Sacred Waters
Homily| September 13, 2020 |Rev. Julie Lombard
Not long ago, I found myself on the edge of the Pemigewasset River. I was there to do some reading as my child played in the white water rapids that make up a natural water park there. So, that was the plan, but as plans usually go, that is not what happened.
As I walked to the edge to set up my chair, I noticed this popular spot was unusually empty on a hot summer day. A homeless man had also decided to spend the day by the water’s edge. Music flowed from his radio louder than the river could sing. I thought, yup- that’s it, his music will be why I don’t read as much as I hoped, but I was wrong. He then took a call on his cell phone and in a booming voice he spoke above the radio and river. Again, I thought- this is what would be the reason and again, I was wrong.
Not long after that, a family came making their way up the river being led by their dog. The dog was quick to greet the homeless man followed by the father holding the leash. The mother helped the younger boy who appeared to be five years old navigate the many boulders as their eight year old leaped from one to another as if falling was impossible. Soon the family reached me with a warm greeting and left their bags near me as they wandered out to watch my child ride the rapids.
Before long, the mother started a conversation with me. She commented that this was a beautiful spot. I had to agree. I asked if she was here on vacation, they were up from a town on the South Shore of Massachusetts. She claimed that the air was cleaner. I smiled as and nodded. She had a look in her eyes, they were glowing like she was in awe of her surrounding- the way people look when they are having a religious experience.
Eventually, our kids were tubing together. The mother settled onto a rock near me. I learned she was a teacher and she asked what I did. I told her I was a minister. Upon hearing that, she asked me what my faith does for the grieving. I told her it depended on what the specific need was. She gave me a disappointed look and told me her Catholic church had a group for widows and widowers. It was for older folks. She told me that there was nothing for her when her husband died.
She continued to tell me about how her first husband had died in a car accident when she was three months pregnant with her youngest child. “Who dies in car accidents anymore?” she asked me. We began talking about her experience and how it had changed her. She didn’t feel comfortable attending the group for older folks, she felt they couldn’t understand what she was going through as a young mother.
Her grief took her on a journey of self-discovery. She learned there was a need for younger people, like her, to deal with loss. She told me about her dream to start a program where young people could come and get their various grief needs met. She was surveying everyone she met hoping to harvest the information needed to make her dream come true.
She figured it was time to introduce herself to me by name, so she stuck out her hand and told me her name was Julie. “My name is Julie.” I replied with a smile as I shook her hand. “What are the chances? I hardly ever meet someone with the same name.” she told me. She continued to tell me more about her story and how she met her new husband, the man with the dog. He was an EMT, he was great with her boys. She planned to teach part-time so she could work to make her dream a reality. It was clear that Julie had suffered from a deep loss yet she was grateful for the many blessings in her life. She was hopeful that she could make a difference in other lives who were suffering from losing young spouses. Julie told me that she was amazed at my child for taking her eldest son under their wing on the river. Despite their age difference, they were having a ball.
After taking some pictures of the kids on the rapids, as she made her way back through knee-deep water, she slipped. Down she went, into the clear, cool stream of the mountain waters. Somehow she kept her camera and her head high in the air. She stood up completely drenched and smiled at me. She slowly made her way to her towel. There was not even an inflection that came with her immersion; her dip into nature’s bounty was soundless except the ker-ploop her body made as it entered the pool.
Now, Catholics and Unitarian Universalists don’t believe in adult baptism, but I swear I witnessed one. I felt it deep inside my soul that the Universe was blessing her dream to help mourning young families like hers.
As we parted, Julie thanked me for talking with her and for my child’s kindness. She told me she could see that I was trying to read and she hoped she hadn’t kept me from what I needed to do. I told her I felt as though I met an angel on the river and no reading could be as important as what I learned from her. Her eyes sparkled and we parted out ways.
Sacred waters have a way of finding those who need to feel it. They offer us their cool, cleansing blessing whether we are reading riverside, passing a homeless man or talking to an angel. We gather together hoping to feel. The water is like the love that flows from person to person, through forests and fountains; ‘til it finds us. It touches us. We come together to be nourished by that sacred blessing and hope to share it with all we meet.