It was on the last day that we wandered down from the lodge, through the long meadow, and gathered at the water’s edge, a couple dozen of us, to sit on logs tiered in seven or eight rows. Before us stood an altar made of stone. Above, in the treetops, hung a cross. Beyond, the lake stretched out to the far shore, its calm surface rippling with tiny waves.
We were on retreat, and on that last morning we had come down to the water to worship.
Followers of Jesus have always gathered around water, perhaps not physically, but always in thought and spirit. Read the first Psalm, a bedrock text for believers, and you will find that you “are like a tree planted by streams of water”, or the Gospel of John where Jesus says that anyone who “drinks the water I offer will never be thirsty again.” What a pair of thirst-quenching images for a world short of hope and sustenance, then as well as now. The early church quickly embraced the power of water as a symbol, indeed as something much more, when it began the practice of baptism, a cleansing of the soul for newcomers to the faith. The practice continues today, 2000 years later. Water, yet again.
These twin threads of spiritual nourishment and inner cleansing, woven together, run through the tapestry of Christian belief and history; as importantly, they are woven into the everyday lives of believers practicing the disciplines their faith offers. Disciplines like the worship we had been called to at the water’s edge on that summer Sunday morning.
Yet sitting on my log and gazing out over the water, absorbed in the litany of hymn, prayer, and homily, another thought stirs. This water stretching before us, this lake, isn’t this the world we all journey across as we go through life? A metaphor perhaps, but a rich and powerful one. Aren’t we all, believer or not, out on the water everyday of our lives from beginning to end, sometimes becalmed, sometimes lost, sometimes straining at the oars, trying to make our way across to the distant shore?
From our lakeside perch that morning, secure on solid ground, the distant water seemed almost perfectly flat – no doubt an illusion. But still, no storms were imminent, no heavy waves roughened the surface; it seemed a day for a safe journey, with a great calm hanging over all. Much of life is like this, calm and peaceful. Yet sometimes unexpected events come tumbling into our lives, breaking the calm surface, even brewing up a storm of turbulence, fear, and anxiety. What then?
The story of Jesus and his disciples crossing the Sea of Galilee comes to mind. The Galilee, prone to sudden and violent storms, is suddenly tossing with great wind and fearsome waves. Jesus lies asleep in the boat. His disciples, terrified, waken him. He rises in the boat, stretches out his hand, and commands the seas and winds to cease. Within seconds all is calm once more. Having Jesus in the boat has saved the disciples from a watery death.
Today, in our increasingly secular culture, many will scoff at this story. Miracles, they will say, do not happen. But whatever you may believe about miracles, the story offers a deeper spiritual meaning, a meaning that leads inward. How do we find inner calm in the midst of stormy times? When we must row through troubled, even treacherous waters, what would it mean to have Jesus in our boat?
John Wesley’s experience at sea is instructive. Wesley, best known as the founder of Methodism, was sailing from England to America in the 1730’s. While crossing the Atlantic a storm arose, and the ship was threatened. Wesley writes, “the sea broke over, split the main-sail in pieces, covered the ship, and poured in between the decks, as if the great deep had already swallowed us up.” What saved the crew from panic, and possibly all aboard from death, was the amazing calm of a party of Moravian Pietists who continued singing a psalm throughout the ordeal.
The Pietists had spurned the dominant religious culture of their homeland where dogma and its many shades of interpretation dominated, where too often pastors used the pulpit to engage in theological debate. Instead, seeking a religion closer to personal experience, they turned inward to find faith and conviction. Their calming presence during the storm, built on this solid rock of inner certainty, not only saved lives, but also radically transformed Wesley’s life.
This calming presence, found when we cross the water with Jesus, be it a mountain lake, an ocean, or the sea of life itself, continues to transform lives today.
Suggested Reading
Psalm 1
John 4:13-1
Mark 4:35-41
