Water is a major theme in the Bible. Perhaps that is because water was so very essential to the nomadic people in the Bible. Consider the 23rd Psalm. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters….”
Psalm 23
A psalm of David.
1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2 He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters, Psalm 23:1-2 NIV Bible Gateway
Moments ago, I donned my muck boots and walked into my very wet garden. You see, we are experiencing a period of heavy rain. Everything in my garden was wonderfully wet and refreshed, and I thought about the traditions of Baptism in some of our more modern Christian churches.
Although I became Episcopalian about 50 years ago, I grew up in the Baptist church, and the Baptists believe that baptism should involve the dipping of the person being baptized into water. In my Baptist church, the following words were repeated when the baptized were lifted out of the water: “Walk in newness of life.”
Romans 6:4: “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.
The Baptists believe that after being baptized, a person’s old life has been symbolically extinguished, allowing the baptized to emerge from that water burial to walk into a new life.
I find it interesting that several ancient cultures believe that before the world was created, a dark, watery abyss surrounded the world, and during the process of the world’s creation, the watery abyss became the substance from which the world was made.
How Does the Biblical Story of Creation in Genesis Compare to that of the Ancient Greeks?
Water is the stuff out of which the world was created, and it is through water that we are refreshed and cleansed. During my young adulthood, I became Episcopalian, and I cherish the blessings of the water that are part of the Episcopalian baptism. Note: The Episcopal Church is the American counterpart to the Church of England:
Prayer Over the Water
Loving Father,
we thank you for your servant Moses,
who led your people through the waters of the Red Sea
to freedom in the Promised Land.
We thank you for your Son Jesus,
who has passed through the deep waters of death
and opened for all the way of salvation.
Now send your Spirit,
that those who are washed in this water
may die with Christ and rise with him,
to find true freedom as your children,
alive in Christ for ever.
Amen.
Another Blessing Over the Water
We praise you, loving Father,
for the gift of your Son Jesus.
He was baptized in the River Jordan,
where your Spirit came upon him
and revealed him as the Son you love.
He sent his followers
to baptize all who turn to him.
Now, Father, we ask you to bless this water,
that those who are baptized in it
may be cleansed in the water of life,
and, filled with your Spirit,
may know that they are loved as your children,
safe in Christ forever.
Amen.”
The Book of Common Prayer
I Love the Rain
I am not exactly sure when I first realized that I loved rain, but I believe that it was at camp, because it was at camp that I learned to love much about nature. Even as young children, the kids at my camp slept in cabins that hardly had exterior walls. At least 2/3 of the walls were screened, and it was almost as though we were sleeping in the very arms of nature itself.
The cabins at my camp had no electricity, no bathrooms, and had very little else to keep the elements away. On cooler nights, the evening’s vapors would filter through the screen and swallow me, regardless of how deeply I dug into my sleeping bag. I loved the cool, damp sensation of camp’s night air–or perhaps it was the snuggling that I loved more. Probably, I just loved both.
When the night grew very late, I would often hear small animals picking through the leaves outside the cabin’s walls. It always seemed that whippoorwills and owls perched no more than 5 feet from my bed, and I always felt as though everyone else in camp was asleep, and I lay awake all alone–listening to the night sounds of nature. It was a feeling of being alone and yet, not lonely.
That phrase probably summarizes my life, and that is probably why I love the rain. Rain is moody, gray, and wears a feeling of aloneness, all of its own.
At my camp, the cabins had galvanized metal roofs–or tin roofs. I loved to hear the rain, filtering through the trees and then tapping the tin roof and sliding from it one drop at a time.
The softer rains would ultimately pierce through the crust of leaves that lay on top of the ground. The leaves would rustle, crackle, and fizz.
The dust on the tree leaves outside would be moistened, and the aroma of the moistened earth would fill the air. The smell of the evergreens would be refreshed, and the woods would take on the scent of a rain potpourri that I wish I could bottle or bag.
When it rained hard at camp, the trees got involved with the ceremony and waved their arms, shook their heads, and wildly swayed. Like savages dancing around a ring, preparing for a bountiful hunt, the trees would toss spears into the air and fiercely hurl things about. A tree limb would occasionally scrape across the metal shelter, screeching as it slowly etched its way over the top.
Also when it rained hard, the drops of rain would pound the tin top, and the belting would become a roar. Torrents of water would form at the edges of the galvanized roof and would flood, like water being sloshed from a tub, down to the ground below. The river of rain water would get behind piles of leaves and branches on the ground and push them downstream.
When the rain was not pouring, I liked to put on my squeaky, new rubber boots and my cold, stiff raincoat and walk outside. I loved the way that a misting rain would form on the exposed parts of my body. When there were actual rain drops falling, I liked to feel them pat my face and then roll.
Like Mother Nature’s bathtub, rain is how the world is washed clean, and when I am in the rain, I feel that I am being cleansed, too.
In my bedroom now, my bed is immediately next to a window that I frequently open to allow nature to come inside. Every time that it rains, I pull the glass back and listen–and I feel.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post, naming all of the things that would happen, if I were filled with magic. Following is one of the things that I said:
If I were filled with magic,
Everyone would hear the rain tap on their tin roofs–and feel,
And no one’s roof would leak.