Most of us sailors avoid sailing in the rain. Makes sense...who wants to get wet or cold or risk uncertain winds or the other heavier stuff that sometimes comes with rain?
But last summer I sailed in the rain on Blue Hill Bay and was treated to one of the most memorable sails of my life. The rain, though chilly, was a relief on a summer day. I felt closer to the elements, indeed part of them. I didn't melt. Water ran down the back of my neck, my old slicker revealing its worn edges. I felt the wood of the tiller...especially smooth, as it was wet, too. The decks glistened and the sea's surface took on new color and form.
A heightened mindfulness came over me as I knew to be alert to puffs and gusts and visibility.
I felt vulnerable, yet alive in a new ecology. I wasn't a fish, just as wet as one. But I was at at one in that water. I was vulnerable to life, to creation, familiar yet new. Fresh..
We sure don't like being vulnerable, and we spend a lot of energy armor-ing ourselves for the stuff that the world throws at us. Some of this makes sense. Flame retardant fabric is good thing...
But, maybe if I could more often let myself out of my armor and open to the rain in my face, I could touch, and see and feel my way to the sacred more easily. I could fall deeper into love. I could know and share my God with greater clarity and energy.
Brene Brown wrote, about this. She said, "
Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose
or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path."
I hope you'll join me this Sunday at St. Alban's. Let's be vulnerable to God's word in this good place. It's pretty safe here, but watch out, when consciously vulnerable, big things happen!
Blessings and thanks,