We celebrated Easter this year on the beach--the South Carolina coast. It was a multi-family reunion, a few years in the planning. We shared a large house on the beach. The organization and planning was done mostly via email and facebook. It was a week that started (for a small few) with a sunrise Easter service on the beach, for a few others by racing to worship at the local Lutheran congregation and for others by sinking their toes into the damp sand. We had an egg hunt on the beach and ham for dinner.
The rest of the week is a blur of sand castles, wave jumping, beach games, and cooking/eating. The weather was warm but not oppressive. An ocean stretching out before you is humbling and powerful. And there is nothing more calming than the sound of the ocean waves.
When we returned people asked again and again..."Did you have a good vacation?" Most of them meant it as passing, idle chit chat. Me being me, can't do idle chit chat well. Every time I smiled and said, "Good. We had fun." I took note of the slight hesitation in my answer.
It was good. It was fun. I wouldn't describe it as a vacation.
It was time away from the daily routine and there is a regenerative property in that. When I'm not engaged in chit chat over coffee, I describe the time differently. I say it was 'holy.'
The week brought together my Dad and one of his two brothers. My siblings were there with spouses and children. My four cousins were there along with their families and 'significant others.' Our cousins grew up, and live, in the South. We grew up, and, for the most part, have lived our lives in the North. Together, we have a handful of common memories. But we share one story.
It is the retelling of that story that made the time 'holy.' Every family has a story--of where they came from, what their grandparents and great, great, great grandparents' lives were like. Some families care more about genealogy than others. Some families share the story so often they seem to be living in the past. Others are content to live firmly in the present. All of us alter the story along the way. For some there are real scars or chapters in the story best left untold. I know families that embellish the story making every person or moment grander, more impressive than it could have been. And, with today's technology and ability to simply 'delete' a photo or video, I often wonder if we are leaving out parts of our own stories...maybe it is only the bad hair days.
Like most people, my siblings and cousins love to hear stories about ourselves. We delight in watching old home videos of the earlier reunions. First of all it is just good old narcissistic fun to see how cute you were as a kid....or how delightful your cousins were...or how much the house has changed. But we are now old enough to take note of the passing of time as well. Some of us are nearing the age our parents are in the videos. We mirror the life stage and we take note of who they were and who we are at a similar point in life. Seeing ourselves as kids--when we still often feel like one--places our own mortality before us. Reminds us to be grateful and to savor the passing days.
We also watched videos of complied photos from our Grandparents lives. Theirs is a story, hallmarked by my Grandmothers strength, determination, and her dedicated love to her sons. My Grandfather died at a young age, leaving behind my Dad and a wife pregnant with twin boys. It is a story that could easily be retold a number of ways--tragic, romantic, incomparable... Probably depending on who is retelling it, I have heard it shared a variety of ways over time. Each variation adds a layer to the story that weaves in to my own story. Some of who I am is actual genetic DNA from these people, some is the result of a shared purpose, familial code--the story shared from generation to generation.
Story sharing, in all its forms, is holy. It is what we humans do best, tell a story in such a way as to create a common bond, purpose and direction. It is how we tell another human who we are and where we come from. I'm a story teller by professional training, and with nearly every fiber of my being. Storytelling is essentially the way God's children have remained connected for thousands of years. It is the primary purpose of our congregations, today. It is how we create meaning and purpose. By retelling our past, we create a future.
It is what I want to know about you...not the idle chit chat but the actual story that brought you to this point in time. If I know that, then I am more comfortable hearing the minutia of your day. What I often need to be reminded of is, that it is the seemingly unimportant details that create the larger story that will be told about us decades from now.
This is what I thought about as I sat on the deck watching my siblings, cousins, and my own small family playing on the beach. I listened to my parents talk with my aunt and uncle--some of it idle chit chat, some, in more hushed tones, was deeper in content. I am sure they looked out at their kids playing on beach with a certain amount of relief, pride and thankfulness--they are the parents who know the actual stories beyond the snap shot that others might see of people playing on a beach--taking a moment to be grateful to have raised them/us to this point. "The boys," my Dad and Uncle, joked about people from their past, adventures they shared as kids, memories of my Grandma....
All of the noise, laughter and unsaid words mingled together like incense floating up to God. Permeating our hair and our clothes. Sneaking into our luggage. Coming home with us again. We breathed it in and added it to our ever growing story.
Moments like this are holy.
