Swimming in the Great Mystery
Swimming in the Great Mystery
Colette Eaton
On the Ocean’s Unknowable Depths & the Exploration of Theology
I grew up on the shores of Sitka, Alaska. Cold and rocky, and teeming with life, I spent most of my time bent over the small tidepools searching for brightly colored starfish and sea anemones. The sky was often grey and my hair would get curly in the dense ocean midst. I loved the smell of the ocean. It was a wild smell of salt and deep mystery. If we weren’t on the shore, we were in our boat halibut fishing, waiting patiently for our dinner to find the bate. Our boat would softly sway, anchored in spot, the water so dark blue you could barely make out a 15 -pound halibut until it was a few feet from the surface. The darkness of the ocean scared me. I wanted to see what lay beneath its surface and all there was between my family and its dreary depth was a simple fishing boat. I feared that if I would to fall over, I would get swallowed up entirely.
I would often carefully lean over our fishing boat and squint my eyes, hoping I could see just a few inches deeper, failing each time. On one fishing trip, a humpback whale dove straight under our small boat, and I watched in trembling awe as its silver grey back glided beneath the surface. That time I could see clearly beneath the water but it didn’t bring any comfort, it only made my fear of the deep blue much more visceral. There was danger beneath the surface, a deep unknowing that fueled my fear. It was the tidepools I loved the most—I could see exactly what lay beneath the surface and I wasn’t afraid. I was curious and happy, unmoved by even the largest of crabs that roamed freely.
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I grew up learning about the ocean at the same time I was learning about God. My father, a marine scientist, saw God in biology and openly explored both with great passion. We attended a small church plant that used the auditorium of the college where my dad worked as a professor. The college grounds were perched atop a lush green hill overlooking the Sitka Sound. The first memory I have of that small church was singing happy birthday to Jesus. Each night I would pray in our three-bedroom log cabin for Jesus to enter my heart and he did. But much like the deep blue of the ocean, I struggled to see God. I feared he wasn’t in my heart like my Sunday school teachers taught me. I feared he lurked beneath the surface, beautiful and yet dangerous. God was an ocean of mystery that no matter what I did, I couldn’t see any further than a few inches.
Seventy percent of the earth’s surface is below the ocean. Though scientists have explored vast regions of the ocean floor, 80% remains a mystery, unseen by the human eye. They say we know more about the surface of Mars than our own ocean floor. In fact, what remains a mystery to us is quite phenomenal. Below the surface of the ocean are craters larger than the grand canyon. There are creatures that glow through bioluminescence. The world’s largest waterfall is in fact underwater. Scientists have done their best to map the ocean floor by using sound waves known as sonars. These devices have helped scientists become aware of the depth of craters, but were unable to define the width of a particular area. Over the years, they have improved this technology, gaining more success at mapping the ocean floor, yet much of it still remains undiscovered.
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The mystery of God was clearly mapped out for me growing up. My church tradition did everything it could to understand God, and much like the application of the scientific method, God was examined, prodded, and dissected. I eventually learned of God’s omnipotence and omnipresence, I learned of his love and judgment, his justice and redemption. I eagerly learned all that I could about God, it was my desperate attempt to control the fear of the deep blue—to force myself under the water and pretend I knew enough to keep me from getting swallowed up. Just learn and follow the Bible was the message and the formula to a good Christian life. Much like a child, I wanted to know the dangers of the deep, so I could be prepared. After school, in my father’s school office, I would watch video after video about the ocean. From shellfish to whales, I soaked up all I could; the more I learned about God and the ocean, the more I believed I was safe.
Armed with knowledge, I walked into my adult years believing I was protected. I would soon find that it wasn’t God who would swallow me whole, it was grief, and all the unknowns I couldn’t have planned for until I was already splashing around in them. My struggle to see God continued and at times, grief made it impossible to see. Much like the reflection of the ocean, all I could see is the pain staring back at me. If only someone had warned me of the wildness of God and the unpredictability of life, I wouldn’t have placed all my security in the maps I believed would lead me to a bountiful life of peace and security. The mystery deepened as the layers of grief revealed the darkness I often found myself in.
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In 2017, a collaborative project was launched by the UN called Seabed 2030. Its goal is to be able to map the ocean floor in its entirety by the year 2030. Mapping the ocean floor is important for many reasons. First, it is important to know the shape of the seabed because it helps us understand ocean circulation patterns that affect things like climate and weather patterns. The seabed can bring greater insight into our tides, wave action, and tsunamis. Alongside ocean circulation, three billion people rely on fish as a main source of protein, and having a greater understanding of marine life will enable us to protect and preserve it for future generations. Scientists are doing much to eliminate the many mysteries our ocean contains and they may have a good chance. And yet, I fear and wonder: after years of examination, will we research the mystery out of the ocean? Even though much good can come from understanding the ocean floor, will we spend a lifetime in vain attempts to control something that was never meant to be controlled?
It wasn’t until my mid-thirties that I began to understand the beauty of God’s deep blue. I began to move past my fear of the mystery and began embracing the unknowns. During my first year at Bible College, I quickly learned it was an impossible task to understand all there is about God. To my dismay, learning didn’t lead to confidence, it only made the mystery grander. During that first year, I read AW Tozer’s The Knowledge of the Holy for my introduction to theology course. After reading a chapter called “God Incomprehensible” in my dorm room, I experienced an unexpected visceral reaction and my body couldn’t hold itself up. My bones melted and I fell to the floor, my face buried into the thin dorm carpet. I was completely overwhelmed. I had fallen in and was sinking to the bottom of my fear, into the mystery. A confession of trying to expose God was like stones in my pockets, drawing me deeper and anchoring me in place.
Tozer writes, “To think of creature and Creator as alike in essential being is to rob God of most of His attributes and reduce Him to the status of creation.” In God’s grace, he gave me a glimpse beneath the waters, peeling back the curtain to witness his vastness gliding beneath the surface of my simple, creaturely life. But for a short moment, it felt like I couldn’t possibly take it anymore. I knew all I had attempted to learn became void. He was God, the deep blue mystery I both longed for and feared. As I regained my composure, I knew that it wasn’t an experience of drowning, but a gracious revealing of greatness. Awe and wonder replaced my fear of the unknown and I surrendered to the mystery.
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I still thoroughly enjoy reading theology and learning about God. I have two degrees in Bible and Theology, and yet I have accepted this knowledge as only a means for me to see what is directly beneath the surface. What is left unknown is God’s and God’s alone. My resiliency for the unknown has grown as the mystery of life and personal grief have expanded this tolerance. We simply do not get to know. We can attempt to map out all the unknowns in our life and yet, we continue to live with unanswered questions every day. We embody the mystery as we wrestle with our own flesh, many of us questioning why our bodies don’t work as they should. We wrestle with our minds, our abilities, and our relationships—learning more and more that we have still so much to learn. Even more so, we long for transcendence, though this longing can easily become distorted as fame or popularity. Yet, there is something in us that reaches out from our smallness of soul into the great darkness. It terrifies us while also drawing us in. As Tozer writes:
“The yearning to know What cannot be known, to comprehend the Incomprehensible, to touch and taste the Unapproachable, arises from the image of God in the nature of man. Deep calleth, unto deep, and though polluted and landlocked by the mighty disaster theologians call the Fall, the soul senses its origin and longs to return to its Source.”
It is within human nature to reach and seek, and to be guided by curiosity. Yet when curiosity becomes a way of gaining control—the attempt to eliminate fear with knowledge—we lock away the mystery both in God and in ourselves. The unknown becomes the enemy and not the source of life. It becomes something to be conquered rather than explored. In his grace, God offers us the little ponds with easily visibility from which we can learn and find comfort in what can be seen. But we cannot lock away this mystery any more than I could capture a whale with my bare hands. God is a wild, deep ocean teeming with life, and all we can do is draw nourishment day by day. Each of us, one way or another as we paddle through this life, will realize that we are all swimming in the great mystery of God.
Colette Eaton
Writer
Colette is a recent graduate from Multnomah Seminary, a full-time grant writer, and an aspiring memoir writer.
Photography by Annie Spratt
