Novel
Sermons – The Gospel in Literature and Live
1.
“Hast Seen the White Whale”
Moby Dick by Herman
Melville
Romans
12:9-21
First
Presbyterian Church
The
Reverend Donald Ray
June
28, 2009
When Tom first proposed the idea of sermons from
novels I responded, “That’s a novel idea.” After
agreeing to the summer theme, I then had to deal with how to do that, and
continue to deal with, how to do that. A
sermon from Scripture usually has the narrow focus of a few verses from the Old
or New Testament. The assumption is
that the material has some significance in the church. A
whole novel and traditionally no such assumption, in the few minutes of a
sermon—well here goes.
My practice long has been to take the handful of
verses, say from Mark’s Gospel, and with their content in mind, read the whole
book for an understanding of what the writer was seeking to convey and how the
portion in question fits into the plot of the Gospel. In
the perspective of Alexander Shai’s Quadratos, it becomes evident that it is
that “plot” of each of the Gospel’s that is instructive to any individual
lectionary readings.
I selected Moby Dick because of reference to it in
my explorations of the beat culture last summer prompting me to buy a copy. Though
counted a classic, my rural public school education was short on literary
exploits so I had never read it. I
started last year but got sidetracked, making a mental note to pick it up again
this year. With the motivation of
“Novel sermons,” as I would do with the Gospel of Mark, I sat with pad and
pen and read Moby Dick, listing page numbers where an idea, a thought, a phrase
grabbed my attention.
Not a bad way to read a novel. With
fiction, it’s easy to get caught up in the intrigue of the plot or bogged down
in some tangent the author appears to pursue and miss important points along the
road.
There are uncanny parallels between “the
Gospels” and Moby Dick. Matthew
and its counterparts cover a three year span of Jesus’ life with travelogue,
words of wisdom, drama and the failings of humanity central to the plot. Moby
Dick follows the three year whaling voyage of the Pequod, the day to day account
peppered with wisdom, rife with drama. If
we define Gospel as witness to the Christ, to Spirit, to church in which Jesus
is the lead character, then Moby Dick is Gospel, rife with faith and spirit and
stretching of traditional religion, all while one of the most tragic of
humanity’s flaws burns.
For others who have not read, or did so too long
ago to recall, the plot of Moby Dick is the relentless pursuit of the great
white whale by Captain Ahab maddened with vengeance having lost a leg to Moby
Dick in their previous encounter. Fitted
with a whale bone peg leg, Ahab commands the Pequod and crew through all the
seas sperm whales swim, every ship they meet no matter what nation or origin,
Ahab hails with but one question; “Hast seen the white whale?” If
“no” he tarries not, continuing his own search.
Opportunities to fill the Pequod’s hold with
whale oil—the purpose of the voyage, he gives token attention. The
Bachelor, another
But, I’m off pursuing the plot when there are
along the way gems we would be remiss to neglect; gems of discovery, speculation
in fate and omens, weighty decisions offering wisdom for the voyage of life. Not
unlike verses from the Gospel of Mark, I share a few highlights from the
gospel-- according to Herman Melville.
Ishmael, our story teller who while awaiting the
sailing of his Nantucket whaling ship, the Pequod, shares a bed at the inn with
the savage harpooner, Queequeg. After
each attending the New Bedford Whaleman’s Chapel, Queequeg extends the
invitation for his new friend to join him in his ritual before his little wooden
idol.
“I was a good Christian; born and bred in the
infallible Presbyterian Church.” (Thinking
now there might be something to this ‘novel’ idea?) How
then could I unite with this wild idolater in worshipping his piece of wood? But
what is worship? thought I. Do you
suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—pagans and
all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of black wood? Impossible!
But what is worship?—to do the
will of God—that is worship. And
what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man what I would have my fellow
man do to me—that is the will of God. Now
Queequeg is my fellow man….
I say we good Presbyterians should be charitable in
these things, and not fancy ourselves so vastly superior to other mortals,
pagans and what not, because of their half crazed conceits on these
subjects….Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and pagans alike—for
we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending” (1) I
can almost hear a Galilean accent in those words.
When I said I was reading Moby Dick, someone asked
if I was for the whale or Ahab. Any
doubts whether for the whale or the whalers is dispelled by Melville’s
description of this great creature of the sea:
“At its utmost expansion in the full grown
whale, the tail will considerably exceed twenty feet across. The
whole bulk of the Leviathan is knit over with a warp and woof of muscular fibers
and filaments, which passing on either side the loins and running down into the
flukes, insensibly blend with them, and largely contribute to their might; so
that in the tail the confluent measureless force of the whole whale seems
concentrated to a point.…
Nor does this—its amazing strength, at all
tend to cripple the graceful flexions of its motions; ... On
the contrary, those motions derive their most appalling beauty from it. Real
strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it; and in
everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with the magic.” (2)
Melville stirs a sense of awe at the magnificence
of the creature, while noting the incongruity of their slaughter for the mere
sake of lamp oil to light socialite Balls.
Oh yes, the plot. Hoping
that these couple of gems will prompt your reading or re-reading Moby Dick, I
shall not disclose the ending. “Hast
seen the white whale?—is the maddening quest of Captain Ahab, gone mad with
the vengeance driving him to meet again Moby Dick that had first maimed him.
Had the Apostle Paul read Moby Dick, he would have written in bold print,
48 font:
“Beloved, never avenge yourselves…do not be
overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:19,21)
Starbuck, the Pequod’s first Mate seeking to
reason, persuade, restore some sense to the captain, confronts Ahab who but
orders him away, threatening him with a loaded musket. Starbuck,
mastering his emotions rising to leave, said: “Thou has outraged, not
insulted me, Sir; but for that I ask thee not to beware of Starbuck; but beware
of Ahab; beware of thyself, old man.”
Ahab murmurs as Starbuck disappears; “What’s
that he said—Ahab beware of Ahab—there’s something there!” (3)
In a conversation with the ship’s blacksmith,
Ahab comments: “And I suppose you can’st smoothe almost any seams and
dents; never mind how hard the metal, blacksmith?”
“Aye, Sir, I think I can; all seams but
one.”
“Look ye here, then,” cried Ahab
passionately advancing, and leaning with both hands on Perth’s shoulders;
“look ye here—here—can ye smooth out a seam like this, blacksmith,”
sweeping one hand across his ribbed brow; “if thou could’st, blacksmith,
glad enough would I lay my head upon thy anvil, and feel thy heaviest hammer
between my eyes. Answer! Can’st
thou smooth this seam?”
‘Oh! That is the one, Sir! Said I not all
seams and dents but one?”
“Aye, blacksmith, it is the one; aye, man, it
is unsmoothable; for though thou only see’st it here in my flesh, it has
worked down into the bone of my skull—that is all wrinkles!” (4)
Alright, for those who can’t stand suspense I
will tell the ending. It is obvious
really. When Moby Dick took Ahab’s
leg it was not with some human-like malice—it was just what animals do when
threatened and wounded. Other ship
Captains, even one who lost an arm to Moby Dick, knew that and let the white
whale be. But Ahab maddened with
vengeance will not—resulting in destruction for Ahab and all—ship, crew,
whale boats, harpooners. How then is
the story told? Well that an
intriguing tale I’ll leave for you to read yourself.
I close with a bit of poetry that for me made 452
pages—135 chapters and an epilog worthwhile. Not
Mary Oliver, but, surprisingly in the midst of his tale of blood and blubber
whaling, typhoons and treacherous seas, by Herman Melville.
There are times, when in his whale boat the
rover softly feels a certain filial, confident, land-like feeling towards the
sea; that he regards it as so much flowery earth;…
The long drawn virgin vales; the mild blue
hillsides;
As over these there steals the hush, the hum;
You almost swear that play-wearied children lie
sleeping in these solitudes,
In some glad May-time, when the flowers of the
woods are plucked;
And all this mixes with you most mystic mood;
So that facts and fancy, half-way meeting,
interpenetrate,
And form one seamless whole.
Nor did such soothing scenes, however temporary,
fail of at least as temporary an effect on Ahab. But if these secret golden keys
did seem to open in him his own secret golden treasures, yet did his breath upon
them prove but tarnishing.
Oh grassy glades! Oh, ever vernal endless
landscapes in the soul;
In ye—though long parched by the deadly
drought of the earthly life,
--in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in
new morning clover;
And for some fleeting moments, feel the cool dew
of the life immortal on them.
Would to God these blessed calms would last.
But the mingled, mingling threads of life are
woven by warp and woof:
Calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm.
There is no steady unretracing progress in this
life;
We do not advance through fixed gradations, and
at the last one pause:
--through infancy’s unconscious spell,
boyhood’s thoughtless faith,
Adolescence’ doubt (the common doom), then
skepticism, then disbelief,
Resting at last in manhood’s pondering repose
of If.
But once gone through, we trace the round again;
And are infants, boys and men, and Ifs eternally.
(5)
On this sea of life, I can live with eternal
Ifs—may I not with maddened Ahab tarnish them and the sea of life.
Midway through, reading Moby Dick was a chore. I
was tempted to skim the voluminous details but realized by then that would risk
missing hidden gems. The end was no
surprise to me, indeed a bit anti-climatic. But
the Gospel according to Herman Melville, at a time in a culture when bitterness,
hatred, violent retaliation rage. It’s
a must read. May Ishmael and
Starbuck live.
Amen.
(1)
Moby
Dick by Herman Melville,
(2)
P.
303
(3)
P.
319
(4)
P.388
(5)
P.
390-391
©
Copyright 2009 First Presbyterian Church