Lessons from the Beach I

In honor of my sixtieth birthday, I’m taking a one-on-one trip with each of my four children, and the youngest chose a spring vacation trip to the beach. Sitting by the sea, enjoying the sun after a cold, wet spring, I watch as a brother and sister play with their Boogie Boards in the surf. The waves are almost non-existent, but they’re having a ball. 

Standing by is a woman who I think is their grandmother. She, too, enjoys watching the two playing in the sea, but each time they come up on shore, then run and jump back in the surf, she reaches for them. She longs to connect, to hug and kiss them, but they’re too caught up in their games to comply.

It’s completely understandable, but I feel for the grandmother. By the looks of things, she’s the one who’s made the trip possible and longs for a little connection (and appreciation). Like me, she longs to connect with her babies, but her grandchildren are more interested in their games than hugging. 

It made me think how God might feel a lot of the time. Watching us, delighting in our jumping into waves, thinking up games, and running back and forth until we fall into bed at the end of the day, He’s the one who’s made the whole thing possible. God reaches out to touch us, longing to connect, but, too often, we can’t be bothered. Too much to do, we profess. So little time. 

Like a grandparent, I’m sure God understands the way of youth, but longs for us, still. Just as I finish such thoughts, the boy runs up and almost tackles his grandmother with a wet, sandy hug. She doesn’t mind the wet, or the sand. She closes her eyes and smiles deeply. The boy smiles too, then runs back to play. 

May we learn to do the same.

Being Remarkable

Many mornings, I begin my day in the company of some remarkable people. I’m not sure what makes them remarkable. It’s certainly not their backgrounds. Everyone comes from a different place and none of those places are remarkable. It’s certainly not their experiences because many of them have lived remarkable lives for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s the fact that these folks see their imperfections and are willing to talk about them, but I think what makes the remarkable is something else.

On the wall, across where I sit, is a print of a Rembrandt painting of Jesus. It’s one of those paintings where the subject looks at you regardless of where you’re sitting. The eyes are not eyes of judgement, they’re more searching, more understanding, and whenever I look up at the painting, particularly when people are sharing some of the hard stuff, Christ seems to be listening with the kind of understanding for which most of us can only pray.  

Today, because it’s Maundy Thursday, I imagine Christ leaving the confines of the frame and sitting among us. At one point, He stands and goes into the kitchen, fills a bowl of water, and grabs a roll of paper towels. When he returns, he slowly and deliberately works his way around the circle. Taking off our sneakers and sandals, he begins to wash our feet. He doesn’t look up from his work except when someone shares something particularly real. When that happens, he looks up as if to say, “I get it.” 

It is then I realize what makes this group remarkable. It’s not the people sitting in the circle. It’s the one kneeling at their feet.

Amazing Grace

Perusing the books in a local, independent book store, I noticed a colorful volume prominently displayed on a shelf of its own. The colorful cover caught my attention, but it was the title, Amazing Grace, that drew me closer. It turned out to be the history of a local parish. 

If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was a fitting title for any book about a church. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the book describes a place where all are loved, all are invited into the grace-filled arms of God. But the fact is, I do know better, and I turned and walked away in disgust.

The parish whose history is told in the book is one of many in the Episcopal Church choosing to leave the denomination because of the decision to ordain homosexuals. Still stinging from the decision to ordain women in the seventies, I suppose, this recent decision by the Church was simply too much. Now, such churches want to join the more conservative Anglican Church, as they call themselves, but the decision comes at a significant cost – they can leave but can’t take the buildings with them.

I came to Christ because of God’s amazing grace. I was so far from who I was created to be, so far from someone deserving God’s forgiveness and love, which makes it impossible for me to shut the door of the Church on anyone. I have had friends hit me over my head with their red-letter edition of their King James Version of the Bible and tell me how wrong I am, but “here I stand,” to quote Martin Luther. 

When grace is offered to someone as underserving as I, it’s then hard to pick and choose to whom it will be offered next. Who knows, maybe it should even be offered to churches and people who see things differently than I. 

That would be amazing.