From the pastor

January 25, 2004

The wind is whistling and howling and chilling the house from the east this morning. The big round thermometer on the east patio wobbles in the bluster and suggests that we are in the low teens. Corn cobs, tied to the post, picked clean by the squirrels several week ago, whip about and promise a roller coaster ride to any rodent wishing to hop up and hang on.

I am reminded that wind is one of the first symbols mentioned in the Bible. At the beginning of creation, the "wind" of God’s spirit blew in the dark across chaotic waters. The Hebrew word "ruah" can be translated wind, spirit, or breath.

Like the wind, the breath of God can either be welcome or unwelcome by us. I was with a youth group mission trip in southern Louisiana several years ago—we went in July. (Tourists seldom crowd into Louisiana in July.) My work team was trying to repair a roof damaged in a tornado. The heat makes roof work in Louisiana in July almost unbearable. By the fourth day, the team was discouraged and dreading another afternoon in hot humidity. And it was my turn to give the morning devotion.

So I spoke about "ruah." I suspected that God would visit the roof that day, from time to time, breathing a welcome wisp of divine breath upon our sweating bodies. So in the midst of the heat, all day long, we anticipated and welcomed slight breezes, divine breath, felt grace, holy relief.

God breathed rather softly that day. If we were negative thinkers, we might have judged the divine "ruah" to be a bit stingy. We would much have preferred a godly snort or sneeze. But on the rooftop, every time the frail breeze came round our way, we all inhaled, stretched our muscles, heard someone comment on the breath of God, (sometimes people do listen to what I say!), and felt comforted. We wanted more, but felt gratitude nevertheless.

Of course, sometimes the "ruah" of God feels rude, even wicked. It chases us inside, messes up the neat arrangements of our lives, blows off the attached stuff. We are aggravated and wonder why God can’t get the "ruah" right--just once. Why does it always have to be too little for our comfort or too much for us to handle? We work so hard and are so invested in getting our lives and relationships arranged just right, and then we wake up one morning and it’s life’s tornado season, and everyone and everything is coming unattached and helter skelter. And we plead with God to slow it down a bit.

We were in Louisiana that summer because the tornados had hit that spring. And we yearned in the heat of the day for even a wisp of a breeze. After we finished our work on that fourth hot day, we went dancing—that evening. We found a Cajun restaurant, gorged ourselves on alligator and other delicacies, and danced the calories away into the night. The "ruah" of God was in the music that night, quickening our hearts and bodies. I’m not a dancer, but when the wind of God blows, we move—for better or worse. In the case of my dancing, it was worse. But that’s beside the point. The point is this: I’m not always sure whether it’s a divine or ill wind that blows. But divine winds are all about us, indeed. God is in the winds that shape and reshape our existence. And faith is the gift of hanging on, praying, hoping, celebrating, noticing, anticipating, starting over, and dancing—in spite of ourselves. So blessings and a little "ruah" on us all.