knots

by Joel Bates

As I hung in my harness and dangled over the 80-foot expanse—a “guinea pig” for the afternoon’s rescue simulation, I felt the nagging lure to take control of my situation and cling to the rock.  What’s more, I gained a new-found appreciation for one of the oldest wilderness skills in the book.  We were at a recent rock-climbing rescue training, and I was about to get a lesson in the basics.
 
When it comes to nifty outdoor skills, I sometimes overemphasize the majestic complexities of creating an orderly itinerary through the wide-open, backcountry wilderness for novice city slickers.  Other times it’s a more straight-forward, egocentric, impression-management skill like maneuvering down a cascading, class three rapid to show off my open canoe prowess.  Then there is the gritty, elegant dance up a 5.10 crag like a bicep bulging, ballerina precariously placing every foot with great intentionality, every narrow finger crimp with efficiency—this is a flaunt-worthy skill.  But when I found myself dangling from a 10 mm climbing rope just waiting to be rescued, I suddenly realized that the skill I take for granted the most, the skill I use the most, and the skill I depend on the most when all the chips are down, is tying knots!

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We had rehearsed all kinds of fancy knots—clove hitches, bowlines on bights, the figure-eight family, the munter, the mule, the auto bloc, and prusik, all of which are important to know.  But, when it was my turn to be the rescuer, I learned a humbling lesson about remembering the simple things in life.  My task was to perform a counter-weighted ascent rescue, which is a decorative way of saying that I had to climb the rope to get to a stuck climber.  About 20 feet up, my instructor prompted me to use a “Cat” knot, the one knot at that moment that could save my life.

It’s a knot I had learned in kindergarten, a knot that I could tie in my sleep, a knot that had become so commonplace that I had all but forgotten its usefulness.  You learn it when you learn to tie your shoe.  Most know it as the overhand knot, but the instructor called it a “Cat” knot.  A climber focused on saving someone else will ascend to the rescue, but on his way he must tie a series of knots in his own rope as he goes higher and higher to prevent a catastrophe, thus the name “Cat” knot.  While my focus on rescuing the climber in trouble was admirable, I was putting myself at greater risk simply by overlooking the basics.

Have you ever found yourself in trouble because you focused on helping others and forgot the basics?  I’m tempted to bring up the scripture where Jesus said, “Before taking the speck out of someone else’s eye, first remove the plank from your own.”  But I don’t think we need to scold ourselves for desiring to help others in need.  I’m reminded of the time Moses was overwhelmed by the task of leading and judging all the people of Israel until his wise father-in-law, Jethro, offered a solution: appoint other leaders, delegating the responsibility to help with the monumental burdens.  What about the time the disciples were straining at the oars in the middle of the night at the center of a storm on a simple mission gone wrong to get across the lake—a mission that Jesus had told them to go on—and they thought they were about to meet their demise.  Then Jesus came to them walking on water, called Peter out, calmed the storm, and set everything right.

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Writing this, I have kept wanting to turn the attention to some grand biblical account where a servant of God was trying to help others and found himself crying out to God, and believe me, there are plenty of these stories available like the ones mentioned above.  But then, I got to thinking about the simplicity of that “cat” knot I forgot to tie, and I started thinking about other things I learned in kindergarten, things that I’ve built upon, but that have lain out of the limelight like a concrete foundation holding up a mansion—essential to the structure and forgotten by the inhabitants.  In a little old church basement, Sunday school classroom with a small band of eager kindergarteners and one devoted teacher, I learned the same song you did.  “Jesus loves me.  This I know.  For the Bible tells me so.”  I can’t remember the last time I sang that one, so commonplace that I barely pay attention to the words, but I realize that if for one minute I cannot believe those elementary phrases, then all is lost.  All my would-be rescue attempts for a hurting, needy world will fall short in light of forgetting the simple basics that every believer needs to live and breathe—that God is love…that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son…that faith hope and love are essential and the greatest of these is love…that God has made promises to us that He will keep, is keeping to us now…that when God looks at us He does not see the sinner but the saint. 

​As I ascended my rope and realized I hadn’t taken care of myself by tying a cat knot, I didn’t abandon my partner, I didn’t beat myself up for forgetting (well, maybe just a little).  No, I swiftly recognized my mistake, reached down, and tied my knot securely.  Then swallowing a little pride, I continued the rescue effort.  I invite you to close your eyes and take a minute to figuratively tie your spiritual “cat” knot by simply accepting and declaring the love of God over you.

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“Behold, what manner of love the Father has lavished upon us,
that we should be called the sons of God,” (1 John 3:1)

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