Passing Through Class V Waters

There's a very good reason I am not in this photo. 

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
   I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
   and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; (Isaiah 43:1-2 NRSV)

It is no accident, I’m sure, that our professor chose this text for us to practice one of the ways to pray with scripture. As new seminary students, we shared varying degrees of uncertainty and anxiety. And there would be more opportunities for fear and doubt to gain hold this past year as we struggled to articulate our faith, first thrust out into the wide-open spaces of pluralism and finishing within the strict confines of systematic theology. It has been quite a ride.

Yet, these verses were virtually forgotten until after this summer’s youth mission trip. The guided whitewater rafting excursion we took on West Virginia’s New River bore little resemblance to Garrison Keillor’s leisurely pontoon boat ride on Lake Wobegon. That is, until the familiar story’s 24 Lutheran ministers aboard “gave their lives to Christ” and found themselves standing helplessly in water up to their chins while pondering the meaning of it all. Keillor’s clever phrase is a little misleading, though. You see, neither the pastors in that story nor I decided we would rather be in the water than on the boat. Maybe Peter wanted to get out and try to walk on the water like Jesus, but that was not my plan. In a similar way, 3 years ago I had no intention whatsoever of being in ministry.

So, how in the world did I end up in seminary? In the course of the candidacy process, we are asked to share that story multiple times. For myself, the image of a river has emerged as a metaphor. Its beckoning was unremitting. Worn down by something not unlike the sound of a dripping faucet, I sought relief, but not by diving in head first or taking a running leap. No, I behaved like anyone else afraid of the water. First dipping in a toe, then a foot, then wading in slowly up to my knees. I took one trial class, then one more, before eventually applying for full admission.

The girls who watched from the raft thought I appeared remarkably calm. But honestly, even while wearing a life vest, it was all I could do to keep my face above the surface of the churning bath. Just catching my breath after being tossed from my seat took priority over trying to swim to the shore. All I could do was float along until our rafting guide reached down and hauled me back in.

What kinds of waters threaten you? Isaiah does not offer advice on how to avoid getting caught in their flow. In fact, it would appear not only that they are inevitable but that God knows we will be tempted by fear. We can take comfort, though, in the promise of God’s presence, which is no small thing. Notice, too, that neither God’s claim of us nor God’s presence is dependent on our asking. They are stated as an absolute given. No room is given for us to screw that up. Therefore, we can trust in God’s promise that we “shall not” be overwhelmed by these things.

Gracious God, whether your children splash happily in the shallow eddies or find themselves immersed in a powerful and frightening current, may we find peace in trusting that you are with us always, regardless of how well we think we can (or can’t) swim. Amen.