Then, Tuesday night, in the midst of a quiet rainshower, there was a blinding flash of lightning right outside my bedroom window. A nearly simultaneous thunderclap rocked the house.
On Wednesday night, in a torrential, windblown rain, practically a whirlwind, I arrived at the church for midweek Eucharist. The church was dark, the door was locked. The big, plastic Meditative Eucharist sign flapped and snapped in the wind like an unlashed sail.
A block east, the big, new, stolid Trinity Congregational sign -- white buttressed plastic with a perpetually scrolling electronic message -- squatted, motionless and unflappable, on the wet Trinitarian lawn. The church had recently left the progressive UCC and struck out on its own transdenominational, Biblically inerrant path. I crept past in the rain, my shoulders hunched against stray Trinitarian lightning.
Yesterday, as I drove to work in yet another rainstorm, the radio announcer predicted more rain. Floods.
As Saturday's confirmation nears, I can't help reading these things as signs. But signs of what ? A burnt out bush, a thunderbolt, an empty church, an impending flood --
-- something about sin, about solitude, about power and purification ? I am walking on thin ice. Over an unfathomable abyss. I pray for it to break.
Last night, DK tells me, I shouted out in my sleep. Something like
Look out !
Could it have been Amen ! ?
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