Water Sign
Stories
Shining Moments
Visions Of The Holy In Ordinary Lives
Anne Sunday
The grotto below the little town of Emmittsburg, in the mountains of Maryland, was like an oasis to me in the midst of a dry and barren time. It was a healing place for me every time I visited the Lourdes Shrine and Resurrection Garden with the Stations of the Cross. I went there to find refreshment and renewal, one hot summer day in the midst of a drought, at a time when my ministry didn't seem to be very fruitful. I was on vacation, and the church I was serving at that time was in the midst of conflict. As I thought about the sad situation back at the church, I remembered the words of the gospel writer, "... and he could do no good works there."
I also remembered how the Council President had looked at me with wary eyes before I left, how he laughed nervously and said, "Are you going to come back to us?" This gentle young man, who was becoming more and more disgusted with the behavior of some of his church family, knew he was reading my mind. A wise, old seminary professor once said, "If you don't 'quit' the ministry at least once a week, you're probably not doing your job!" Being in the ministry is the most meaningful thing in my life, even if it is often stressful.
And so, in the middle of my vacation, my friend Marilyn and I eagerly headed onto the interstate that would take us across the Pennsylvania line to the grotto. We wanted to find that special spot again, in the woods above the healing pool of water at the grotto, where we had spent a wonderful day, filled with peace, several years before.
Our plan was to hike up the mountain to look for the clearing we remembered, where we had spent an afternoon in silence -- praying, meditating, and journaling -- beside a bubbling brook. We found the clearing, but our joyful anticipation soon dissipated when we discovered that the streambed was completely dry. As I walked across it to the other side, looking around, I realized how much the drought had taken its toll. No wonder the healing pool had been roped off. A sign directed visitors to the pipe at the reservoir if they wanted to get a drink, fill bottles, or splash the water onto hands and faces. The stream came down from the mountain and fed into the pool, and now there was no water up there at all.
The dryness of the landscape matched the emptiness and loneliness in my soul. Spiritual dryness had taken its toll on me. Although disappointed, knowing we would miss the gentle sound of flowing water, we decided to make the best of it. God would still bless this day we had set aside for prayer. So, we trudged back down the mountain to retrieve our picnic lunch, Bibles, and journals from the car.
When we got back to the clearing we just stood there, dumbfounded. This wasn't possible! Now, the stream had water in it! We looked at each other with confusion and Marilyn said, "Are we going crazy? Wasn't this streambed completely dry a half hour ago?"
"Is it real?" I asked, thinking maybe it was a mirage.
I quickly dropped all my stuff on the ground, took off my sneakers and socks, and started wading around in the water, splashing it onto my arms and face. "No, it's real," I said. "It's really water. But, how did it get here?" Totally perplexed, I looked up to where the stream came down from a ledge above. The underbrush was so thick you couldn't see past where the water tumbled down over the ledge. It then gurgled over the rocks in the streambed, before disappearing into the woods at the other edge of the clearing.
"I can't believe it," we kept muttering over and over. "What does this mean?" Finally, we just gave up trying to explain it and settled down. We each staked out a spot in the clearing and turned our thoughts to God, enjoying several hours of solitary quiet time in peaceful prayer and reflection.
As we left the grounds of the grotto that day, and drove through the wrought iron gates to head back to the interstate, we couldn't stop talking about what had happened. "Do you think it was a miracle?" I asked.
"I don't know," Marilyn said.
"Well, do you think it would still be there if we turned around and went back up the mountain?"
"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe we should go find the Monsignor or someone and report that we've had a miracle!"
We weren't sure we wanted to tell anyone what had happened that day, lest they think we had both lost our minds, or worse yet, had made it all up. Some people I told just listened politely, giving me a blank look before changing the subject.
When I got back to the church after vacation, my friend Eileen called. She's a devout Catholic and a licensed therapist who was doing family counseling for our cluster of UCC churches. We would often get together at the end of a long day to have supper and discuss theology and life. When I told Eileen about the day at the grotto, she wasn't even surprised. "Of course it was real, Anne. God gave you a sign, in the midst of these difficult days, to encourage you, to let you know that he is with you."
The grotto below the little town of Emmittsburg, in the mountains of Maryland, was like an oasis to me in the midst of a dry and barren time. It was a healing place for me every time I visited the Lourdes Shrine and Resurrection Garden with the Stations of the Cross. I went there to find refreshment and renewal, one hot summer day in the midst of a drought, at a time when my ministry didn't seem to be very fruitful. I was on vacation, and the church I was serving at that time was in the midst of conflict. As I thought about the sad situation back at the church, I remembered the words of the gospel writer, "... and he could do no good works there."
I also remembered how the Council President had looked at me with wary eyes before I left, how he laughed nervously and said, "Are you going to come back to us?" This gentle young man, who was becoming more and more disgusted with the behavior of some of his church family, knew he was reading my mind. A wise, old seminary professor once said, "If you don't 'quit' the ministry at least once a week, you're probably not doing your job!" Being in the ministry is the most meaningful thing in my life, even if it is often stressful.
And so, in the middle of my vacation, my friend Marilyn and I eagerly headed onto the interstate that would take us across the Pennsylvania line to the grotto. We wanted to find that special spot again, in the woods above the healing pool of water at the grotto, where we had spent a wonderful day, filled with peace, several years before.
Our plan was to hike up the mountain to look for the clearing we remembered, where we had spent an afternoon in silence -- praying, meditating, and journaling -- beside a bubbling brook. We found the clearing, but our joyful anticipation soon dissipated when we discovered that the streambed was completely dry. As I walked across it to the other side, looking around, I realized how much the drought had taken its toll. No wonder the healing pool had been roped off. A sign directed visitors to the pipe at the reservoir if they wanted to get a drink, fill bottles, or splash the water onto hands and faces. The stream came down from the mountain and fed into the pool, and now there was no water up there at all.
The dryness of the landscape matched the emptiness and loneliness in my soul. Spiritual dryness had taken its toll on me. Although disappointed, knowing we would miss the gentle sound of flowing water, we decided to make the best of it. God would still bless this day we had set aside for prayer. So, we trudged back down the mountain to retrieve our picnic lunch, Bibles, and journals from the car.
When we got back to the clearing we just stood there, dumbfounded. This wasn't possible! Now, the stream had water in it! We looked at each other with confusion and Marilyn said, "Are we going crazy? Wasn't this streambed completely dry a half hour ago?"
"Is it real?" I asked, thinking maybe it was a mirage.
I quickly dropped all my stuff on the ground, took off my sneakers and socks, and started wading around in the water, splashing it onto my arms and face. "No, it's real," I said. "It's really water. But, how did it get here?" Totally perplexed, I looked up to where the stream came down from a ledge above. The underbrush was so thick you couldn't see past where the water tumbled down over the ledge. It then gurgled over the rocks in the streambed, before disappearing into the woods at the other edge of the clearing.
"I can't believe it," we kept muttering over and over. "What does this mean?" Finally, we just gave up trying to explain it and settled down. We each staked out a spot in the clearing and turned our thoughts to God, enjoying several hours of solitary quiet time in peaceful prayer and reflection.
As we left the grounds of the grotto that day, and drove through the wrought iron gates to head back to the interstate, we couldn't stop talking about what had happened. "Do you think it was a miracle?" I asked.
"I don't know," Marilyn said.
"Well, do you think it would still be there if we turned around and went back up the mountain?"
"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe we should go find the Monsignor or someone and report that we've had a miracle!"
We weren't sure we wanted to tell anyone what had happened that day, lest they think we had both lost our minds, or worse yet, had made it all up. Some people I told just listened politely, giving me a blank look before changing the subject.
When I got back to the church after vacation, my friend Eileen called. She's a devout Catholic and a licensed therapist who was doing family counseling for our cluster of UCC churches. We would often get together at the end of a long day to have supper and discuss theology and life. When I told Eileen about the day at the grotto, she wasn't even surprised. "Of course it was real, Anne. God gave you a sign, in the midst of these difficult days, to encourage you, to let you know that he is with you."
