It can be a tad unsettling, the elegant decadence of a river cruise.
You’re told you’re boarding a ship – a Viking longship, no less. And the itinerary boasts multiple ports-of-call. But there’s never truly a sense that you’ve become a sailor during the trip – “man-against-the-sea.” In fact, crew members go to extraordinary lengths to protect their guests from the elements.
Such was the case along the Rhône at L’Isère, where a waiter popped open two bumbershoots during dinner service … the better to protect diners from annoying water drips as our ship passed under a bridge.
Not that I’m complaining. It’s more like I’m astonished … at all the care, provisioning and preparation that went into making our recent European vacation go so smoothly. Why, we didn’t even have to stop for fuel: When you’re aboard a Viking longship, the gas station comes to you!
The unsettling part arrives later, when you realize how comfortable all this luxury has become. “I could get used to this,” you think. “Heck, I have gotten used to it!”
Then it turns out, you’ve been engaged in a respite … not real life.
And soon enough, “real life” might come at you like a frightening squall: A loved one is hospitalized, a dear friend departs, a cherished part of parish life is removed without your input or permission. Event piles upon unexpected event, and it’s enough to leave you staggering … and more than a little disoriented.
You’d like nothing better than to stay in “cruise mode.” To revel in the quiet presence of the Holy One – a presence like the “tiny whispering sound” that Elijah experiences at the entrance to the cave on Mount Horeb.
Instead, you get ordered into a boat – and notice that life’s winds seem to have all turned against you. You find yourself “being tossed about by the waves.” And you don’t like it, not one little bit.
Then you notice this: The Holy One, oddly, doesn’t seem disturbed by the squall – and doesn’t think you should be disturbed, either. “Come,” Jesus says. “Walk with me on these turbulent waters.”
“What the, what the?” you want to reply.
Still, some measure of grace may be found. Grace arrives when you realize that, in your angst, you’ve looked right past the most important part of his instructions for enduring the squall.
“With me,” says the Christ. “Walk with me.”
Let us pause now…to recall that we are in the presence of the Holy & Merciful One.
IHS
With Us Still 