The Committee to Save Yourself

The Flood

The town of Meritville sat at the bottom of a valley, which was, in hindsight, an unfortunate place to build a town.

No one could remember who had decided to put it there. But someone had, and now the river was rising, and the entire population — all 463 souls — found themselves standing in water that had been at their ankles on Monday, their knees on Tuesday, and their waists by Thursday morning.

On Thursday afternoon, the mayor called an emergency meeting.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mayor Coggins, standing on a table because the floor was now a foot underwater, "we have a problem."

"We're drowning!" shouted Herbert from the back.

"We are not drowning," the mayor said firmly. "We are experiencing increased aquatic proximity. I hereby establish the Meritville Committee for Self-Rescue."

The Program

Mrs. Pemberton, who had served on seventeen committees and chaired four of them, moved that they institute a swimming curriculum. The motion passed unanimously. Instructor Gerald, who had once swum to the far side of a pond at summer camp in 1987, was appointed Head of Aquatic Self-Improvement.

There was only one problem. The water was rising faster than the people could learn to swim.

By Saturday, several citizens who had faithfully attended every class were up to their chins. Gerald suggested they try harder. "The issue is commitment. You have to want to not drown. You have to choose to keep your head above water."

"I am choosing!" sputtered Herbert, swallowing water between words.

"Choose harder," said Gerald.

By Sunday, a Dr. Finch proposed the Theory of Buoyancy Through Positive Thinking. "The water responds to our attitude. If we approach the flood with optimism, our bodies will naturally rise above it." A skeptical carpenter named Paul noticed that Dr. Finch was standing on a very tall bookshelf and not actually in the water at all.

By Monday, Meritville had developed a full spiritual practice around self-rescue. Citizens would stand (or float) and recite the Meritville Creed: "I am the captain of my buoyancy. I choose to rise. My effort is the engine of my salvation. Today, I will not drown — because I have decided not to."

It was a very inspiring creed. It was also written by people who were drowning.

The Boat

On Tuesday, a boat arrived.

It came from upriver — a large, sturdy vessel, clearly built by someone who knew what floods were and had planned for this one in advance. It was stocked with blankets and food and room for the entire population of Meritville twice over. A man stood at the bow with a rope and a megaphone.

"Hello! I've come to rescue you!"

Mayor Coggins swam out to meet the boat. "That's very kind, but we have it under control."

"You're drowning," the man observed.

"We are managing our aquatic situation through community self-reliance."

"Sir," the mayor said, "we have a program. We have a creed. We have a fully accredited swimming curriculum taught by a man who once crossed a pond. We do not need your boat."

The man looked at the town — the rooftops barely visible, citizens clinging to chimneys, the flag of Meritville (a fist raised triumphantly above a wave, which had always been metaphor but was now just journalism) drooping in the rain.

"The boat is here," the man said quietly. "It has always been coming here. I built it for you before the flood began. You don't have to earn your way onto it. You just have to stop pretending you don't need it."

The Divide

What happened next divided Meritville permanently.

Some citizens looked at the boat, looked at the water, and did the math. They let go of their chimneys and swam to the vessel and were pulled aboard. They did not swim to the boat because they were good swimmers. (Herbert had to be fished out with a net.) They swam because they had finally admitted what the water had been telling them all week: you cannot save yourself from this.

But others refused. Mrs. Pemberton organized a subcommittee to study the boat's safety standards. Dr. Finch declared the boat "an insult to human agency." Gerald kept teaching swimming lessons, even though his students were fully submerged. "It's a matter of technique," he insisted, his voice a stream of bubbles.

And Mayor Coggins treaded water beside the boat for two hours, making his objections in order: "We didn't ask for this boat." "It's patronizing to assume we can't save ourselves." "If the boat was always coming, why didn't you send it sooner?" "What about the people in the next town? How is it fair they don't get a boat?" And finally, as the water reached his chin: "I would rather drown free than be saved without my permission."

The man on the boat looked at the mayor with something that was not anger and was not pity but was closer to grief. "You are drowning," he said, "and you are calling it freedom."

The Rope

The boat stayed for three days. During those days, several citizens who had initially refused changed their minds — not because the arguments got better, but because something broke inside them. The pretending got too heavy. The effort of performing self-sufficiency while actively sinking became more exhausting than the shame of admitting they needed help.

A woman named Clara, who had been clinging to her roof and reciting the Meritville Creed for six days, suddenly stopped mid-affirmation. She looked at the water. She looked at her white knuckles gripping the gutter. She looked at the boat.

And she said, very quietly: "I can't do this."

Not "I won't." Not "I choose not to." "I can't."

It was the truest thing anyone in Meritville had said all week.

The man on the boat threw her a rope. She grabbed it — not because she had decided to be rescued, but because when you are drowning and a rope appears, your body knows what to do even when your pride does not. Even the faith to grab hold was not her own.

On the boat, wrapped in a blanket and shivering, Clara looked back at the town.

"I didn't save myself," she said.

"No. You didn't."

"I couldn't even swim to the boat. You threw the rope."

"I did."

"So what did I do?"

The man smiled. "You let go of the gutter."

Clara thought about this. "But I only let go because I ran out of strength."

"Yes."

"So even the letting go wasn't really my doing."

The man's smile deepened. "Now you're getting it."

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith — and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God — not by works, so that no one can boast."

EPHESIANS 2:8-9

The boat left on Friday. Those who were on it were saved. Those who were not were very, very wet.

Legend has it that Mayor Coggins was last seen at a depth of twelve feet, still chairing a meeting. The minutes of that final session, recovered later in a waterlogged notebook, contained a single agenda item: Motion to formally acknowledge that the Committee for Self-Rescue has been an unqualified success. All in favor? Carried unanimously. Meeting adjourned.

The water did not vote.

The comedy of Meritville is the tragedy of every person who insists they contributed to their own salvation. The swimming lessons are our good works. The creed is our "decision for Christ." The positive thinking is our confidence that we chose God. And the boat — the boat that was always coming, built before the flood began — is grace that does not wait for an invitation. The man built the vessel before the flood began. That is predestination. He came to a town that didn't ask for help. That is irresistible grace. He threw the rope when Clara couldn't swim to him. That is the truth about human inability. And the boat had room for the whole town. The tragedy is not that the boat was too small. The tragedy is that some people loved their committees more than their lives.