Then He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace, be still!" And the wind ceased and there was a great calm.  Mark 4:39 (KJV)
 
...Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.  Matthew 28:20 (KJV)

Steel gray thunderheads moved in unexpectedly, rapidly obliterating the soft white cumulus clouds that had been scudding across the azure sky all morning and now the leaden darkness appeared to be heading in our direction. The lake stopped its quiet reflections and took on a decidedly somber cast as brisk westerly winds began to churn up the water. Lofty white pines swayed, while paper birch and golden aspen trembled beside them. Red squirrels, chipmunks, and sundry other woodland creatures dashed away to the safety of their sylvan sanctuaries. We had no shelter to speak of, though, for our nylon tent was pitched on an exposed granite cliff, dangerous in a thunderstorm. Nor was there was any easily accessible protected area nearby. Of course, we knew it was even more hazardous to be out in a canoe, where we might have to contend with torrential rains, strong headwinds, massive waves, and worst of all, lightning strikes. But since the parking area on the mainland was not far away and the storm still some distance off, we felt there was enough lead-time to reach a safer location. So we quickly broke camp, scrambled down the rock-strewn pathway with our gear, packed up the canoe, and set out for the opposite shore.

Shortly into our crossing, I caught sight of a dark amorphous shape undulating below the surface of the water, a little beyond the reach of my paddle. Not a fish, I decided, though the lake was full of bass and trout. Perhaps a beaver or a muskrat, but strange one should venture so close. Then off to my left, I espied a similar form. I could not afford to indulge my inquisitiveness too much, however, for I had to concentrate on the paddling. Seconds later, I heard a cry of acute distress, a prolonged, mournful howl - very loud, high-pitched, and rather eerie - a sound like no other. I recognized it immediately. And, sure enough, there on each side of the boat, only a few feet away, was a pair of common loons. With their sleek black heads held erect, dagger-like bills pointed forward, and red eyes blazing, they navigated smoothly through the water. Surprisingly, they did not swim away from us, but seemed intent on keeping up with the canoe. It was mesmerizing to watch them. Periodically, they would dive below the surface and then re-emerge on either side of the boat, just as before. In this manner, they accompanied us across the lake, wailing all the way. Only when we reached our destination did they finally retreat. Fifteen minutes later, a spectacular thunderstorm struck. The winds roared in and the wild skies shrieked and exploded all around us, but we were able to witness the exhilaration and drama from the safety of our vehicle.

As I reflected on the event, I wondered why these normally reclusive birds, lovers of quiet estuaries and secluded lakes, had chosen to accompany us for such a distance. Though loons are known for their keen curiosity, I would have thought they had more than satisfied that at the beginning of our encounter. What motivated them to remain with us? Were they simply expressing their continuing agitation at the approach of the storm? Were they persistently trying to warn us to keep away from them? The cry of the loon can mean both those things. But why should they stick with us? Is it possible they were sounding the alarm for our sake and somehow trying to protect us? I shall never know just what they had in mind, but regardless of their intention, the experience of being escorted by a pair of loons was both enlivening and comforting. It seemed as if we were being held and strengthened by some benevolent force that flowed beneath the surface of the world, joining all living creatures together in one great family. I felt deeply connected with the birds, who despite their own obvious anxiety, came bearing gifts of wonder, reassurance, and pleasure for me.

When a similar storm raged on the Sea of Galilee, Jesus slept peacefully in the stern of the boat. His confidence in the love of God and ultimate order of the universe allowed him to remain composed, in contrast to the panicking disciples. He was completely at peace despite the turmoil of the world around him, which is probably the only way we shall ever experience peace on earth, given the unlikely scenario that all human conflicts and suffering will suddenly cease. The miracle of the calming of the seas was not only an expression of the Lord's dominion over the seas and the manifest lack of faith on the part of his companions. It was also an image of what is possible for us all to achieve - stillness in a changing world, serenity in the face of calamity, equanimity when everything seems to be disintegrating around us. For inward peace brings outward power and is a prerequisite for all effective peacemaking. Among the means for developing inner harmony are such practices as cultivating our connection with nature, keeping alive our sense of wonder, and seeking the Light in all circumstances. Then, as we strive to live in this way, perhaps we too may discern a voice that says, "Peace, be still...Lo, I am with you always."

Dear God, grant us the gift of your peace, the courage to align ourselves with it, and the strength to bring it to blossom within our souls.

Contributed by Diane
Sunday July 5, 2009
Liturgical Year B Week 32
Sunday Gospel Readings:
Lectionary 14 (Proper 9) Fifth Sunday after Pentecost