In December 1914, a small ship set sail on a perilous voyage. The aim of the expedition? To be the first in history to make a land crossing of Antarctica. The leader, an Anglo-Irish explorer named Ernest Shackleton, had gathered a crew of 27 courageous men who were willing to risk all in the venture. Shackleton’s legendary advertisement captures the heart of the expedition:
Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success.
The advertisement is (most likely) a fable; the expedition and the spirit captured in the advertisement were not. Shackleton’s voyage ended in disaster, with the ship sunk and the crew battling for survival. All hands miraculously survived the failed attempt, but they came close to losing their lives in the venture.
They certainly did not succeed — at least, not in the way we normally think about success.
Catechesis of Comfort
In the contemporary Western imagination, the voyage of the Endurance and her crew makes little sense. Aside from the fact that anyone with an Internet connection can casually peruse the frozen continent from the comfort of the couch, warm coffee in hand, the prospect of risking life and limb in a venture that offers so little gain seems, well, uncompelling. The comforts of daily life, mixed with a strong dose of individualism, present a potent tonic against any such far-flung adventuring.
Furthermore, the risk-to-honor ratio does not compute. Rather than counting glory in trackless miles of ocean and ice, we mark reposts, likes, and followers. We would rather be social influencers than intrepid explorers. We bank on rapid returns and quick success, not on ventures whose return is marked “doubtful.” Taught to seek the quickest path to comfort, we eschew trails that appear treacherous.
Such patterns of thinking become apparent in increasingly prevalent trends such as delaying marriage or waiting to have children until careers and finances are well-established. It is simply too risky to get married young or to welcome a beautiful little money-pit into the world. The trend also showed up recently in a friend’s third-grade classroom, in which the vast majority of students aspired to be not doctors, police officers, teachers, athletes, or other such expected professions — pursuits that require many years of difficult, devoted effort — but YouTubers. The same tendency manifests in more personal decisions too. For example, I sometimes fight the temptation to stall or ignore hard (and usually necessary) conversations to preserve at least the semblance of tranquility.
These cultural patterns that make the deck of the Endurance feel so foreign also put us out of touch with Scripture. When we look at what our Lord calls his people to, we see that the call to life in the kingdom of God bears a striking resemblance to Shackleton’s fabled advertisement, for included in the promise of honor and inheritance is a stark warning: “Safe return doubtful.” We are called simultaneously to expect final victory even while we expect our own death, for embracing the summons of the King entails picking up a cross (Luke 9:23–24), a biblical call that clashes sharply with our cultural catechism.
One particular passage of Scripture leads us deep into this dissonance.
‘Lest You Die in the Battle’
In Deuteronomy 20, we see Israel march to battle under the banner of the Lord of hosts. Even if outnumbered, Israel was to go with confidence into the battle, “for the Lord your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory” (Deuteronomy 20:4). What greater encouragement could there be than to march under the banner of the One who smashed the power of Egypt, blotted out Amalek, and crushed the armies of Sihon and Og, the kings of the Amorites?
Yes, Israel went to war under the banner of the Almighty. God himself promised he would fight for them and give them victory. The outcome of Israel’s battles, resting in his hands, was secure.
Individual lives were not.
The same passage that boldly declares both battle and victory belong to God, and which therefore commands the people of God four separate times not to fear, also, with provocative symmetry, allows four different groups of men to turn back from the line of battle, warning them that death on the field is a real possibility (Deuteronomy 20:3, 5–8). The subtext under the promise “the battle belongs to the Lord” is “safe return doubtful.” For those soldiers who marched to battle, getting back home was not guaranteed.
At this, our individualistic, success-centered sensitivities flare up. “Hold on,” we object. “I thought we fought under the Lord’s banner. Isn’t victory assured?” The answer is yes. “But my death is a possibility?” The answer is, again, yes.
Individual Survival
If we feel dissonance here, it’s likely because we tend to conflate victory with gaining our share of the spoils; we are prone to misunderstand what victory under the banner of the Almighty might mean for those called to fight in his service. Beneath our comfortable lives and individualistic thinking lies an unnamed subtext. Seen in its more obvious forms (like the unbiblical teaching of the prosperity gospel or the fake lives of the rich and famous displayed in “reality” television), we recognize the evil and rightly reject it. But it’s harder to hear the whisper in our everyday lives, that insidious message running beneath much of what we have come to expect in life: “Safe return assured.”
Once again, Israel’s warfare opposes the whisper.
God’s instructions for Israel’s warfare form part of his broader commands concerning the promised land. Throughout Deuteronomy, the Lord repeatedly describes the land as an inheritance given by God to the people of Israel (Deuteronomy 12:10; 19:14; 26:1). Conquering the land was for the good of the whole nation, so that the people might be established in a country free of pagan enemies who would lead them astray from the living God. Individual battles aimed, not at the gain of individuals (as Achan and his family discovered), but at the furthering of God’s purposes for Israel as a nation. The loss of life in battle did not mean the battle was lost, not even for those fallen men. Their shed blood played a crucial part in the greater victory achieved by the Lord. In other words, God did not define success primarily in terms of individual lives saved.
Thinking in such terms is foreign to those raised in the context of Western individualism and the empty promises of flourishing as defined by the world. First, we don’t naturally envision ourselves as a part of a whole. Instead, we tend to think about how “the whole” can serve us. Second, joining a venture whose outcome might not include our safe return is out of the question. If “survival” is doubtful, we politely excuse ourselves from the planning table. Yet it is precisely to such self-denying, community-oriented ventures that God called the armies of Israel.
Costly Discipleship
Christians today do not belong to the physical nation of ancient Israel. And many will never serve in armed forces of any kind. So, what could God’s rules for warfare against idolatrous and wicked nations possibly have to do with us?
It can be easy to slip into thinking about our lives as disciples of Christ in self-oriented terms. We see such patterns of thinking in, for example, discipleship programs and books that emphasize becoming a “better you.” They show themselves in Christians who repeatedly move from church to church, never quite finding the one that best suits their needs. They get voiced in prayer lists that center on personal ambitions. The emphasis on a sure “gain of the spoils” distracts us from considering our place on the battle line.
Recognizing these patterns of thought can prove especially difficult for young believers just entering the workforce. So-called “liberal” education orients graduates toward technical proficiency and career advancement. Rather than fostering a love for the good and a desire to cultivate virtue, the pursuit of which requires the intentional sacrifice of personal comfort and ease, students are often trained to think of themselves in mercenary terms, willing to lay down life and limb, perhaps, but only if the price is right. In the mad scramble to jump-start careers, every aspect of life gets drawn into an orbit whose gravitational center is the success and safety of the individual.
The call to life in the kingdom decenters the self and reorients priorities. No longer is the battle about our own self-oriented gain. We do not ask for God to establish our kingdom but his (Matthew 6:10). No longer is life about achieving personal glory — rather, “Yours, O Lord, is the glory forever and ever.” This does not mean that we lose everything; in fact, in losing ourselves, we obtain the greatest treasure of knowing Christ himself (Philippians 3:8). And as coheirs with Christ, his eternal glory will be ours. In fact, the great apostolic assertion is that death in this life results in gain (Philippians 1:21). Joining the ranks of those who follow Christ means that we belong to Someone Else. And it means that we live to serve his purposes. “You are not your own” (1 Corinthians 6:19).
Nothing could be more un-American! But, like the armies of Israel, this is the path Scripture directs us to follow. Living as a disciple of Christ means heeding the call to be a part of something much greater than any individual believer. It is a call to join the joyful and costly advance of the kingdom of God. That may mean thirty years of faithful, laborious pastoring in a small church. It may mean decades of unrecognized service among an unreached people, seeing little immediate fruit. You could be sent by the Lord to teach in a local school, or move far from family, or adopt a child with special needs, or invite the unlovely into your home, or give your vacation money to the church, or put a long-held dream to death.
The call to happy service is a call to lay down your life in order that you might gain it, to surrender self-assured victory, and to spend your allotted days as an offering to the King.
‘Safe Return Doubtful’
For this life, the subtext of the Christian adventure is “Safe return doubtful.” In that regard, we are very much like Shackleton’s mariners. Mercifully, they survived, though not without many scars. Whatever honor or recognition they received on their return was slight, hardly noticed by an England in the thick of war. The life of kingdom citizens will often reflect their failed expedition, at least when measured by the values of contemporary Western society.
Perhaps surprisingly, even these men did eventually achieve some glory. Though they may not have enjoyed it in their own lifetimes, because of their connection to the name of Shackleton and the Endurance they continue to be remembered and respected by a few.
Christians look for a far greater reward. Unlike Shackleton’s “famous” mariners, our lives are not tied to a small schooner and the plans, or name, of a finite man. We belong rather to the final kingdom, one that cannot be shaken. Our lives are in the hands of the King of kings, whose victory is assured. He promises that those who lose their lives in his service will be welcomed by him as heirs of the kingdom prepared for them before the foundation of the world.
Our lives as Christ’s disciples are tied up with much greater concerns than personal survival and success. As his people, our safe “return” may be doubtful. What we gain is worth far more than every loss. May we gladly give our lives for his glory.
Desiring God