Like most writers, I am comfortable with silence. I work well in solitude. If you’ve read the book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain, you have a rough idea of me. Further, if you’ve heard of the popular relationship theory that successful couples consist of one golden retriever and one black cat, you can correctly assume that I am the black cat partner in my marriage. My husband is the outgoing, friendly, people-loving golden retriever, so perhaps he is the better audience for a recent talk given by Artemis II astronaut Christina Koch upon her return to Earth. 

Mission Specialist Koch, along with her three crewmates, opened up to the public with personal remarks about their 10-day mission to the far side of the moon and back. Many of us earthlings had been glued to the news reports of their lunar mission, from liftoff to splashdown, so we were just as riveted by the impromptu reflections the astronauts shared with us post-mission. Each astronaut spoke stirringly about their historic flight, but I was especially moved when Specialist Koch directed her thoughts to the meaning of the word “crew.” 

More than a team, she said (and here I am paraphrasing her speech), a crew sticks together every minute, no matter what, stroking together like a rowing crew. A crew comes together because they have the same purpose. A crewmate is willing to sacrifice for the good of the crew. A crewmate can give grace while at the same time holding fellow crewmates accountable. A crew has the same cares and needs. Mostly, she said, a crew “is inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked.”

I love that. As noted, I’m not much of a joiner, but she made me think about the various crews that I consider myself a part of: my husband-and-children crew, my sibling crew, my extended family crew, my friends crew, my spiritual crew, my volunteering crews. While not an organizer of new ventures, I do take my crew member roles seriously. The crews in which I participate do not accomplish anything as monumental as space travel, but our mutual efforts matter in small ways, whether we care for a sick relative or clean up the neighborhood or feed some hungry strangers. Mainly, I find that being an integral member of each crew is a fact that changes me. As much as I rely on my alone time, I would be a different person, and a less fulfilled person, were I not embedded in each of these beloved crews. 

On Pentecost Sunday, I thought about the ragtag crew that Jesus left behind. They didn’t know what to do without him. Frightened, subdued, narrowly intent on survival, they hid themselves in a room. Then the Holy Spirit fired up their hearts in a way that transcended fear, timidity, self-interest and even language barriers. In that moment, the early church became a crew that was as “inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked” as ever a group of believers was. That OG crew remains our spiritual foundation today as we, the faithful, endeavor to be God’s crew. When Jesus calls us to bring about the kingdom of God here on Earth, he is commissioning a crew: us.

I thought about the lack of a physical crew while watching the movie “Project Hail Mary.” In this interstellar drama, two lone survivors of different species, marooned in space on their respective ships, have to become an improvised crew of two in order to have any chance of solving their problems. No spoilers intended, but in their struggle against likely death, these unalike beings become “inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked.” 

Specialist Koch ended her three-minute talk by saying that she was sure she still had a lot to learn from the journey she had just completed, lessons she knew would become clearer over time. But one certainty had dawned on her while she gazed at the tiny luminous marble of Earth hanging in the vast blackness of space. Rather than being struck by the Earth’s fragility, she said that, to her, the Earth looked like a lifeboat. And every boat needs a crew. So she assured all of us presently afloat in our existential lifeboat, “Planet Earth: You. Are. A. Crew.”

Planet Earth. She was talking to us. Not one country, not one continent, but all of us. From space, Specialist Koch could see not a planet where Americans live but one where all earthlings live, together on our one small sphere in the universe. We are Earth’s crew. We have to row together for survival in our lifeboat, keeping in mind that there is no “Planet B” for us. By the grace of God, we belong to this Earth, and the Earth’s care belongs to us.

Our evolving society has managed to compartmentalize many aspects of our lives, making us all introverts in some ways. We work online, we entertain ourselves at home, we give our kids devices to keep them from being bored; in short, the less we occupy ourselves with the physical world, the more we immerse ourselves in virtual pursuits. I can’t remember the last time we dropped in on a friend unannounced: It’s just not done. We sometimes have no contact with anyone outside of our philosophical bubble. We value individualism and self-sufficiency. Maybe the reason so many of us were enthralled by NASA’s latest mission is that we crave the lost sense of human togetherness. The astronauts of Artemis II gave us a welcome dose of idealism and a purity of purpose, something the space race has always provided for us older boomers. Reaching for the moon has always required all of our hands to extend together. Hurtling into the unknown has always cemented our collective sense of wonder under the eyes of God. Striving for peace in our world and beyond has always been a worthy goal.

Our floating lifeboat, our blue home, needs us more than ever to form a crew committed to our shared humanity and our common good. As souls in God’s crew, we need to row together every minute, no matter what, to sacrifice, to give grace, to hold each other accountable, to work toward our shared purpose and to recognize that in our mission to do God’s will, we are “inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked.” We are to be about God’s work. We can create a kinder, gentler, more just, more loving world in God’s image. Surrounded by darkness, we are the little lights.

Valerie Schultz is a freelance writer, a columnist for The Bakersfield Californian and the author of Till the Moon Be No More: The Grit and Grace of Growing Older. She lives on the Oregon Coast.