The Weeds, the Shore and God 

In this picture, the shore and the reeds/weeds are both parts of the same picture.  Their relationship is like life itself.   In order to reach the shore (a goal, a sense of well-being, etc.) we need to navigate our boat through the weeds.  For those of us who have actually moved forward through real weeds to reach a shore, we know how important it is to have a person in the bow of our boat to part the thickest of the weeds and help point out what may be the best routes.  The key, of course is in the conversation between us, the rower and the friend in the bow – you know then that you are not alone. 

In one such journey on a lake Up North, through the reeds on our way to a distant lake, my bow-friend gave signals of approaching shallow water, he helped part the waters – so to speak – and pushed off from trouble when we got too close.  But he also noticed an eagle high in the branches over our heads, a beaver working on his “house”, a red-winged blackbird with the brightest red wings I have ever seen, and an irregularly-shaped open field on a shore where he and his friends played baseball as kids.  He was a guide, a helper, a noticer, a friend;  he has been here before.   At no time was there ever a moment when the reeds and the shore were not contiguous parts of the same journey.

On the very day that the doctors told me that I too had aggressive cancer, and my wife and I were crying in anguish together over both having been diagnosed with cancer at the same time, there was a loud knock on the door.  As I, tear-faced, opened the door, a couple from upstairs came bursting into our living room and into our lives.  The woman, herself dying of an extended illness and the man, carefully pushing her wheelchair, threw their hearts and arms around us.  Yes they later helped us notice the joys, the sadness and the uncertainties of our journeys, but it was that evening in which they deliberately and abruptly crossed our emotionally-isolating barrier and listened with understanding ears to our fresh anguish that gave us strength in the months and years to come.  We were noticed and understood, in our row toward a then-distant shore, by friends who were a part of the same uncertain but alternating hopeful and distressing journey.

As we parishioners strive to sustain our own struggling church-home whose possibility for growth seems to be such a distant shore, or as we older adults open ourselves to the wisdom of others who have been traveling these journeys of change before us, we too can allow God to burst into our lives or sit on the bow of our boats to guide us through the weeds toward the distant shores. 

Every single one of our stories involves a belief.   A belief that God is listening.  How else could He have appeared as an empathetic older couple with a wheelchair giving us courage and strength.  How else could He have placed a friend on the bow to point out both the eagles and the shallow water?

To the extent that we believe – together – we can find new pathways to save our church or heal our cancer for now, and we will be open to the new routes, new hope and new possibilities as they happen.  Thanks be to God.

Bruce