The Conversion of the Sea
“The abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee.” — Isa. lx, 5.
GOD’S ancient people had a peculiar physical aversion; they hated the sea. The land
of Israel might be said to be a martyr to sea-sickness. The sea was its symbol for all calamity; the absence of sea was its synonym for all rest. When a Jewish writer wanted to describe the calm of heaven he could find no better simile than this, “There shall be no more sea.” To be the inhabitant of an island was a fearful thing; it was made the metaphor of desolation — “The isles wait for Thee.” When God is angry with the old world He sends, not a fire, but a flood; it is the climax of calamities. But the prophet says that when Messiah comes men will change their minds — the sea shall be “converted” to them. They will come to admire what they hated. The old aversion will become a beauty. The symbol of terror will be transformed into a symbol of glory. The waves shall waft joy to them; the foam shall freshen them; the breezes shall brace them; the storms shall strengthen them; the expanses shall exhilarate them; the roar shall become rhythmic to them. The element which once suggested an empty waste shall in the golden days be made an emblem of fulness. “Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters!”
Even such, O Son of Man, has been Thy transforming hand; the sea at Thy coming has been converted unto me! I used to shrink from my afflicted brother as from a pestilence; I could not love the broken. I stood in all the capitals of the ancient world and helped to drive the stricken to the wall. I stood in the streets of Jerusalem and bade the leper seek the desert; I could not associate sickness with sanctity. I stood in the streets of Rome and bade the invalid seek the highway; I could not link weakness with military glory. I stood in the streets of Athens and bade the deformed vanish from my sight; I could not brook a marred visage amid the blaze of physical beauty. But I have seen another city — Thy city, and I have found there all the banished forms. The leper whom I sent into the desert is there; the invalid whom I drove into the highway is there; the deformed from whom I closed my eyes is there. Not as objects of charity are they there; not as targets for pity are they there; not as victims for ostentatious benevolence are they there. They are there as competitors in the race of glory. Thou hast made a wreath for the laden, O Lord! All our wreaths were for the labouring — for the men of active toil. But Thou hast garlanded the waiting, the patient, the unrepining. Thou hast a crown for the uncrushed soul in the crushed body. Thou hast a wreath for the unwithered heart with the withered hand. Thou hast a laurel for the undimmed love with the dimmed lustre. Thou hast a chaplet for the unextinguished cheer amid the outward chill. Thou hast a palm for peace in conflict; Thou hast a garland for grace in sorrow; Thou hast a rose for rest in pain; Thou hast a smile for sweetness in adversity; Thou hast a mansion for music in the night. O Son of Man, Thou hast beautified the sea!