Nebraska Synod ELCA

By Bishop Scott Alan Johnson

Dear siblings in Christ,

There is an ancient philosophical thought experiment about the ship of Theseus that’s worth considering in light of this month’s theme, “Always Being Made New.” The experiment revolves around Theseus, the ancient founder-king of Athens, who rescued the children of his city from King Minos of Crete by slaying the ancient Minotaur, escaping from his labyrinth, and sailing with the children to the island of Delos. Every year, Athenians would sail the ship of Theseus from Athens to Delos in honor of Theseus’ victory and to worship the Greek god Apollo. As the ship aged, its boards would warp and rot, and would need to be replaced when they were beyond repair, which led to the thought experiment: after centuries of repair and maintenance, if all of the original boards or other equipment had been replaced, so that none of the boards, sails, oars or other equipment that had actually sailed from Crete to Delos with Theseus were left, was the ‘ship of Theseus’ still the same ship?

Some of you reading this may know that nautical imagery is all over the history of the church of Jesus Christ. There are congregations in all traditions that refer to the primary worship space as the nave, which of course descends from the Latin navis, meaning “ship.” Some naves are built in such a way as to resemble the hold of a sailing ship, or have a ship in the nave itself to make the connection far more obvious. These metaphors and images are derived from the many stories of Jesus at sea with his disciples, and are meant to convey both the sense of adventure that comes with following Jesus and also the reassurance that Jesus will keep his people safe, just as Jesus kept his contemporary disciples safe in the most perilous storms. All of this is well and good, but this week I want to ask a different question. It’s been 2,000 years since Jesus walked the world with humans. The stories have changed. We’ve long since said goodbye to the people and artifacts that were in Galilee with Jesus all those centuries ago, no matter what we might believe about ancient relics and the names and places of Jesus’ time that have endured to our modern age. Are we still in the ship of Jesus?

This is something all of us will need to answer for ourselves, but as I ponder these questions, I come at my answers from a slightly different direction. The thought experiment about Theseus’ ship has to do with composition and identity, collectivism and temporal boundaries, and while there are plenty of people who disagree, most philosophers agree that at some point the ‘ship of Theseus’ ceased being the same ship that sailed to Crete and Delos, even if it was only the replacement of the last original piece that made it so. But what if we thought about the ship of Theseus in terms of its purpose? What if, instead of sailing to commemorate an ancient epic story, the ship of Theseus put to sea to rescue children every single time? What if, in pursuit of its purpose, the ship of Theseus didn’t just replace wood with wood, but took on iron and steel pieces as it continued to navigate the waters of the Aegean Sea throughout the centuries? What if sails gave way to steam engines, which in their turn gave way to nuclear power plants? What if the captains of the ship of Theseus picked up tools like compasses, astrolabes, and sextants as they became available, then also radar, sonar, and modern GPS technology, all in pursuit of being the best children-rescuing ship it could be? If the ship of Theseus were defined by its purpose instead of its composition, wouldn’t it still be the same ship even if it looked nothing like what it was when its prow first cleaved the waters of the Mediterranean? 

This ship of faith we sail with Jesus looks nothing like what it did when Peter walked on the water, or when James and John hauled in their suddenly teeming nets, or when Paul barely survived being shipwrecked during his final trip to Rome. Mr. “LOOK AT THE BIG LETTERS I WRITE WITH MY OWN HAND!” wouldn’t have recognized a printing press, or a spine-bound book, to say nothing of what he might do if he saw me writing this letter on an Apple MacBook, but Paul would have recognized the work we do, because our purpose has never changed: to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, the good news for all who sail the seas of human life together. 

This is the ship of Jesus, and it is always being made new, because it is defined by its purpose, not its composition. The boards are not the same; the oars have been replaced by better propulsion methods; we use the best navigation tools at our disposal rather than hugging the coastline; all of these things are true, but the ship is the same ship that set sail when Jesus said, “Go, make disciples…and remember, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” It’s still his ship, he’s still with us through the power of his Spirit, and we continue our work, always being made new.

Yours in Christ,

Bishop Scott Johnson