A Moment in the Sun

Memorial Day means the beginning of pool season at the neighborhood swimming hole. Folk flock to the waters as if it held a miracle cure, worshiping the sun god and chatting it up with old friends.

The chill of the water pales in comparison to the shock of being accosted once again by so many minimally-clothed bodies. We’re all there-- tall and short, young and old, tattooed and freckled, confident and inhibited, gazelle-like and muffin-topped (my older daughter’s term for the excess that overflows the sides of a bathing suit).

Once my eyes adjusted to the flood of human skin I settled into a quiet place where a deep gladness washed over me like the spray from the fountain in the center of the pool. I found myself watching and loving each person as they passed by, realizing how wondrously we’re made, how important each person is to someone in the world, how every one plays a role in the human drama, how united we are in our skin, our humanity, our desires to find a chaise lounge chair in the sun to abide for a little while before returning to the daily rhythm of life.

Occupational hazard, I began to daydream about church. At its best, I think being a part of a worshiping community should feel like an hour at the pool-- a gathering of people who’ve left their pretensions in the car, who are there warts and all, who seek and find a place to abide, renew, reframe, and recommit to what life calls from us. Coming together in common cause ought to reboot our lives and cause us to see what is too often obscured by the layers of distractions we pile on our lives.

A pastor friend from the New York City area popped into one of our services at Highland this weekend. He wrote a kind note, including a reflection on this weird work we do as leaders of churches.

“I no longer really try to be witty or clever. It is mostly about describing the qualities of living in the spiritual plane in this world. Nobody gives a (darn) about doctrine or the end of the world. What they need to hear is that love is the divine force, that reconciliation is a necessary balance to competition, that understanding and moral principle are in tandem, that forgiveness and peace are a more meaningful way to live. I’m certain in my context that people come to church to get a substantive swing thought going for the week because they know they have to manage their control, anger and cynicism. They need to be reminded of the antidote. It is all about accessing the humane and personal dimension of existence.”

Sitting there on Memorial Day with an unread book on my lap, watching the informal parade of people go by in unrealized review, I fell in love again with this whole human endeavor. Gosh, if I was Thomas Merton someone might put a plaque up where I had this epiphany! I’d settle for someone reading this and being open to the possibility that any one of us is a candidate for a moment where he or she discovers that life, though sometimes hard, is amazingly beautiful.

I realize that everyday can’t be Memorial Day. I also realize that while I was enjoying myself basking in the sun, someone else was checking passes at the door, others sat for hours in the life guard chair, others were selling sodas, and still others walked around emptying trash cans. We all have our turn on duty. But because they made it possible I was given the opportunity to see again that life is a beautiful gift-- not just my life but our life together with family, friends, even our enemies. Yep, them too.  We’re all part of this endeavor to find wholeness and life and purpose and peace. A moment in the sun. 

Sometimes it takes a change of scenery-- even if it includes lots of muffin tops-- to awaken one to what is deeply true.