Two Mega-Metaphors

JUNE 10 7th day of “The Last sabbatical”

September 17, 1996
And yet there are times, moments, when the flow of events becomes a River in which I wade and fish, every cast a search for missing parts of a story.

June 11, 2007 St. Barnabas

Two Mega-Metaphors for God.
1. The Natural World. Rivers in particular, and some forests. It was at the Delaware River in Pennsylvania that I first talked to trees as if they were interested. The River was like a distracted Grandmother, whispering to herself in the night.
Last night on the Au Sable River we fished late, long after our lines and flies became invisible, long after the owls had begun to hoot and hunt, and (we had eventually to admit) long after the trout had ceased to rise. There were plenty of bugs hatching: just no trout eating them. I caught two, a rainbow and a brown. The River was high and strong from the recent rains.
In the gathering darkness the water seems to merge with air, and for awhile we become as if amphibious, inhabiting both regions. For that time we are a discontinuous arc, linked to the underwater realm by fly line and tapered leader, requiring only a rising trout to complete the circle. Yet even the absence of trout implies a potential completeness.
In the fishless void a scrap of remembered poetry rises to the surface. T.S. Eliot, I think.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

The potential implies the possibility. Gods spawn in the River alongside the mayflies, and merge into one. For Thine is the kingdom, continues the poem. Our casting is a rehearsal for such a kingdom, a ritual with sacred sticks waved lucklessly at shadows.

My Up North fishing partner prefers to be known by a pseudonym, so I will call him Riverdog since he stands guard over the rivers, protecting them from pollution and other forms of disrespect. We sit by the river bank in darkness, discussing ways in which our environment is holding us accountable for our self-indulgent life style. Riverdog tells about his Basic Training in the army: “we will break you down,” he was told. That seems authoritarian and harsh, but is exactly what our planet will do to our species if we don’t stop abusing her.
And exactly what Christ teaches, demonstrates: we are being broken down, shattered, disassembled by the events of life, by climatic change, tectonic shifts, geologic or otherwise.
Will U raise us up? Reassemble us as partners with these waters and these fish?

2. Community. Churches in particular.
At the Eucharist in Mio, Michigan, this morning the congregation arrived early, eager to see one another, reluctant to leave at the end. They lavish much care on their quaint, tiny church and well-equipped parish hall, but what they cherish most is their communion with one another. They greet strangers warmly, anxious to show a visitor how to find the pages in the books. When the visitor turns out to be a priest in disguise, they laugh heartily at themselves. They are thankful for their church, and like to share it with others.

What keeps liturgy from being boring and subversive to community and gospel?
A. Participation… the congregation at St. Bartholomew’s, Mio, are liturgical adepts. They read scriptures & prayers, preach sermons, and sing idiosyncratic service music with laudable enthusiasm.
B. Stories… people need to tell about what they did and what it meant to them. Last week they had held the funeral of a member who was highly esteemed in the community. Two hundred people attended the service for this 93 year old woman. Many funerals for people that old are sparsely attended because they have outlived their contemporaries. But some people transcend their generation
C. It is understandable that people hold back from participation in our life and worship. Worship is like looking over a cliff into an abyss of sorrow, joy, brokenness, and infinite possibility. You know there is no way to appreciate it without jumping over the edge and becoming part of it. But there is a strong temptation to watch from a safe distance, to dabble in spirituality, to watch Bassmasters on TV instead of wading into the Au Sable River in the dark. I notice this when I visit other congregations where I have no personal connections.

The rector of St. Bartholomew’s spoke in her sermon about how God empowered prophets, apostles, and Jesus to take action in various ways. She suggested we do the same by recycling Styrofoam. “It’s mostly symbolic,” she acknowledged. Like Elijah the prophet, we must trust in God to reveal the abundance in the midst of apparent scarcity. Like Jesus, we must join the grief-stricken crowds and seek to restore their lost joy. Only God can bring this about, and most of us make changes only when we have to.
In other words, when we are broken down, shattered, and disassembled. Then we may be ready to become bread.

The liturgy at St. Bartholmew’s was good. It served the community. But when there is healthy community, even tedious liturgy can be endured.