I seem to be doing more and more of my Sunday worship out at Wit’s End, our little spot on the lake where we have a tiny yellow cottage and the 1968 Airstream. And it’s not that I’m playing hooky; it just feels, these days, as though it’s easier to get closer to my faith in the pontoon boat than a church.
Churchs sort of muck things up for me. First of all, they usually have way too many people in them and I don’t like crowds. Then there’s the problem of the pastor or preacher or vicar or whatever. One of two things seems to happen with the pastors I get:
a) they lecture me about the hows and whys of my being a bad person and then I find out they have been behaving inappropriately with someone else’s wife or hapless member of the congregation (that would be their business entirely if they hadn’t been going after my soul with such enthusiasm)- or
b) they’re good and smart and compassionate and do a splendid job of paraphrasing God’s words to me in a way that makes sense and feels right and inspires me to go forth and serve- and then they get called to some other church that needs them.
Either way, the Board of Elders ( usually rife with know-it-alls) falls into chaos and conflict, mostly conflict. And then I don’t want to be around while they hash that out and find a replacement. I keep trying, more often in the fall and winter, not because I should but because I really want to.
Right now, though, I’m going to the First Church of Water Lilies. Peace. Wonder and Awe. Sorrow and Sacrifice. Rebirth.
Yesterday Kristen and I went out to Wit’s End to escape the city heat and managed to get completely toasted on the lake. Then we had a wonderful early morning thunderstorm and when the sun came out everything was drippy and lush and happy, including this little squirrel.
Previously, I posted about the swans. One of the things I had been wondering about was the cygnets. At first count, 6 weeks ago, there were seven. Last time I was there they were down to five. That made me sad but it’s not unusual for a couple to get picked off by turtles or hawks. Now, there are none. All I can think is that the nest wasn’t waterbound enough in the marsh and a fox made repeated raids.