Come to the Water

Come to the Water

Last week there were 19 of us from Northminster at Montreat to attend the Worship and Music Conference.  The theme this year was, “Come to the Water.”

I have always been a water person.  My Grandmother lived by the philosophy that as soon a child could walk the child should swim and as soon as a child could swim a child should ski.  So I grew up going every summer to Rocky Fork Lake in southern Ohio and water skiing from sun up to sun down.

I still love the water, swimming, sunning, floating, boating.  Being near the water is relaxing and renewing for me.  There is nothing else quite like it.

I thought of all that during the Montreat Conference.  We were talking about the waters of baptism, the living water Jesus gives, and the water that flows from the throne of God.  Water is such a great image for God.  But sometimes I feel like water is also a symbol of my faith.

My faith feels so much like the ocean.  It comes in waves and is never the same twice.

One day my faith is so shallow I can walk over the sand and shells, feel the pain, and barely dampen my toes.  The next day the waves knock my feet out from under me and I swallow and breathe the salty waters.  One day I float on top of the gentle, calm pool, slipping in to cool off only when the heat of the sun is too much.  Another day the stormy waves frighten me away.  Crashing surf and powerful undertow pull me places I would not go.

The ocean, like my faith has so many faces, so many moods and none of them are within my control.

I can go to the water.  I can put myself there.  But the tides, the water, the surf, the currents are in God’s hand.  When I am feeling strong and confident and more than capable of riding the huge curls and fighting the frightening currents, I go to the beach and find the tide is out and I’m left with shallow pools in the sand.  When I am exhausted or wounded and simply want to float in the amniotic waters of earth’s loving womb I may discover a faith that it stormy and tosses me to and fro.

I used to think that faith was always a gentle, comforting presence that would make me feel warm and happy.  When those feelings were absent I feared faith was absent too.  Now I know the only water that is gentle and warm and smooth is a very small pond in a very isolated spot.  I want more than that.

I want the ocean with all its faces and moods and mysteries, a salty surface to buoy me to hold me up, keep me afloat in the glistening sun, ocean depths full of darkness, mystery, life, unexpected, unexplored, undiscovered.  I want faith that is refreshing and relaxing, like a vacation with God, and a faith that is challenging and fearsome and always holds something new in its depths.

When I shut myself in my office to pray I put a sign on my door that says, “In Conference.”  I think I want a new sign that says, “Gone to the Beach.”