“Summer Freedom”
Dear Friends,
It’s a perfect summer day in New England, and yet looking at the calendar, one knows that there won’t be many more to come. I chose the reading below this week because it has always captured for me the feeling of summer freedom, and the feeling of spiritual freedom as well. Why not take a look at the sharing below, and enjoy with me one last nostalgic experience of the summer freedom so soon to end for all Northerners like me?!
"For Freedom Christ Has Set Us Free"
- St. Paul, Gal. 5:1
Many, many years ago I went with friends to spend an incredible weekend at the summer home of my best friend's family. The home was gorgeous - right at the water's edge on Lake Winnepesaukee in New Hampshire. It was June of the summer before my senior year in high school, and vacation had just begun. I remember that weekend like it was yesterday. I remember how the feeling of freedom filled the air that weekend. The whole of that weekend all the youth present were on a "natural high". It was a feeling of freedom to the point of intense and intoxicating.
Freedom was with us every time we dove from the boat dock into the cool, clear water of the mountain lake. Freedom energized us too every time we raced each other out to the raft off shore. In the 60's rafts were everywhere at lakes and beaches, and this one was about fifty yards out at the beginning of a beautiful, broad area of open water. Just on its own out there, not connected or tied to the land, the raft itself was like a symbol of freedom. Once out there we had amazing views all around us - clear views into far off hills on every side of the vast expanse of the wide-open lake. We spent so many carefree hours out on that raft that weekend - hours that seemed to fly by like minutes. Perhaps it was because all of us were so ecstatic that exams were now done and all worries about grades were now past. A carefree spirit of freedom had indeed seized all of us. It had reached deep into each of us as we dove, swam, talked, and laughed. It was even with us as we just laid out on the raft deck, and silently soaked in the rays of the early June sun. All sense of time and pressure was a distant memory as we lay there without a worry in the world, all the while fanned by gentle lake breezes that "glided" over our bodies in a steady, cool, continual flow.
For myself though, even from the outset of this awesome weekend, I knew there was a deeper reason for the freedom I felt, and even upon arriving at the lake, I could think of little else. Even from my earliest years there was always a feeling of freedom when I headed north into New Hampshire. Even from early childhood New Hampshire always meant "vacation", and the feeling of being free of all burdens and cares. Ever since my early youth too, the most memorable vacation each year was always in New Hampshire. Then too, it was always the same one that my family repeated each summer. This was my family's annual summer climb into the White Mountains. As long as I can remember, some of my most exalted moments of freedom always happened on these hiking excursions in the mountains to the north.
So it was that even from the very moment of my arrival at the home on the lake, I was already reliving cherished moments of climbing each summer. I was reliving too the experience of freedom I always felt heading ever farther north into New Hampshire. Even now in the quiet by the lakeside that Friday, long before classmates arrived, I stood alone out on the boat dock and gazed off beyond the lake into the hills and peaks of the north country. With refreshing lake breezes blowing in my face and through my hair, I savored those treasured memories and relived the freedom born of those moments.
Gazing deep into the north country, I knew the "Presidentials" were out there beyond the lake, and beyond the hills and peaks I could see. In the quiet of the lake-side, I thought of how every summer of my youth climaxed with the hiking trip to Washingtom, Jefferson, Adams and Madison. The annual climbing excursions to the summits of these peaks had become a sacrosanct tradition in my family, and even now by the lake I could hardly wait for the summer hike soon to come. On the summits of the "Presidentials" I had so often felt my soul soar and fly, my spirit become unrestrained and free, like an eagle gliding ever upward toward the sun on the currents of the wind. Often on the summit of these majestic peaks, I would sit out even until way after sunset, feeling in the blaze of color in a twilight sky like nothing or no one could keep me from reaching the "top of the world" with my life and dreams.
There by the lake-side, one treasured summit memory in particular came alive once more, and I could feel as real once again the freedom of that moment. It was a night on the top of Madison. A magnificent sunset gave way to a golden full moon rising in the east. I stayed on that mountain summit even until after midnight, drinking in a feeling of peace and freedom as powerful moonlight beamed down on me from a moon that seemed so close I could touch it. I can remember the perfect peace and bliss I felt as I lay on a stretch of mountain heather and looked out, in the now silver light of a higher moon, over the vast panorama of the Jefferson valley far below. While I laid there for hours on a carefree vacation night, beautiful summer breezes blew white puffy clouds into the mountain and into me. The clouds glowed silver and almost ghost-like in the magnificent moonlight, and in the glowing clouds I felt not only free, but powerful - like Moses in the cloud on Sinai or like Moses before Pharaoh.
Freedom, Peace, Joy, the Power of God, and God himself were so real on that mountain that night. What a magnificent moment that was. What I had yet to realize though is that this Freedom, Peace, and the Power and Presence of God were to be equally as real at Winnepesaukee on that ideal weekend of my youth - so long ago now, and yet for me, never, never to be forgotten.
I remember that my friends and I had finished a great day of swimming and boating for hours and hours - yet hours and hours that again seemed to go by like minutes. It was on a perfect sunny Saturday where the sky was totally blue, and the open lake breezes were "to die for". It was evening now, and we were just finishing a great cookout over an open stone grill. At that time of my youth a "great cookout" always meant a menu that had to include juicy cheeseburgers and char-grilled hot dogs. I can't remember, and don't want to remember, how many of both of those items I had already finished, but I do recall being more than satisfied by the tons of food placed before us. Eating gave way to the family and all my friends just lounging out on the wide-open deck over-looking the lake, and as we did a most gorgeous sunset worked the magic of silencing even a group of teens and filling us all with wonder.
I can remember too the soothing sounds of a summer evening engulfing us. I remember the soft breezes off the lake were just right. I remember my best friend's dad removing the grid off the open-air stone grill, and stoking up the fire for light and warmth. As he did so, we all grew so much more relaxed and gladly continued to sit outside by the open lake into the evening and into the night. I can remember the last glimmers of mauve light on sunset clouds over the open expanse of the huge lake. I remember that the glowing light of the clouds lingered a long time, glowing not only in the evening sky, but also in the perfect mirror reflection that shone off the still, quiet lake. The soft glow from clouds and lake gave way only ever so gradually to the dark, vast sky, filled with millions of stars as one can only see in open country far from city lights, far from city smoke and smog.
I remember how all of us had become so quiet. We had become lulled into a deep peace by the crackling of the wood in the fire and the colorful dancing of the flames. I can remember being put to rest too as we all began to listen to the sounds in the darkness. We all were so drawn to the sounds of the evening, and loved hearing the serenade of crickets and God only knows what other creatures of the night. The last glimmers of natural light were gone now, and only the wood fire in the old stone grill could guide our movements on the deck along the lakefront. But the deep darkness by the firelight was not to be for long, for I can remember the most awesome quiet that came over all of us, as a June full moon now began to rise over the hills to the east. It was amazing how it began to make a luminous path directly toward us over the open expanse of the perfectly still water.
Yes, the evening was filled with the "sounds of silence", and so many moments of quiet awe before the beauty of God's creation. But the evening was filled with the fun of friends and family too. Jokes and great stories sent our laughter out over the lake - laughter accented all the more by the stillness and quiet of the air, the water, and the forest. It was also not too far into the evening before one person in particular stood out with prominence at the center of our jokes and stories. As amazing as it may seem, he was a priest. His name was Fr. Ted, and that weekend on the lake he was also a guest of my best friend's family.
His jokes and stories were awesome. They had come one after another in rapid-fire, and ever so gradually they were drawing us to gather around and near him. He sat near to the fire where we all could see him; where we all could focus on his facial features and expressions, observe his every move and gesture. He was a man so remarkably filled with joy and humor, and at times he would break out into a belly laugh that would make the whole group as well lose it with laughter. All the friends of my youth present were enjoying the challenge of drawing him out more and more, and making him share what were in fact so many hilarious episodes from his past. He loved the attention, and we came to see so quickly that he was an exceptional and gifted storyteller.
But for me and my friends it will always be for one story in particular that we will remember this man for as long as we live. Even now I can remember the whole of it - every detail of the amazing tale he shared that night in the solemn quiet by the fire. The story had an incredible power. Without any exaggeration, it was a story that kept all of us - even a bunch of high school teens - in rapt attention for hours. For me it was the power source for a transformation that has defined me to this day; the power source for an enlightenment that to this day has stayed indelibly lodged in my memory. How deeply the lessons and insights gleaned from that strange tale have guided me and impacted my life ever since that night. I know now the secret to its power was that the Presence of God was so real during its telling. That Presence seemed to issue forth with ever-deepening intensity as each chapter unfolded. For all of us there that night, the Presence of God was so real. It filled our hearts and filled the air. It overwhelmed that profound quiet by the lake front. The story had been nothing short of a powerful sign that God was here, that God was alive, and reaching out to our world and to us with a love beyond all that we can ask or even imagine possible.
I can remember how the story all started. The meal was winding down over home-made ice cream sundaes. Fr. Ted had moved us all toward the laughter of light-hearted conversation, and even silly conversation - conversation with all guards down, and with a beautiful openness and trust of family beginning to bond all of us together. We were "free" with each other, and even our laughter expressed the joy and exhiliration of the freedom that embraced us all that night. We were as free, relaxed, and as comfortable with each other as only best friends and family can be. I have always thought that this feeling of freedom was why Fr. Ted could totally open up as he did, and risk sharing with us all to the measure and depth of truth that he had.
The full moon had risen higher over the lake to the east, and was so high in the sky that its light had gone from gold to silver-white. It now cast a beautiful glow over our lake-side gathering. Fr. Ted became very pensive now. I remember how strange it seemed when his demeanor changed. He gazed first up at the moon, as if it reminded him of something important - perhaps some significant memory from the past. We all knew when the seriousness came over him that the funny stories were over, and that something of great import was now absorbing the whole attention of his mind and heart. He became quiet - ever so quiet. His long gaze upon a beautiful moon ended, and then slowly, he turned and looked toward the north and west - toward the hills and mountains in the deep north country. In the day time, this view to the north and west was beautiful to behold, and even now in brilliant moonlight the purple dark hills stood out strong and tall against a silver night sky. Many of us looked with Fr. Ted as he fixed his gaze high out over the lake in that north and west direction.
But despite the beauty of the hills, all of us could not help but notice the deep sigh that accompanied his gaze and the heavy heart that now filled the expression of the priest. It was as if something traumatic had happened out there, to the north and west of the lake, deep in the far north mountains. Perhaps it was something like a defining moment experience whose memory even to this day deeply moved him. Perhaps the moment had been the source of a powerful revelation that he needed to share. What we could discern was that the power of the truth he carried was too difficult to bear alone. We could all tell that he wanted to talk about it, if only to have others share the burden of the truth, and the power of the truth that he carried. His glance now turned from the hills toward us, and he focused with a solemn authority on all of our faces glowing in the firelight. He searched our eyes to see if he still had our openness, yet now to hear another story quite different from anything he had told so far.
The glow of the moonlight upon the northern hills had indeed revived a powerful memory within the mind and heart of the priest. It was the memory of a story, and that memory now consumed and overwhelmed him. It was a strange and uncommon story that Fr. Ted had heard from another priest only just the summer before our gathering at the lake. The other priest was named Fr. Andrew, and Fr. Ted had helped him the year before with a swelling summer parish in the vacation country of New Hampshire's White Mountains. As we all listened to the start of Fr. Ted's story, we all guessed it - the parish was way deep in the mountains to the north and west of the lake.
Fr. Ted told us that Fr. Andrew's story was a ghost story - and on Halloween night at that! All of us - family, friends, and youth huddled by the lake - smiled at the thought, and now settled into comfortable positions. The fire in the old stone grill simmered now, more than crackled, with a softer yet more intense red and blue flame. Its magic light surrounded and engulfed us, and the storyteller as well, with dancing shadows all in a golden glow. A ghost story by the campfire, and on the "Eve of All Hallows" to top it off! Could it get any better than that?
But though the suggestion of "Halloween and ghosts" had humored all of us into total quiet and full attention, the seriousness of Fr. Ted's expression never relented. He now looked us all in the eyes at that lakeside by the moonlight, and swore to us that the story Fr. Andrew had told him was totally true.
Now being young, carefree, and at the beginning of a fun-filled summer, there were a lot of concerns and questions about life and our world that deep down inside I was no where near ready to take seriously. And certainly ghost stories and Halloween tales were at the top of the list. Yet strangely, I began to listen to that story and heed that story - and really, we all did that night.
So now we were all comfortably settled into place. We had all moved as close as we could - near to the priest, and near to the fire. Our gaze would move from the fire to Fr. Ted, and back to the fire again. There was an enchantment settling over us, and we knew it. Yet it was irresistible, and we let it happen. It started when we fixed our gaze upon the fire - upon the warm glow of that quiet but intense red blue flame in the old stone grill. Yet the enchantment took over when we looked at the priest. It took over when Fr. Ted looked us all in the eyes, and began to speak - and speak with a depth of sincerity and solemnity that we had not seen in him before. It took us all by surprise. He spoke so intently, and the "Spirit" that began to flow forth from his words, his sincere warmth, and his depth of conviction, began to work its spell over all of us. His story unlike any other story began to lure us all totally into its magic.
