Always lower, eventually to the sea

I guess my fascination with water flowing came when I was a boy racing sticks with my cousins along the curb after a big storm. Walking on the sidewalk as the sticks jockeyed for position, I marveled at how fast they traveled before being swallowed by the drain at the end of the block.

“Where do they go now,” I once asked.

“Somewhere lower,” my cousins replied, as if it were obvious. “Eventually to the sea.”

Since then, I sit beside every stream I come across and watch as the water flows. Over and around rocks, under logs, it never gets old. Staring and wondering where the water is headed, I hear my cousin’s wisdom, “Always lower. Eventually to the sea.”

It is equally true of God’s grace. In the light of Easter morning, I celebrate the overflowing love and forgiveness brought into the world. Reading the familiar story this week, I thought about how something that happened so long ago still travels into the world, daily. It goes where it will, over and around rocks and under logs, but it flows, still.

But what struck me this year is that it flows “somewhere lower.” It travels down into the gutters, descending to reach the lowest points it can. Never does it climb up, always down, and that’s good news for those of us who live beneath the heights of Golgotha. Sometimes unable to climb the chancel steps where the adorned minister offers poetic prayers, the water flows toward the pews where a man gasps, “God, help me, please.” It flows past the upper parking lot where the fancy cars are parked to where the nurse arrives for her second night shift, then continues its way toward the house where there’s an empty seat at the Easter meal.

When I accept the wounds and the emotional scars I carry, the water always finds its way to me. When I ascend to higher ground, surrounded with my self-created magnificence, I’m suddenly beyond its reach. So, today, in light of the wonder of Easter and the humility my spiritual mirror brings, I laugh and dive into the stream again. Bobbing up and down, I travel beside others as we head toward the sea – soaked, and gratefully so.

Holding on, and letting go.

I arrived early for the sailing adventure. I was honored to be included on this voyage with accomplished sailors and tried to walk down the dock with an air of confidence. In each arm I carried groceries so I could feel like I was offering something journey. Like the person who shops when hungry, the bags were stuffed with more than we needed. “I’ve got this,” I said as I turned down assistance in boarding the boat. I made it and was walking toward the galley when a sudden gust of wind rocked the boat causing me to drop the bags and reach for the mast. As oranges rolled into the bay, and broken eggs began to seep through their containers, I was too mortified to look to look up. Little did I know what an important lesson I was being taught, one that is particularly germane at a time like this.

Like everyone, my regular life has been altered by the coronavirus. Whether by staying home, attending meetings electronically, and only waving to others from afar, a huge gust of wind has come and rocked our routines and ways of looking at the world. It has been disconcerting, to say the least, and we’ve had to reach for something solid, something permanent like the mast on a ship, to steady ourselves. To do so, however, we’ve had to let go of many things we carry, things we once thought were essential.

The ship will settle, and it may take time for us to let go of the mast, but we will stand again. Hopefully, when we do, we won’t be so quick to carry so many things in our arms.

Palm Sunday 2020: Welcoming someone who refused social distancing.

What can be said of Palm Sunday in the midst of the coronavirus? What can an event two thousand years ago say to people today? For the Bible story to mean anything, whether it’s Jesus entering Jerusalem or any other, it must be able to transcend time. What was really going on way back when, and what can it say to us today? What did it mean that palm branches welcomed Christ into the city, and what would it mean for us to place palms to welcome into our homes today?

Like so many distant stories, age causes us to gloss over the details and soften the edges of the picture. Jesus told his disciples they were turning toward Jerusalem and it caused quite a reaction. None of the disciples thought it was a good idea. In fact, they thought it might cost Jesus his life. Better to stay at a distance, they felt, but he began walking and they reluctantly followed.

Jerusalem was the political and religious capital at the time. Just as it was puffed up with its own self-importance, it was also mired with corruption and intrigue. There were the Romans and the Jews, the Pharisees and the Sadducees, those who had made peace with Roman occupancy and those who were zealous about Romes removal. There were those longing for God and those who believed God had forsaken them, those who longed for a Messiah and those who felt such longings were a childish dream.

Towards it all, Jesus walked. Despite the growing concern about the man, he paraded down the middle of the road, through the city gates. As I read the story this year in the context of the “social distancing” we’re all practicing, I couldn’t help but marvel at Christ’s audacity. He never kept his distance. In fact, he seemed to defy every kind of social distancing prescribed by his society. From the start, his is a story about God drawing near. God with us, we often say at Christmas, but it’s equally true on Palm Sunday. Even when others advised against it, even when there would be dire consequences, Christ entered in, draws near. 

He did it way back when, and he does it today. For that, I stand with the palm branch of my heart and welcome him.