There is some pleasure in being on board a ship battered by storms when one is certain of not perishing.

Possibly I am something like a ship which, buffeted and pounded by wind and wave, is still afloat and manages in spite of frequent tacks and turnings to stay generally along its plotted course and continues to make some, even if slow and painful, headway.”43

A ship is alive, and he is like a man, with a true man’s heart. Treat him well and care for him properly, and he will fight for you against the worst sea. He will fight to keep you alive even after the sea has long since given him his own deathstroke. Neglect him, though, ignore the small warnings he gives of danger, and he will drown you in a flat sea beneath a cloudless sky.

Even though the ship may go down, the journey goes on.

The other day I was at Depford, and saw a ship launched — she slipped easily into the water; the people on board shouted; the ship looked clean and gay, she was freshly painted, and her colours flying. But I looked at her with a sort of pity, “Poor ship!” I thought, “you are now in port and in safety; but ere long you must go to sea. Who can tell what storms you may meet with hereafter, and to what hazards you may be exposed; how weather-beaten you may be before you return to port again, or whether you may return at all!”

Then my thoughts turned from the ship to my child. It seemed an emblem of your present state; you are now, as it were, in a safe harbour; but by and by you must launch out into the world, which may well be compared to a tempestuous sea. I could even now almost weep at the resemblance. But I take courage; my hopes are greater than my fears. I know there is an infallible Pilot, who has the winds and the waves at his command. There is hardly a day passes, in which I do not entreat him to take charge of you. Under his care I know you will be safe. He can guide you, unhurt, amidst the storms, and rocks, and dangers, by which you might otherwise suffer; and bring you, at last, to the haven of eternal rest!

I am not afraid of storms, for I am leaning how to sail my ship.

Man cannot spend all his time doing evil, and even in the company of pirates there must be some sweet moments on their sinister ship when you feel as if you were aboard a pleasure yacht.

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.

I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship.

I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship.

Being in a ship is like being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.

A ship in port is safe; but that is not what ships are built for. Sail out to sea and do new things.

The Church here is not subject to the kind of persecution that it experienced in the 17th century during Saint Oliver's ministry, nor as it is in many other parts of the world today. But I don't think you have to be paranoid to believe that there is a kind of persecution of the Church taking place here all the same. It is not physical persecution but it is no less real for that. It is more subtle. It takes the form of gradual exclusion of Church people or activities from the public space.

Sitting calmly on a ship in fair weather is not a metaphor for having faith; but when the ship has sprung a leak, then enthusiastically to keep the ship afloat by pumping and not to seek the harbor — that is the metaphor for having faith. (Concluding Unscientific Postscript)