Fourth of July 2022

(Sorry, I was away and couldn’t post this on the 4th)

This fourth of July, I awakened and sat on the bow of a catamaran on the waters of the coast of Belize. Sipping my coffee, I felt breeze caressing my face, let the sea air fill my lungs, and watched as Pelicans dove into the sea looking for breakfast. As the sun lifted, my thoughts turned toward the country I love, the country I’m worried about. Regardless of one’s political leanings, there is no doubt that our country is struggling. While I long to lift a sparkler and wave it with deep appreciation for all we have been given and all we have done as a nation, this morning my hand is as empty as my soul: What is going on? How will we ever get through this? Please, Lord, please be with us and guide us.

Taking a sip of coffee, I look down at the ropes attached to the mooring just as a gust of wind pushes our boat to one side. The mooring and ropes hold, but the boat shifts to one side and faces a new direction. Yes, I saw a sermon (or a brushstroke) in that! 

The winds are inevitable, but when attached to a mooring, the boat stays where it is. It will inevitably shift and face a new direction. As much as I may want the view to remain the same, there’s nothing I could do about the wind. My job is to appreciate the new direction I face. A solid mooring is the key. That, and strong ropes. Then, it’s possible to dance with the wind.

It’s hard when you’ve loved your old view. It’s scary when the boat shifts, and disconcerting to look in a new direction, but I guess that’s where faith comes in. 

Here’s to our nation’s birthday. Here’s to the glorious things we have achieved, the countless challenges we’ve faced. This morning I give thanks to the mooring that has held strong all these years, and to the ropes that have held us fast. This morning, I also give thanks for the wind and the new direction we now face. May it point us to another glorious sunrise.

Wendy

No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I know better, something deep within me still believes that bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. She was the kind of person I can only dream of being. She never judged anyone. She not only greeted everyone she met with kindness, but also genuine interest. I’m sure, like us all, she had her flaws, but I knew none of them. She was one of those people who made the world a better place, and the fact that cancer came and caused her to suffer before finally taking her seems cruel and utterly unfair.

I went to church today seeking solace, but the words sounded like empty platitudes, the music random chords. I tried to imagine what the early followers thought and felt when they looked at the tomb. Like me, they must have thought Christ’s death was cruel and utterly unfair. Of all the people, EVER, you would think God would have protected Jesus from all he went through, and yet there he was, behind the stone, with scars on his back and holes in his arms and legs. I just don’t get it. Neither did they.

I am wise enough to know the story did not end at the tomb, but sometimes that’s not enough. I want to stand up and scream, “Make the world fair, will you????” I believe God hears such cries, but doesn’t listen to them. A fair world is the last thing a person like me should desire. Instead, I should give thanks that God makes people like Wendy, that I was blessed to cross her path for an all-too-short period of time. I should use the example of her life as an inspiration for my own.

But, most of all, I need to close my eyes and see beyond the tomb and watch as Wendy is welcomed by the great cloud of witnesses, the saints beside whom she if fully qualified to stand. Such is the “deeper magic” of which C. S. Lewis wrote, and in which I so desperately believe.

Troubled Waters

From the road, it looked like a scene suitable for a postcard, a pond surrounded by hills and trees. I’m sure the psalmist had such a place in mind when writing about being led to still waters, but when I got out of the car and looked closer, I saw something important. Floating on the top of the pond were lily pads. In other places, algae were mixed with the water. Such things were possible because the water was still. As inviting as the placid water is sometimes, it needs to move if it is to remain healthy.

I thought about the pond and the vegetation growing in it as I drove away. It reminded me how often I have longed for my life to be a still, serene, placid pond, the kind worthy of a postcard. If I pay off all my debt, make these calls, resolve this matter, everything will be perfect, and I can sit back and enjoy life, enjoy peace a quiet. In other words, I long for still waters, and that’s not a bad thing. It’s just dangerous.

Like the pond, I need to keep the water moving. I need to keep bringing new water in and allowing old to flow elsewhere. To do so demands effort and a willingness to live with churned up water, but it’s better than allowing algae to grow.

There’s a wonderful spiritual that speaks of God troubling the waters. I used to think that was a bad thing. How can the God who leads us to still waters be the same who troubles the water? Now I know that troubling the waters is how God keeps the waters fresh, and me healthy. Remembering the pond and the importance of keeping the water flowing, I find it easier to accept challenges and uncomfortable tasks or conversations as the price for healthy water.

I don’t necessarily like it, but I know I need it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_euSS86dvE