It’s a beautiful night tonight, just a hint of Fall in the air.
I’m watching a spider spin a web anchored to the solar light I put under the cherry tree I planted in memory of my sister a couple of years ago.
The spider drops down from the dark leaves through the light on an invisible thread and back again. The growing web glistens in the light as it takes shape thread by thread.
I have watched this spider every night this week. It always comes back to the same place, waiting for the solar light to blink on before getting to work. I suppose the light helps attract flying insects.
I can’t say this with any certainty, but as spiders go, this one is probably pretty bright.
I assume it works at night so it doesn’t have to worry about the bees shredding the web. The bees are the size of small birds and this little spider would not fare well against them.
Neither would our dog FanCee, who nonetheless spends much of her afternoon snapping at the bees as they go flower to flower.
“Stop it. The last thing you want is a bee in your mouth,” I scold her.
She goes off to lay in the shade. It’s only a hobby for her after all. An idle pastime.
For the spider of course, it’s survival. And as I watch it work, I am aware of the unlikely bond this spider and I have, even though the lives we lead are unfathomable mysteries to each other and yet, predictable in small ways.
Each night this week, our lives have crossed paths. We take our familiar places as the sun sets and the night unfolds in its own mysterious way around us.
And, I am reminded of the web of connection that is God’s creation. How I am sharing this night with the spider as well as the insects the spider will trap in its web, under the stars I can see and those I can’t, hidden as they are, behind the web of artificial light people generate so we can live in the darkness.
I have found being outdoors tremendously healing during the stress of this pandemic. Evidently, that’s true for many people these days. I read somewhere that gardening has become an increasingly popular hobby during COVID.
We find ourselves turning outdoors more and more. We worship outdoors at Drive IN Church. We get a haircut outdoors. We meet friends for breakfast outdoors.
It took this time of isolation and social distancing to relearn the importance of our relational connections. How vital being together is.
As difficult at this COVID curse is, there are many such blessings emerging.
God is at work and a wave of creativity is sweeping over us. From political conventions being held virtually, to virtual worship reaching people on Facebook, Zoom and YouTube and through the Internet.
I remember when being on the Internet was so controversial for churches, arguments would be waged as to how to use it and whether the church should be online at all.
Now, thankfully, COVID has rendered those arguments moot.
The church is online because it has to be and we are fulfilling our calling to bring the Gospel to every culture, even digital culture. We are finally being freed from the idea that building a church building is the same as building a church.
So, I’m gratified through these cursed times, by the powerful sense of the Holy Spirit moving and working among us. Calling us to new places. Freeing us from those familiar things that were also holding us back.
As Dr. Len Sweet notes; in these COVID times, we are hearing the death rattle of much that needed to die, and we are also hearing the baby rattle of what is being born.
I say we aren’t listening if we aren’t hearing both.
Yes, this is indeed a terrifying and challenging moment. We face transitions and uncertainty. There are a million questions about school, about church, about work. And there are precious few answers.
Those realities are readily evidenced in our poisoned politics. We are stuck and polarized. Unable to turn back and unsure of what lies ahead.
But this is also a moment bright with promise. And that’s faith in a nutshell. That’s the Easter message. Out of dying God brings new life. Even out of the curse of COVID, God brings blessings and frees us to live into God’s abundant future. It takes faith to see that.
I remember going night fishing when I was young at the Jersey shore. As we ran out of sight of land, it was unsettling how the horizon would disappear on a moonless night and the sea and the sky unfurled in a single black sheet that wrapped itself around us.
It felt disorienting being cradled in the palm of an unlimited darkness that reached above and below in equal measure. All the touchstones I used to reassure myself were gone. The darkness was pervasive and unyielding.
But then I saw the blossom of stars over my head and I caught my breath. It took getting away from the light of everything familiar in order to see them. The breathtaking infinity of them.
If we only see the light we create for ourselves, we see only what we need in order to conduct the business of our lives. While that may be necessary, we should never forget that this light can also blind us to the ever-present web of wonder that is spun all around us.
It is here that we grow and discover who God made us to be.
Charles Oberkehr 