The Prayer of the Breton Fishermen: Finding Calm Amid Life’s Storms

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“O God, Thy sea is so great and my boat is so small,” cry out the words of the famous seafarer’s prayer, penned by poet Winfred Ernest Garrison. When I recently stumbled upon these words, they clung to me.

Inscribed on a plaque once given to President John F. Kennedy by Admiral Hyman Rickover, this prayer holds a lasting place in American history. Rickover presented it to each new submarine captain under his command, and Kennedy kept the plaque on his desk in the Oval Office, a reminder of human vulnerability amid vast responsibilities. Today, the plaque rests in the Kennedy Presidential Library.

The prayer’s reach continues, having inspired American composer Sarah Rimkus to set it to music. In her words, she hoped the music would communicate “the vast beauty and terror of the world that humanity has to contend with,” and remind us of the humility and mindfulness needed in our relationship with the world, especially among leaders.

“O God, Thy sea is so great and my boat is so small.” It’s a fitting prayer for a sea captain confronting tempestuous waters. It’s also a fitting prayer for each of us as we navigate these turbulent times.

In my conversations lately, whether with clients, friends, or even the woman chatting with me in line at the grocery store, I notice a shared undercurrent of anxiety. People are yearning for peace, seeking guidance in fractured relationships, and struggling with a world where “truth” often seems negotiable. The call for steady, non-anxious leadership has never felt more urgent.

Edwin Friedman’s words in A Failure of Nerve ring true now more than ever: a true leader is “someone who can be separate while still remaining connected, and therefore can maintain a modifying, non-anxious presence… someone who can manage his or her own reactivity to the automatic reactivity of others, and therefore be able to take stands at the risk of displeasing.” It’s a high calling, one I sometimes struggle to embody.

I think back to moments when I, too, have felt engulfed by fear and anxiety. But I am also reminded of the surprising ways God shows up in the midst of those storms.

One such memory comes from a late-night drive with my young children. We were heading to my grandmother’s funeral, and the grief felt heavy. Near midnight, we stopped at a seedy gas station in a rough part of town. As I warily shepherded my kids through the crowd, my seven-year-old began singing the theme to Scooby-Doo. I noticed others listening, then, unexpectedly, one voice after another joined in. Before long, strangers and I were singing together in that dingy gas station, turning fear into laughter with a silly cartoon song.

Moments like that remind me that we’re not alone. God often shows up in ways we don’t expect, even in the most unlikely places.

It takes courage to be human, let alone a leader, these days. But Jesus taught us that we don’t have to do it alone. Indeed, God’s desire is for us not to try.

While a boat may feel safer anchored in a harbor, that’s not what boats are made for. We aren’t called to lead only when it’s easy or calm. In the days to come, we’ll likely encounter more confusion and deeper need for healing. And as we face those waters together, I invite you to join me in prayer:

“O God, Thy sea is so great and my boat is so small.”

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“Thy sea, O God, so great
My boat so small.
It cannot be that any happy fate
Will me befall
Save as Thy goodness opens paths for me
Through the consuming vastness of the sea.

Thy winds, O God, so strong,
So slight my sail.
How could I curb and bit them on the long
And saltry trail,
Unless Thy love were mightier than the wrath
Of all the tempests that beset my path?

Thy world, O God, so fierce,
And I so frail.
Yet, though its arrows threaten oft to pierce
My fragile mail,
Cities of refuge rise where dangers cease,
Sweet silences abound, and all is peace.”
(Winfred Ernest Garrison)