We've been vacationing, via our favorite cruise line, along the eastern coast of Canada. Montreal, Quebec City, Prince Edward Island, and Sydney (Cape Breton, Nova Scotia). Our future ports of call include Halifax, Bar Harbor, Maine and Boston, Mass.
I carefully checked today's weather before leaving the ship ---61 degrees Fahrenheit, high clouds, some sun, and dry--- A jacket would be sufficient. No umbrella needed.
All went well in the morning; but as the afternoon settled in, we saw the clouds darkening and dropping low. The temps dropped with them. We decided to walk back to the ship and soon found ourselves struggling against a stiff, cold wind.
And a chilling mist.
Approaching the ship, conditions worsened. Locals we encountered told us they had just heard there might be snow on the way. In June. None of them appeared the least bit surprised.
I am not a winter person.
It's not much of a confession to anyone who knows me. I've written elsewhere about my experiences in multiple Boston winters ... all 18 of them. Cars that wouldn't start, constantly falling down on slick surfaces, impassable roads, power outages, being late to ... well, everything; never, ever getting warm enough. And, worst of all, at least for me, that overwhelming claustrophobic sensation that it would never end.
If you don't live far enough north, you don't know about new snowfall in April, or that the spring snows fall on top of snow that has been on the ground since January. And you don't realize that the snow may still be on the ground come May.
But.
Summer in New England, and the few weeks that bookend either side of it, is a lovely time. Very Robert Frost. So, when winter does finally end, everyone feels an uplift in spirit; joy fills every heart. A kind of collective amnesia overtakes, clouding the harsher memories of winter.
So, deep in the winter, people think of the spring to come, of the green grass, flowers, and the planting of gardens. They think of the warm days of summer and the coming, though still far off, harvest.
They have hope.
For they know that every inch of snow piled upon the ground throughout the winter is actually stored water, just waiting for spring to release it. Water that brings life to the land, the plants, the animals, and all of us humans who could not survive without it.
The Romans passage in this week's Lectionary selections talks about a "hope that does not disappoint." Such hope is more than just a wish; it's a confidence that good will come. The passage asserts that by enduring our sufferings, we will gain character, the kind of character that can hope, unreservedly, in the belief that our faith is not misplaced.
As our ship headed out to sea, the port already toy-sized, the lowering clouds began to break apart. Patches of sun-drenched cerulean blue began to appear. Within ten minutes of leaving the shore behind, I could stand on the deck without a jacket ... and not a cloud in sight.
Regardless of their length or severity, we must not let bouts of bad weather ---our sufferings--- distract us from the hope that does not disappoint. Our faith is our storehouse of that hope. And it will see us through our winters.
Even really brief ones.
Even in June.
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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 6 (11) (June 18, 2017)
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/
Genesis 18:1-15, (21:1-7)
Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
Exodus 19:2-8a
Psalm 100
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:8, (9-23)
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We have a hope that does not disappoint. Join us Friday mornings for Lectionary Breakfast at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant. We meet at 8:00 for an hour that feeds us, both physically and spiritually, and from which we draw hope for the days ahead.
Enjoy the coming week!
Steve
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A somewhat different version of this Lectionary reflection appeared just over three years ago as: "Winter Is Coming."
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