The Nightwatchman
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
Reading a historical
account concerning whaling in the 1800’s, I came across a peculiar practice
among Nantucketers that sparked a thought. The thought, I admit, involves a
level of imaginative stretching so my caveat at the outset is to admit my
conclusion is more interesting (to me, at least) than definitive or conclusive.
Permit me to spare all the
details and give a general overview, the seed of my thought. One particular
captain lost his ship and spend a number of months adrift at sea with two other
boats. Survival reached the point of desperation that led to cannibalism (an
unspoken yet acceptable practice when necessary among early sea-men). Few men
survived and were eventually rescued. Once back home, the captain returned to
sea in a matter of months and in nearly the same waters as the loss of his
first ship, the second was run aground and he once again returned home.
The Nantucket whaling
community responded to the first tragedy with great compassion, but following
the second disaster, the community was less forgiving. The captain would never
again receive his own command. The only place for him in society was to serve
as night-watchman, beginning each evening by enforcing curfew, then oversee the
town’s safety while the citizens slept. This was the lowest rung on the social
ladder for a sea-man, especially a former captain. Granted, the community did
not shun him, but he was at the bottom socially. This caused me to think about
how and why the nightwatchman became such a low position. Think about this:
people are most vulnerable when asleep and a societal outcast is providing
security.
On one hand, perhaps it is
that the watchman was sleep during the day in order to do his job and remain
out of contact with the general population--nobody has to look at the shameful
man. On the other hand, the community has not given up all hope on the
man--they do still trust him.
Here’s the stretch:
consider how God thinks highly of the watchman, for the safety of everyone
depends on the watchman. Many passages in the Prophets speak to this. He is the
man responsible for life and well-being, for community. God exalts the lowly
position. Furthermore, consider the night of the storm, when the disciples were
out in the boat during the storm. Scripture records “the fourth watch” when
Jesus came walking. The man posted for safety spotted the Ruler of the wind and
waves.
Then there were the Roman
guards, posted at the tomb. Curious to know what they did (if anything) to get
THAT job, only be overcome at the expense of their life because the dead man
they were to guard (to keep him safe or keep the community safe?) rolled away
the stone.
Things I think about.
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
Popular posts from this blog
I’ll Be Gnome For Christmas
The Island-Fish
“O ye passengers, whom may God preserve! come up quickly in to the ship, hasten to embark, and leave your merchandise, and flee with your lives, and save yourselves from destruction; for this apparent island, upon which ye are, is not really an island, but it is a great fish that hath become stationary in the midst of the sea, and the sand hath accumulated upon it, so that it hath become like an island, and trees have grown upon it since times of old; and when ye lighted the fire upon it, the fish felt the heat, and put itself in motion, and now it will descend with you into the sea, and ye will all be drowned: then seek for yourselves escape before destruction, and leave the merchandise.—The passengers, therefore, hearing the words of the master of the ship, hastened to go up into the vessel, leaving the merchandise, and their other goods, and their copper cooking-pots, and their fire-pots; and some reached the ship, and others reached it not. The island had moved, and descended...
“And so, about this tomb of mine . . . “
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...