Last week there was a baptism. The service it was embedded in was an exploration of water, and its marvelous properties. As songleader, it was my joy to include a piece John wrote called Water of Life. The minister spoke about attributes of this essential liquid, including the usuals like quenching thirst and cleaning mud from between your toes. A child raised his hand and reminded us about floating, which is a privilege crocodiles enjoy too. He is right, of course.
Truth is the counterpart of water, since they echo one another between spiritual and earthly realities. I thought about times I was achingly thirsty, like hiking under the California sun, and how marvelous it felt to down a cool bottle full. What is it like to be so desperate for truth?
It is my good fortune to be a moderator for comments to the online show Off the Left Eye. It makes me ridiculously eager to log on, and read what people have said in response to recent episodes. Recently there were a couple of entries that stayed with me.
"I have done some bad things. Can God really forgive me?"
It was precious to copy a section of the Prodigal Son, and passages from Swedenborg's writings about the Lord's infinite mercy. Here was a person whose real name I may never know, whose voice I cannot hear, whose heart is parched from fear of past mistakes. Giving her a drink was the most sacred gesture of my day.
Another man wrote about the deep grief of his wife's death. Looking into the void of losing her was like crossing a desert with no canteen. I offered a link to a
video about spiritual marriage, and love that cannot be hijacked by death.
The baptism service itself does not include cups of water. But the minister had a fountain, sending its laughter into the room. He crowned the baby with a finger's worth of water on her head, and invited the congregation to gather around and bless this child. In that moment I felt like a brimming glass, which for reasons I can't remember defies gravity by not spilling over the edge.
Then again maybe gravity is the reason, pulling us toward one another in a hydroponic bond.
