Found myself between a rock and a hard place the other day.
Lots of rocks, in fact. In a place of dreadfully uncertain footing. You’d think a guy of my vintage would know better, that I’d have more sense than to clamber in climes where even teenagers find their agility challenged.
Fortunately, no injuries were sustained: I emerged from the lower reaches of Johnson’s Shut-ins with all my bones – and most of my dignity – intact.
Was it worth the effort? Indubitably.
The imposing beauty of the boulders effectively slowed my pace, so that even my otherwise-scattered senses could fall in line. I could stop thinking for a bit, and just simply “be.”
Be in the moment.
Soak in the autumn sun.
And praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
“Flow” is a prominent component of the Shut-ins. At other times of year, there’s much more water present, attracting far larger crowds … seeking splashy relief from summer’s heat. But this week the river had slowed to a mere shadow of its raging self, so my Sweetie and I had the place nearly to ourselves.
We had time to linger there. To soak it all in, without worrying about getting soaked or perhaps being swept away. We had time to notice, and savor.
One thing I noticed, particularly, is that we’d stumbled upon ancient terrain: 1.5 billion years old, said the placard. It’s hard not to feel puny in such a primordial time-and-place. We tend to take for “granite” that our lives, our plans, our hopes, our joys, our worries matter. Until you sit upon volcanic rock, set down in antediluvian days. In such a time-scape, we amount to but a whisper: inconsequential, immaterial.
And yet, we do matter, don’t we? Salvation history tells us so – God the Creator of all this Ancient Beauty bothers to create us, too. To breathe Holy Spirit into us, so that – even in our puniness – we somehow resemble God. We learn to cooperate in God’s creating. We love, even as God loves – and in doing so, we manage to warm the world far beyond the capacity of a sun-baked boulder to warm it.
It’s hard to believe God would deed us such a legacy, would place such astounding responsibility into our broken trembling hands. And perhaps that’s why (in this week’s gospel passage) Jesus wonders aloud, “[W]hen the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
On the other hand, the expanse of 1.5 billion years teaches us an important truth: it’s not entirely up to us. We are cooperators, not controllers, in this ongoing act of creation. Indeed: as the Psalmist says, “Our help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”
Let us pause now…to recall that we are in the presence of the Holy & Merciful One.
IHS
With Us Still 