The Calm That Follows The Storm

The other day, my roommates and I took an eventful walk to the Poolbeg Lighthouse here in Dublin. The weather seemed promising with sunshine and clear skies, and then it didn’t when it started hailing. It didn’t discourage us because we are seven months into living in Ireland and are well aware that even if the Weather App says “sunny,” the day will still include spurts of rain or hail. We kept trekking to Poolbeg, pointing out cute yellow houses and adorable dogs or babies that we passed along the way — typical occurrences on all of our walks together (or at least while on walks with me). After a rather easy and enjoyable walk, we made it to the lighthouse, snapped some pictures, sipped on our American-made Gatorade (a recent American product we found in Dublin that gives us just a *taste* of home), and that’s when it hit me: my legs are tired and we still have a long way to go back from here. Unless a boat was going to pick me up and take me home, I most definitely had to keep walking. We geared up to go and let’s just say, the first half of the walk back was anything but pretty…no cute babies, dogs, or houses to see. The rain came falling, the wind picked up, and it was like the fish in the water were pelting ocean droplets at us at 100 miles per hour throughout the entire length of the pier. We couldn’t look at each other without getting hit in the face with water, could barely hear each other without screaming, and were trying to not blow off of the side of the pier into the rough, rushing waves. The only thing that we could do was to keep moving and pushing through the wind and the rain, looking hopefully and desperately towards the end of the pier where the weather looked much more like what the Weather App told us that day: sunny and calm. That’s exactly what the end of the pier gave us as we reached it: sunny and calm. Our limbs were more exhausted than ever, our bodies visibly marked red by the harsh wind and water, but now we were presented with calmer winds, warmth from the sun, and comfort on our feet as we walked on the soft sand yet again. We rejoiced in the goodness that came to us at the end of that pier.

As we walked on the sand and picked up seashells following the wind and rain vortex, I thought about what just occurred to all of us. I thought of the pain of the water and the high intensity of the wind, but I also thought of the screams of song that we were singing with each other above the noise, the funny comments we shouted amidst the chaos, and the way we would gaze at each other, no matter the hurt of the pelting rain, to make sure we were all staying on course, walking near each other, and staying away from the edge of falling. I can’t help but relate this story and this journey to the Lenten season that we just endured. For me, it was a season of hopefully and desperately looking to the end of the pier: the Resurrection of Christ and, in our case as parish ministers, the more relaxed and restful space that was to come after a long season of work. We went from the chaos of planning and executing an all-online Easter Triduum celebration to an abrupt but much needed week of rest afterwards. We went from a season of fasting and often feeling as if the forty days were a spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional wind and rain vortex, to a state of resurrection, renewal, rest, and rejoicing. I have always been aware that the Easter season brings these good things, but this year it felt even more defined, even more enriching. I am now taking this restful and renewing season as a space to reflect on what we just endured.

As I reflect, I remember the pains and sorrows that raged within the storm of Lent before the Easter calm arrived. I also remember the fruitful and enjoyable moments that fell within the storm, the moments that rose above the storm. I think of the prayerful, Lenten songs that we sang throughout the season at Taizé and Masses, our voices often filled with deep longing, and with a deep desire for peace and joy. I think of the comments and conversations that brought all of us at Newman University Church hope and laughter as we shouted them among the chaos of work and busy schedules. I think of the times that my community members and colleagues really stopped and gazed at one other, recognizing the hurt we may have been feeling, the suffering we may have been enduring. I think of all of us walking near and with each other on the path, making sure we were loved and provided for, and offering strength and support if we noticed one of us stumbling.

In my mind, I recognize the correlation of our experiences and encounters to those of Christ, Himself. I think of Jesus who sang a hymn with his disciples at the Last Supper as he sat with the troubling knowledge of his suffering and death that was drawing near. I think of Jesus who still preached of the hope and joy that was to come following his death and resurrection even though His Passion and death would appear to be fearful and disheartening. I think of Christ who, on the road to his death, stopped and gazed at the women who mourned and lamented him and offered them his wisdom and blessing. I think of Simon the Cyrenian who helped Jesus when he was stumbling and falling on the road to his crucifixion. I think of Jesus who suffered, died, and rose again, in order for us to be renewed and restored. Jesus who endured the storm so that he could provide us with His calm, His light, and His comfort in our “vortexes” of life.

I am going to rejoice and bask in this restful and renewing Easter season, and I hope that you do too. Let us experience Christ’s calm, his warmth, and his comfort even when a windy and rainy vortex of life starts to exhaust us yet again.

Alleluia! He is risen! Happy Easter from me to you!