Since visiting my friend in Hawaii in high school, I've always wanted to learn how to surf. There's something that just draws me to it, a majesty, a mystery, and thrill of it all. Just coasting on the motor power of tide. You and the ocean. You and the water. You and God. My friend always said of surfing "for many, that's church." We even did a few of our own dawn patrols with body boards. (Never actually any surfing, but I began to get an idea of what it meant).
Yesterday was my first trip to a beach in almost a year. A rainstorm had just rumbled through and the last mists of drizzle fanned across the windshield just as I parked the car by the access. Greeted by sand dunes and the wave of sea oats, the beach was empty of human traffic (and rightfully so moments after a rainstorm). I had almost forgotten what it felt like to meander along the coastline with the ebb and flow of the tide and the gusts of wind passing over you. Flocks of seagulls were standing guard at the shoreline, staring out at a breathing ocean. Walking on, I now noticed several yards ahead of me the first signs of humanity. A man in a sleek, black, body suit, with board in hand, darted into the ocean and paddled away from shore. As I moved closer to that spot, looking out to sea, I realized I was not the only one on the beach after all. (Perhaps just the only one on the shore). As many as twenty or thirty guys in sleek, black suits bobbed up and down on the waves like buoys. They looked like a whole flock of pelicans floating along after their last meal and plotting their next move. Or, like a bunch of nondescript penguins staring out into an endless horizon of sea waiting for something, or watching intently for something they knew was there, but just couldn't see it yet. "What is this that even the wind and the waves he commands."
For several minutes, I too (stood from the shore) stared out taking it all in and remembered how my friend had associated surfing with church. Yes, the Church is just adventurous enough to leave the shoreline and paddle out into a watery abyss. Just vigilant enough to diligently keep watch for something they know is there and yet can't quite see it. Just audacious enough to try wave after wave and trust that the guiding power of the Most High will guide them through the foamy surf of life. But then again, the Church has also been known to be so focused on itself, waiting for the perfect wave, that it's oblivious to the life that carries on along the shore. And then again, how do you know which wave is the one, the one you've been waiting for? Who's to say it's this one and not that one? Why is it that all thirty surfers, respond to the tide and a different current? But then, there's something about the nature of each wave that assures that each ride ends with one emerging completely baptized and breathless from foamy waters - perhaps even commissioned to set out again for a moment of nature's raw communion. I'm not sure what it is, but for a few brief moments, I'm mesmerized and perplexed by this thing they call church. I've always wanted to learn how to surf. Maybe someday we will.
Yesterday was my first trip to a beach in almost a year. A rainstorm had just rumbled through and the last mists of drizzle fanned across the windshield just as I parked the car by the access. Greeted by sand dunes and the wave of sea oats, the beach was empty of human traffic (and rightfully so moments after a rainstorm). I had almost forgotten what it felt like to meander along the coastline with the ebb and flow of the tide and the gusts of wind passing over you. Flocks of seagulls were standing guard at the shoreline, staring out at a breathing ocean. Walking on, I now noticed several yards ahead of me the first signs of humanity. A man in a sleek, black, body suit, with board in hand, darted into the ocean and paddled away from shore. As I moved closer to that spot, looking out to sea, I realized I was not the only one on the beach after all. (Perhaps just the only one on the shore). As many as twenty or thirty guys in sleek, black suits bobbed up and down on the waves like buoys. They looked like a whole flock of pelicans floating along after their last meal and plotting their next move. Or, like a bunch of nondescript penguins staring out into an endless horizon of sea waiting for something, or watching intently for something they knew was there, but just couldn't see it yet. "What is this that even the wind and the waves he commands."
For several minutes, I too (stood from the shore) stared out taking it all in and remembered how my friend had associated surfing with church. Yes, the Church is just adventurous enough to leave the shoreline and paddle out into a watery abyss. Just vigilant enough to diligently keep watch for something they know is there and yet can't quite see it. Just audacious enough to try wave after wave and trust that the guiding power of the Most High will guide them through the foamy surf of life. But then again, the Church has also been known to be so focused on itself, waiting for the perfect wave, that it's oblivious to the life that carries on along the shore. And then again, how do you know which wave is the one, the one you've been waiting for? Who's to say it's this one and not that one? Why is it that all thirty surfers, respond to the tide and a different current? But then, there's something about the nature of each wave that assures that each ride ends with one emerging completely baptized and breathless from foamy waters - perhaps even commissioned to set out again for a moment of nature's raw communion. I'm not sure what it is, but for a few brief moments, I'm mesmerized and perplexed by this thing they call church. I've always wanted to learn how to surf. Maybe someday we will.
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