One summer day I was nestled on the edge of a lake when I noticed odd creatures climbing out of the water. One after the other they climbed up, and as they climbed they left their old selves behind. The legs, torso and head were still visible but empty, just a semi-transparent shell. Pausing on a piece of wood, their new bodies began to take shape, one wing and then the other, they took wing as dragonflies.
I do not always deal with change so beautifully, so full of grace. Imagine giving up life as you know it—without argument or drama—with your full participation. I follow Jesus, who talked about laying down our lives that we might find life. This meets with great resistance on my part, especially when I like the life I am living. I make arguments and plans, seeking to avoid change that is not welcome, hoping to ward off what is not comfortable, unwilling to lay down my life that I might find life.
Then I remember the water bugs climbing confidently out of their bodies so intent on entering their new dwelling place. All the same materials, but still a new creation. Surely they have no more knowledge than we do about what is to come, what the next life holds.
Years ago, I was part of a prayer and study group in a church. We were studying different versions of what is commonly called, “The Lord’s Prayer.” It was an eye opening journey since most of us had learned only one way, never hearing other versions. Someone suggested we use the different versions in Sunday worship, inviting the whole congregation into our learning. We implemented our plan with great passion and excitement.
Unexpected trauma was the first consequence, followed the next Sunday by unexpected joy. That first Sunday, one of our young adult members was back after her first time living away from home, and after worship she came to me in tears, “How could you change ‘The Lord’s Prayer’?” she asked. “It is the one thing I count on never changing.” In the midst of laying down the life she knew, it was just too much to have a new thing in church, especially something that had been written in her heart and bones for her whole life.
The next week in worship, an elder person came up to me, smiling brightly and thanking me, “It is the first time in my life that I could pray the Lord’s Prayer with my whole heart.” Her story was long and filled with pain, as if she had been locked in a cocoon her whole life and suddenly was able to take wing and fly. The version we used that day was from the Maori people of New Zealand. It begins like this:
Eternal Spirit, Earthmaker, Pain-bearer, Lifegiver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all, Loving Creator, in whom is heaven: The hallowing of your name echo through the universe! The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the earth! Your heavenly will be done by all created beings! Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on Earth. With the bread we need for today, feed us. In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us. In times of temptation and test, strengthen us. From trials too great to endure, spare us. From the grip of all that is evil, free us. For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and for ever. Amen.
The group did not let me give up after the first Sunday. One of the deepest joys for me is to be in community. I love the moments when we do it gracefully, but sometimes I learn more when we struggle. Change and transformation can be such hard and painful work, such joyful and wondrous work. Always I am grateful for dragonflies and water bugs that teach me when I least expect it, surprising me with lessons that last forever, reminding me of God’s unbreakable, infinite love that encompasses us and all things.
Each month a member of the Cook County Ministerium will offer Spiritual Reflections. This week our contributor is Reverend Beth Benson of the First Congregational Church – UCC in Grand Marais.
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