by Robert C. Veil, Jr.
Recently, I was on board a cruise ship with my wife, celebrating our 40th wedding
anniversary. On a particular day we had no WIFI, or internet access, and it was a “sail day,” so we
were out on the sea, out of cellular range as well. There was a man with a laptop, and as everyone
was enjoying the walking deck or the lounge chairs, he sat with it open before him, writing. At
first, he may have felt a little self-conscious—embarrassed that he was “working” while everyone
around him seemed to be lounging about, enjoying the beautiful breeze and ocean view. I’m sure
most of my travel companions paid no attention to him, although a few may have been wondering
what in the world he was doing—until someone whispered, “I think he’s a writer.”
I have actually been a writer for most of my life. In high school I wrote poems and short
stories. In college I wrote term papers, and in graduate school they were the research papers. I
write sermons and sermon outlines nearly every week. I write class lessons, emails and letters,
newspaper columns, articles for papers and articles for the weekly Bulletin. I keep up a fairly heavy
correspondence of texts and other notes, responding to Bible questions, religious observations and
other conversations. Writing is what I do, and I enjoy it.
Have you ever thought about how much we rely on the writing of others? We wake up to
the alarm clock and immediately orient ourselves by the written numbers on the clock. We read
the cereal boxes or the coffee maker so we can decide what to consume. We drive to work and
read the writing on the street signs, the trucks, the billboards and the bumper stickers. The writings
of others affect our outlook, our attitude, our conversation for the day.
The written word can be permanent. I still remember poems I read as a boy, or which were
shared with me by my grandparents. Poems written by someone long gone. Their written words
are still speaking—still echoing in my head. The sentiments and messages of those lines written
decades ago still work their way into the solitude of my daily thoughts and memories.
Although the spoken word can be important, what gets written down will usually be even
more influential, because it remains—it keeps coming back to be read over again. Of the vast
majority of people we know nothing at all, except maybe what is written on their tombstone, or
what they may have taken the time to write down while they were living.
I remember reading once in a religious debate that if you’re going to write a book—if
you’re going to commit your position to writing, you should be very careful because what you
write today may come back to haunt you tomorrow. It may be used against you by an opponent in
debate!
The words Jesus spoke were powerful, but the reason we know about them at all is because
they were written down by others. Writers like Matthew, Mark, Luke and John have preserved
what they heard in permanent, written form. And those ancient writings have been preserved and
handed down—read and re-read for generations. It’s because of writers that we know about God
and about Jesus Christ.
People tend to gradually forget what they have heard. Even the most memorable speeches
and sermons fade from our memories over time. The people who heard Abraham Lincoln deliver
that famous address amongst the new tombstones in Gettysburg could recall it later only because
he had written it down on a postcard.
The thoughts and imaginations of the mind are virtually limitless. But in order for them to
endure, they must be preserved—they must be written down.
So, as this guy finished up his writing and slipped his computer back into its bag, he had
accomplished something extra, reminding me again of the importance of what he had been doing.
And some day should you happen to pass someone out on a cruise deck, or in a crowed room, or
in a secluded meadow or woods, and you notice that they are busily jotting thoughts on paper or
typing on a computer, don’t be too surprised. After all, he just may be a writer.
