This week we are focusing on the idea of joy and how that ‘joy’ can take shape in our lives.
What I am talking about is the experience of reaching a point of mystery. . . This is where joy can begin if we are willing to linger a bit in the moment.
In a book that I cherish, Gilead, Marilynne Robinson tells the story of John Ames, an Iowa pastor writing in his journal. John knows that his life lis about at its end, as cancer has come and is taking him away from his family far earlier than expected. So, John goes about writing in his journal so that later his son will have these words to remember his father by after he is gone. I have read, and re-read sections of this book more times then I can count as the message of the book lives on with me.
But one story sticks in my mind. Whenever I think about the book, my mind rests on the story from page 94-5 (I don’t even have to look for it among the highlights and marks on the pages). I know right where to find it.
In this story, John is a young boy. His father, and other members of the community have been called to the burning, smoldering remains of a church. It was struck by lightening a few days ago and burned down. When they arrive embers from the fire are still visible. So what’s left needs ‘pulled down’ to protect the rest of the community from catching fire. The men work in the rain while the women prepare lunch in their wagons. The smell of pies and cakes are on John’s mind as he watches. The Bibles that can be saved are piled in one place, the hymnals in another. What cannot be salved is buried. The old pulpit is placed under a tree with a horse blanket to protect it from the rain until it can be moved again to its new home. Ash from the fire, when combined with the rain from the day, made a river of gray that covered the all of men. The rain mixing with the burns and scorches the men are dealing with. John says that it was hard to tell one from another on that day. . .
While sitting under the wagon in a vain attempt to stay dry and play with some friends from church, John is fed a piece of charred biscuit by his father. The rain water running off his father's hat. John said it was the first time that he felt he was receiving communion as it was passed from father to son. John narrates the story in this way:
“There’s a sweetness in the experience which I don’t understand. But that only enhances the value of it. My point here is that you never do knows the actual nature even of your own experience. Or perhaps it has no fixed and certain nature. I remember my father down on his heels in the rain, water dripping from his hat, feeding me biscuit from his scorched hand. . . . In those days no grown woman ever let herself be seen with her hair undone, but that day even the grand old women had their hair falling down their backs like schoolgirls. It was so joyful . . . I mention it again because it seems to me much of my life was comprehended in that moment. . . .when I took communion from my father’s hand."
This story was one where John could have fallen into the trap of contentment. His family was with him and they ate together. It was a productive day. But instead, John looked deeper and saw in the charred biscuit the presence of God—even if that presence wasn’t named directly. I think that is how it became a moment of joy. He found God in a place that he didn’t expect. God was present in the mystery surrounding a church ‘pull down.’ This makes me wonder, what unexpected place could you find God today if you looked at things through a different lens or perspective?
Do you have your own ‘biscuit in the rain’ story that has shaped much of how you live and feel joy?
Blessings
Rev. Derek
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