The Storms of Life
Riding out a hurricane this week taught me a thing or two. That sometimes, instead of making our way somewhere else, pilgrimage is a matter of standing still and waiting out whatever storm has made its way to you. It’s being trapped by rising water and winds beyond your control. It’s the inability to take matters into your own hands because this time human hands can’t help. And the inability to walk away from the storm because it’s got you surrounded.
This isn’t a pilgrimage that we chose – it comes against our will for purposes we can’t comprehend. Not a holy hike, but a holy standing still. Filled with sacred encounters of the terrifying kind – banshees wailing at the gates of hell. The duration and destination we won’t know until we arrive, shaking, at the end.
Maybe this pilgrimage is about taking it on the chin while looking it in the eye. Just watching that hurricane roll on hour after hour, day after day, unrelenting in its rage. Howling as though a portal to hell has opened. Accepting rather than resisting. Seeing this circumstance as a tool. Letting it do its violent work to shake loose whatever isn’t firmly anchored and to strengthen whatever won’t shake loose.
Storms put the fear of God back into his people that have tried to tame Him, showing to us our utter dependence. Once in a while we need a reminder that it’s only leaky windows and battered doors and the mercy of God standing between us and disaster. Every damn day.