One year ago, I was in Hawaii. I walked along the sea, took a whale-watching tour. Never have I seen such gorgeous blue water. I enjoyed the sun and the quiet and the tourists’ view of the beauty of the island. Not to mention, the delicious luau at sunset. Nevertheless, I could not escape the world around us, the one I thought I left behind for a few days. Daily I walked past a notice informing us a guest in the hotel had tested positive for the novel coronavirus. While I paid little attention to the news that week, I was aware of the deadly virus and the coming threat. On the plane ride home the woman next to me coughed the entire trip. I remained voluntarily quarantined from family for 14 days after coming back.
However, following a relative’s surgery and an accident, I spent several days at the hospital with my dear one, who ended up in ICU with severe shortness of breath, often sitting alone with my fear that it was the virus. I watched as staff piled in and spent an enormous amount of time in two rooms, often to the neglect of my relative. When the discharge to a rehab came, the facility, and most of the city, were locked down. We had entered the initial phase of coping with this ominous threat. A year later, so much has changed and so much remains the same. My closest family have all remained free of the virus, but not the suffering of isolation or the worry for others close to us and loss of some. After a year of protests for racial justice, riots between white supremacists and governmental agencies, violence in the streets, and a nearly successful coup attempt, the lists of the dead and dying from the virus continues to grow and the shutdowns continue.
A year later, Lent, the next six weeks leading up to the Christian celebration of Easter, arrived with continuing angst, and a small amount of hope. The devotions of this season leading to new life and resurrected hope, are meant to be observed with solemnity. Christians are invited to deep reflection on our mortality and dependence upon God. This year, after 2020, it is not my mortality I am considering. I have found myself standing at the seaside again. Though I am not in Hawaii, or by any other ocean.
I am home and simply thinking about the Hebrews sojourn through the wilderness. I am thinking of the last Hebrew to stand on the bank of the Red Sea trying to decide whether to step into the mud or turn back to Egypt. Though many have leapt into the unknown at the risk of being drowned by the return of the waters, I am standing on the brink frozen between two worlds. This is how change, transformation, works. A vision comes, often a picture of joy and hope, something enticing and exciting. Eagerly, it is pursued. Right up to the point where a leap of faith must be taken. Right up until the waters recede to reveal the muddy way forward. The far side where the vision exists is now hidden, obscured by the difficulty of getting this far, and drowned out by the hammering foot beats hastening to catch up and drag the seeker back to the old and familiar ways where at least the rhythm of the day was known.
There I am. Perhaps you are with me. Staring at the possibility that light and life are just a little further, just there on the other side of this muddy seabed in front of us. We cannot know for sure what awaits. We have only hope. Behind us we have certainty. It was so enslaving that we ran like hell to leave it behind. But now, confronted with the slogging truth that laying claim to something different, and something only dreamed of but never seen, the lure of the known is strong. The daily grind, the deadly status quo, the little control we had over our daily destiny is easier. We hear ourselves saying, “just turn around, it wasn’t all that bad.”
It was not. There is a long list of what was right with our lives. But if that were enough, we would not be standing here now, stuck on this side of a Hawaiian paradise, wondering if hope is worth stepping into the mud.
In this season of Lent, I will be exploring the motivations for crossing my Red Sea. Wanna play in the mud with me?
(Text: Exodus 14; Next: Surprise-It’s Not Muddy!)
bevfriedlander 