Sometimes I picture Jesus as my Captain, standing wounded on the deck of a pirate ship. A terrible battle rages around Him, and the ship is in flames. I feel myself unable to move, paralyzed with fear and chained to the bloodslick deck. I know my fate lies with the winner of this awful conflict.Though bleeding from a dozen wounds, the Savior is more than a match for the brigands who attack Him. They're like a pack of dogs surrounding a lion. He stands strong and tall and righteous in the middle of the carnage, and wields His sword with incredible speed and deadly accuracy.
Then I see the enemy commander, an evil man clothed all in black, entering the fray and attacking the Lord from behind. His furious assault against Christ seems to shift the momentum, and the Lord is forced to fall back, losing His grip on the sword. For a moment, it seems all is lost. The pirate bores in for a final, killing stroke.
But as the blade pierces His side, Jesus wraps His arms around the enemy and pulls him back over the deck and into the black water, holding him in a grip of iron as the sea closes over them. The battle is over.
Welling up within me is such pride and love and sorrow. He fought so nobly, but He was frightfully outnumbered. I collapse in my chains, sick and hopeless with grief.
But then at dawn I look again toward the ocean. And I see Him. His face, no longer grim and set for battle, shines with its own light. A couple powerful strokes bring Him back to the ship, and then He pulls Himself up, climbing back to the deck. Here He stands, impossibly, gloriously alive. My Captain has won against all odds, and I am saved.
