...it involves a canoe

 I have a parable on the tip of my tongue...

...it involves a canoe.

 

And as parables go it is most certainly a metaphor for the kindom of God, although I do not have all the pieces figured out; like the kindom of God, the parable of the canoe is a work in progress.

 

I started the week thinking about the storm at sea with the anxious disciples waking Jesus, demanding that he do something – this, set beside ponderings of World Refugee Day and the stories from past congregation members who were Displaced Persons from WWII, who boarded all kinds of boats and seafaring craft, hopping from harbour to harbour, seeking safe passage to far off lands to settle and rebuild their lives. The stories were of families boarding separate ships to escape quickly, ships that were sunk by the machines of war, hiding in underbellies of boats for weeks on end, months of rolling seas and motion sickness, witnessing deaths and burials at sea, and the wishing -praying- for land.  

I wonder where was Jesus on these ships full of refugees – where was he sleeping?

 Jesus, wake up and do something, please?

These are not the questions I heard in the stories of once Displaced Persons.

The stories were bone chilling, and yet, the deeper the cold penetrated the more the story included talking of faith, of prayer, of reciting psalms, of singing hymns, of experiencing the presence of angels, of feeling that one was not alone in the storm and chaos at sea. Jesus was already awake and in their midst; in the midst of putrid air, salt ravished skin, shrunken bellies, the infestation of rats, in sickness and in death. 

 

I have a parable on the tip of my tongue...

...it involves a canoe.

 

In my Bible, Psalm 107 has been given the title, “Thanksgiving for a Return From Exile.”

This morning we heard one of four cases presented in the psalm, the case of those fearing storm and sea. The others cases are: the case of those who hunger and thirst, the case of those in darkness and gloom, and the case of those suffering in sin and affliction.  Each is a vignette of deliverance where those in the circumstance described are redeemed  and all benefit from God’s saving work. The hungry are fed, the gloom-mired are liberated, the dead in sin are given life, the fearful are hopeful. The thrust of the Psalm -in praying this psalm- a congregation, the community, is to embrace and understand themselves as redeemed.

Redeemed is the starting point – regardless of the condition or case a remedy is at hand- God’s unconditional covenant loyalty, God’s steadfast love is at hand, present, and soaked in during the journey.

 

Okay back to the pieces of the canoe parable.

 

Getting in a boat, any kind of boat, other than a canoe, no matter how excited I might be for the adventure, how calm I appear, I start in a private fear that I will feel ill later on, and will need time to recover. I will likely get tired and grouchy and not be very nice to be around.

But put me in a canoe and I am happy.  I love canoes and canoeing. I do not get motion sick in a canoe.

With lifejacket on and paddle in hand, I settle into a canoe, legs crossed as I lightly sit on the front of the provided seat. I place my paddle in the water and with ‘j’, ‘s’, and ‘c’ strokes gently glide the canoe forward in the waterway. As I paddle, the troubles of life seem to drip off the paddle, swirling away in the eddies that flow from the boat. The canoe sits in the water, embraced by the water on either side; you can touch the water, move through it, see into it. With your own hands the paddle strokes can take you anywhere you want to go.

I realized this week I like canoeing because in a canoe I feel close to nature, as if the Creator is hugging the boat – and me, and together we are on a journey -an adventure of awe and wonder. I feel connected, at peace, that all is right with the world; canoeing is a moment of how I imagine God’s kindom to feel.

I also realized – much to my annoyance- that I like canoeing because in a canoe (for the most part) I have control.  And this is where the parable of the canoe should have a pithy turning of the image.  But that is beyond me... because I am stuck wrestling with the concept, and very real reality, that I like to be in control.

 

The hardest part of the storm and waves of the past year, for me, centred around control – or the lack of my ability to control circumstances. I was not in a canoe.  I was in some sort of a large barge, frigate, or ocean liner, being tossed about feeling sick, discombobulated, and not able to do anything to stop swaying or the storm.

The less control I feel that I have, the more anxious and fearful I become.

 

I guess I should have been praying from Jesus’ prayer book, Psalm 107, where the focus is to accept ones lack of control and wash oneself in the understanding and faith that one -that peoples- begin redeemed; that God’s steadfast love and covenant loyalty are at hand.  Having this prayer in ones’ heart, in a sense, controls one’s response to the case, crisis, or storm wherein one finds themselves. I can control what I pray. I can’t control how it will or won’t affect me when full of fear or find myself in short supply.

 

I have a story that I have told you many times before, it is of a man who set up a competition between two famous painters.  The painter’s task was to paint a scene that illustrated a true picture of peace. The one artist painted a lovely idyllic scene in soft pastels, with green pastures, a babbling brook, cute little sheep, and soft puffy clouds hanging in the sky.

The other painter painted a sparrow with her nest tucked tightly in the ‘v’ between trunk and branch.  The mama bird was sitting peacefully on her nest, seemingly unware, that the tree leaned out over a raging spring river, with white water overflowing the banks and swallowing the bottom of the tree. As the paintings were unveiled, the first artist was given praise for the peace presented in the work – the crowd relaxing sighed together. The second work received a gasp! How can this be peace?  In the end the second work won the competition ... peace and faith are confidence and assurance amidst the storms of life that you have no control over.

 

I have a parable on the tip of my tongue...

... it is about a canoe.

 

I remember a family canoeing adventure, where the river became too shallow for two people to be in the canoe.  My brother volunteered to take the lead ropes of the canoes and carefully walk up the river until we found deeper water. Mom, dad, and myself walked along the shore. All was great. Without having to portage the canoes we reached deeper water. My brother had done a great job, just wet to his knees.  As we settled into the canoes, my brother while trying to get into his canoe, somehow caught his foot on the side rail and fell into the river. He was soaking wet. You can have the best laid plans, and seemingly be in control ... until one is not.

 

I am still working out the parable of the canoe.  I am still working out my relationship with matters of control. I wrestle with taking the risk to let go of fear, and even with the strong possibility of sickness, to board the large barge, frigate, or ocean liner and encounter God, God’s covenant loyalty, and in the midst of storm – uncontrolled by me - to hear the words of Psalm 107 rise from my heart.  The same words used to compose the hymn, Eternal Father, Strong to Save, that has me cry every time I hear it. I lose control ... and it feels good as I feel waves of liberation and life and hope drown me.

 

And when in my happy place, in the canoe, here too I wrestle with control.  Sometimes I need to stop paddling -to let go – and see where God takes me. Or to let someone else paddle, the community sharing in the kindom.

 

I have a parable on the tip of my tongue...

... it is about a canoe.

 

...it is about God’s covenant loyalty and the fullness of the kindom of God.

 ... it is a work in progress.