On the Trail Together

When my husband and I moved to California in our 20s, we were amazed by the beauty of the landscape, and the mild weather, and were determined to get out into it. We were not experienced hikers, and had no idea, for example, how to read a topological map. On one particular hike, we chose the shortest, straightest path, which turned out to go almost straight up. The hill was so steep, I had to keep stopping to rest. We ran out of water just over halfway up the trail, but figured there would be some at the trailhead at the top. We kept thinking we were approaching the top of the hill, and several times we scrambled up an incline, sweaty and muscles burning, to find only another hill before us.

That’s how I have felt this week. I had hoped that, with election day behind us, we would have reached the summit of our journey, or at least a rest area with a water fountain. Instead, achey and sore from the road we have hiked so far, we see another hill in front of us. As we prepared worship for this day, we knew that no matter what happened, half of America would be angry and disappointed. The pandemic is swelling into its 3rd peak, and racism is still entrenched in our culture and institutions.

Friends, let us sit right down here on the trail, at the foot of the next hill to climb, and rest our weary limbs -- rest our weary spirits for a moment.

Sit right down on the earth who holds us. Rest into the gravity of this biosphere that is so heavy that it pulls us toward it. Have you ever had a small child crawl into your lap for rest and comfort? Or perhaps you were lucky to have such a lap to climb into when you were a child? Let yourself imagine now that the earth is such a lap, and we are just a handful of the millions of beings in our eco system tucking into her strength for winter.

Feel on your skin the air, the breeze that blows seeds and pollen to fresh new homes where they grow and spread. The subtle breeze that lifts the wings of birds, who are right now migrating thousands of miles to their seasonal home. Change sometimes happens at the speed of wind. A fresh breath is available even in this moment.

Take a sip of water, if you have some near. Let it assuage your thirst, feel that delicious smoothness -- grateful that we can relieve that basic need any time we choose. Let it symbolize our capacity to restore ourselves.

If you’ve lit a chalice this morning, gaze at that flame, or if there is a spot of sun out your window. What fiery power that sun has to warm our planet. What power fire has to transform fuel into heat, and the power of plants to turn sunlight into food for our biosphere. And there is a fire inside you- the fire that turns food into action, into change. The fire of your commitment, the fire of your spirit. Maybe it is low today, but it is burning still.

Now, check your metaphoric backpack. What provisions do you have? First, you have a community of people who care for you. Click over to grid view if you like, and gaze around at all those faces. If you were sick, here are people who would worry over you, send a card or a hot meal or a phone call. If you went to a business who discriminated against you because of who you are, as happened to some of our members just before I joined this church, here are people who would sit down with the manager, and make sure management knew it was not okay. If you couldn’t pay your elective bill, here are people who have already contributed to a fund to help you keep the lights on. Here are people who will listen to your journey, and wonder with you “what does it all mean?”

What else do you carry with you today, at this moment, and up the hill ahead? Look around the space you are in right now. What can you see that will support you on this journey? I hope that you have food in your kitchen, and running water, blankets for a cold day. Each of us has different resources unique to our needs and location. What resources do you see around you right now?

We pause now, just for a moment, assured that whatever lies ahead, we will climb it together.