And Titus knew that was going to be a hard sell to the churches of Crete. Crete was infamous as a haven of rebellion. Centuries earlier, one Greek writer named Polybius commented that the populace of Crete was famously “engaged in countless public and private rebellions, murders and civil wars.” Polybius said that, “with few exceptions, you could find no habits prevailing in private life more steeped in treachery than those in Crete, and no public policy more inequitable” (Histories 6.46-47). The spirit of mutiny thrived in ancient Crete – and, I dare say, in modern America no less, which routinely sees its share of “public and private rebellions, murders and civil wars,” if not always the literal bloody kind. And is the American church really, truly immune from the spirit of mutiny, as it ought to be? I don't think anybody could believe it is.

And so the Apostle Paul, writing with Luke, commands Titus, “Remind them to be submissive to rulers and authorities, to be obedient” (Titus 3:1). No doubt Paul is including the realm of civil society. The Christians of first-century Crete aren't to join in the rebellious frenzy of their neighbors. They're to set an example of orderly life, respecting and deferring to the governors sent there by the Roman Senate, even though the Cretan people had no hand in choosing them. They didn't ask for Lucius Turpilius Dexter, who ruled the island as proconsul when Paul wrote this letter to Titus; neither would they ask for Lucius' successor, Titus Atilius Rufus, or any of the rest before or after. How much more should we then have a healthy and respectful attitude toward the politicians of our days, advising and exhorting as need be but in a spirit of respect and not of mutiny?

And yet the American church is hardly known for being a mediating and peacemaking force in politics and civil life. But we should be. Paul says so right here, in black-and-white. We may well disagree vehemently with the policies and behavior of any civil ruler or any civil authority. We may well, as citizens of a republic, be the theoretical source of the authority any elected official wields. But does that negate the force of Paul's words? Does that release us from the obligation to bear witness by the attitude we bring into our engagement with civil rulers, civil authorities, and the law of the land?

But Paul probably has more than just civil rulers and civil authorities in view. He's writing this letter through Luke, and Luke used the same combination of words once: “When they bring you before the synagogues and the rulers and the authorities, do not be anxious about how you should defend yourself or what you should say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say” (Luke 12:11-12). Luke probably talks here about synagogue rulers, religious authorities. And in this letter, it comes right on the heels of talking about Titus' authority, which he is commanded to enforce. Titus must remind the churches to be submissive and obedient to church authorities, like himself and the overseers he appoints (cf. Titus 1:5-9). Let's face it: church discipline is not a popular topic today. We withhold support, we rebel, if something doesn't suit us. We balk at the idea that anyone has any authority to correct and direct us, least of all by imposing discipline on us. We don't like obedience. But, well, there it is, isn't it? In our denomination, one of the questions that must be asked to candidates for membership is, “Will you submit in the Lord to the government of this church and, in case you are found delinquent in doctrine or life, will you submit to its discipline?” To which, if you are a member of the church, you answered, “I will, the Lord being my helper.” That was right before you promised to “seek to be faithful by attendance, and participate in public worship, fellowship, study, and service opportunities of this congregation.” Are you loyal to those promises? We have a God above to answer to.

But Paul's directions for discipline on deck go beyond submission to rulers and authorities. He also insists that the church's crew “blaspheme no one” (Titus 3:2). John Newton saw many sailors crudely curse God, Christ, the captain, each other, slandering everything holy and reputable. Paul forbids us to be like that. Not only must we not blaspheme God, which I hope we understand, but we may not blaspheme anyone – we may not drag any name through the mud. We may not rant and rave our abusive complaints about anybody. And that's hard for us – we're fond of griping. Younger generations are fond these days of blaspheming the older ones; and, just as in every age, older generations routinely blaspheme the younger ones. Democrats blaspheme Republicans, and Republicans blaspheme Democrats. Urbanites blaspheme country folk, and country folk turn around and blaspheme city-slickers. Move aside, baseball: blasphemy may be our new national pastime. But the church's crew is meant to be totally free of it. Scripture reports that even the Archangel Michael, the heavenly prince charged with Israel's protection, didn't dare to blaspheme even Satan (Jude 9). How can we justify blaspheming any earthly thing and drag its name through the mud? Blaspheme no one; slander no one.

Paul goes on. He says that the church's crew must “avoid quarreling,” or as the King James has it, “to be no brawlers” (Titus 3:2). I like that rendering. It's the opposite of what John Newton saw among sailors in his day – fistfights breaking out, fighting words blasting forth from gnarled lips, recreational violence as a cure for the boredom of oceanic monotony. No doubt some in the Cretan churches, before their conversion, were literally brawlers – belligerent people, ready to pick fights. For the most part, rural and small-town Lancaster County has a different culture. But perhaps there are some among us who, if not physically violent, nevertheless always seem to pick a squabble with somebody. Paul tells us to be no brawlers, and that includes verbally, emotionally, relationally. He tells us not to pick fights – and if our personal lives are perpetually full of them, maybe it's us.

And then Paul tells us “to be gentle” (Titus 3:2). That's an attitude. It's a civil attitude, a reasonable attitude, an attitude of moderation – exactly the sort of thing John Newton didn't see often on deck. It's an attitude and an approach of relaxing the letter of the law to fit the spirit of the law. It's an attitude that's fair, that's mild, that's suitable for the occasion. It's, well, gentle. 'Gentle' may not be a word you'd use for those who sail the seven seas, much of the time, but it's the word Paul wants used for those who sail aboard the HMS Church! Are we gentle? Are we fair and even-handed? Do we take into account the challenges that others might be facing, and treat them accordingly? Are we ready to lift up the fallen and cheer the faint-hearted?

Paul then tells us to “prove meekness to all people” (Titus 3:2). Some translations render it as 'show perfect courtesy.' Others try 'gentle' here. Still others go with 'humility.' But the idea is one of restraint. Our conduct is to be a proof that, whatever strength and energy we have, we have it under control. We restrain our strength, we restrain our energy, we restrain ourselves, out of consideration for others. When we have a tendency to go too fast, we slow down. When we have a tendency to get ahead of ourselves, we hold up. When we have a propensity to steamroll, we take a step back. When our first instinct is to push hard, we restrain ourselves. And that is a demonstration, a display of visible strength visibly under control, visibly tamed by the gospel. Have you been tamed by the gospel?

It's important that we are, because the one other direction Paul gives us is “to be ready for every good work” (Titus 3:1). God has a lot of work that needs doing on this earth, and for those of you who farm, have you ever tried to catch a wild horse and hook him straight up to the plow? Good luck with that! They need to be tamed, broke, domesticated, before they have a share in the labor. So must we. But once we're visibly tamed by the gospel, there's work to be done. All sorts of work, as a matter of fact. All sorts of good work out there. Sharing the gospel – there's a good work. Offering shelter to the homeless – there's a good work. Nursing the sick back to health; encouraging the downcast; feeding the hungry; setting free the captive; forgiving the hurtful; showing mercy to the offensive; sharing the good things of creation with those who lack – those are all good works. And there are many more, countless forms of the works of mercy and works of piety.

Paul tells us here that we do not each have a certain limited subset of good works we should be on the lookout for. I don't get to drive down the street, see someone hurt and bleeding by the side of the road, and think to myself, “Well, my good work is forgiving people, not dealing with that.” Nor do I get to hear someone express spiritual anguish and think to myself, “But my good work is feeding the hungry and offering hospitality, not talking about Jesus.” Paul talks about “every good work” here, for all of us. We don't know what opportunities for good work God will put in each of our paths. It could be this one, it could be that one. It may suit our specialty, or it may not. But whichever one it is, Paul tells us we need to be “ready.” Vigilant. Prepared. Fit for the circumstance, whatever the circumstance will be. That's a hard thing! That's a whole-life thing, to really be ready for every good work. And without the resources of the Spirit in us, we can't do it. But when the Spirit fills our sails, we – each of us, and the church together – can be ready for every good work.

Submissive to rulers and authorities. Obedient. Ready for every good work. Blaspheming no one. Avoiding all quarreling. Gentle. Demonstrating full meekness toward all people, knowing what a difference it made that we were saved from our former slavery and foolishness by “the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior” (Titus 3:4). These are all things Titus has to insist on, “so that those who have trusted in God may be careful to devote themselves to good works” that are “excellent and beneficial for people” (Titus 3:8).

John Newton knew full well, and we can readily imagine, what a ship looked like when the sailors were vulgar and uncouth and brawling and blasphemous and rough and filthy and undisciplined. And such a ship is a brutal mess. That is not the sort of fleet Paul wants to see. Nor is it the sort of fleet Jesus wants to see. Christ longs to see a fleet full of ships that have discipline on deck. Only with discipline on deck can the ship itself be ready for whatever maneuvers the Lord commands; only with discipline on deck can the ship offer a true alternative to the storms of chaos that roil the air and sea outside; only with discipline on deck can the ship sail safely and securely for the good of crew and cargo and for the attainment of her mission. May we be just such a ship, with just such discipline on our deck; may you be the kind of crew Paul prays for the ships of this fleet to have. Take heed, O church, to these words – and sail on. Amen.