UNLESS we enter a church by one of the side-doors, we proceed to the main altar by traversing what, in architectural terms, is called the “nave”.
That this word is derived from the Latin “navis”, meaning a ship, may puzzle many people. Does it imply that we are “navigators”? Indeed, it does; but more of that later.
I note in passing that the vaulted ceilings of some of Europe’s finest Gothic cathedrals are shaped as a ship’s keel.
Symbolic images relating to our Church and its mission have a long history in Christian art. Some of the earliest examples are still to be found in the catacombs of Rome.
One with strong links to the biblical text portrays Jesus as the “good shepherd” who perseveringly cares for and protects his flock (see John 10:1-16).
Another image (a favourite of the Fathers of the Church) likened the community of faith to a sea-going vessel, the mast of which was cruciform.
It was a graphic spiritual metaphor that expressed what lay at the heart of their belief in and commitment to the Risen Christ.
Comprehensible to the early Christians during times of persecution (but not to their enemies), it underlies our contemporary reference to the Church as the “Barque of Peter”. The Apostolic Constitutions, a fourth century document on early Christian discipline, worship and doctrine, refers to the bishop convoking an assembly of the faithful as “the commander of a great ship”.
The deacons are described as “mariners” and the “brethren” as “passengers” – a term that I will take issue with later.
According to this ancient text, the building in which the assembly takes place should be, “long, with its head to the east, with its vestries on both sides at the east end, and so it will be like a ship”.
There are many references to ships both in the Hebrew Scriptures and in the New Testament, some of which, like the saving vessel we call Noah’s Ark, are rich in symbolism.
Among many others we could point to is that passage in which Jonah was thrown into the sea (Jonah 1:15) and spent three days and three nights in the belly of “a great fish” – an event which Jesus himself refers to prophetically in connection with his approaching death and resurrection (Matthew 12:38-42; 16:4; Luke 11:29-32).
Throughout its long history the “barque of Peter” has often been battered by rough seas.
This has certainly been the case in the years following the Second Vatican Council.
Was there ever a time, we might well ask, when that barque was completely becalmed?
As I have pointed out in an earlier reflection, there are no passengers on this ship.
All are crew, called to work together.
Without exception, all on board have a part to play in keeping with their personal gifts. Nor is there upper deck and lower deck and steerage. We are on a demanding journey, not a cruise.
In an address on the 200th anniversary of the restoration of the Society of Jesus, Pope Francis, himself a Jesuit, reinforced this teaching in these challenging words: “(The) boat of Peter can be tossed about today. The night and the powers of darkness are always near … row then. Row, be strong, even with the headwind! We row in the service of the Church. We row together.”
Pope Benedict XVI spoke in similar vein in his final public audience. Encouraging the faithful he said: “I always knew that the Lord is in the barque, that the barque of the Church is not mine, not ours, but his – and he will not let her sink.”
The only suggestion I have to offer to the reader in these troubling times is: “Don’t jump ship.”
Br Brian Grenier is a Christian Brother who has wide teaching experience in Australia and in Rome, and written books and articles on Scripture, spirituality and religious education.
