Seagulls, Seals and the Primacy of Perspective

“Look at those birds!” I exclaimed to my Smitty as we squinted across the inlet of the Great Atlantic flowing into the Nauset Salt Marsh, across to a sandbar littered with small, black figures.  I left my binoculars at home, so we’d have to simply marvel from a distance at the sheer number of birdies lounging in the sun.  I wondered what they were… Terns?  Shearwater’s?  Sandpipers?

There aren’t many people on this remote section of the Cape Cod National Seashore, a good stretch of the leg from Coast Guard beach where our umbrella and summer reading awaited our return from our pilgrimage to what I nicknamed “Cape Horn”.  It’s a favorite place of mine, there at the  mouth of the Salt Marsh inlet where the waves don’t follow the rules even more than usual, skipping and changing direction faster than my youngest son’s video game character when he’s playing Super Smash Brothers.

A young couple approached us, (we would soon learn they were on their honeymoon) binoculars in hand, excited about the wildlife on the distant sandy outcrop.  “Did you see them?” they pointed.  We joined right in on the delights of nature, and then (in keeping with seaside language) they lowered the boom:  “So many seals all together!”

Seals.  No wings.  They don’t fly.  Those weren’t birds at all.  We weren’t seeing things clearly from that distance.  We made assumptions.  We know what seals look like.  (They hang around the beaches all the time in singles or small pods - hence the ever present shark alert flags at the National Seashore beaches).  But because we couldn’t see the details of their amusing, blubbery bodies and their adorable, whiskered snouts, we imagined flocks with feathers and beaks.  

Even as the light dawned, I started converting the story in the natural world to the great truth in the spiritual: without the right perspective, you can’t see clearly.  Without the binoculars of faith, the gospel becomes about good behavior instead of amazing grace.  A life’s direction and motives are skewed because the ladder being climbed is leaning against the wrong wall - of this world’s success, instead of eternal purpose. A person is being judged by outward appearance, rather that through the clear, illuminating glass of their infinite worth as a person created in the image of God.  

Wrong perspective is an easy trip-up.  Ask me how I know…

How grateful I am that the word of God is described as “a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path”.  How superbly Jesus changed the whole paradigm of religion, bringing God the Father so close that we could see what He’s really like, Christ being “the exact image of the Father”, both Just and the Justifier.  How wildly beautiful (like the glittering, dancing waves forging their way into Nauset Marsh) is the word of God, bearing witness with perfect perspective, from beginning to end, to the great pursuit of God for sinners like you and me.  

The ancient paths to perspective remain the same forever.  The truth of the bible, the prayers of  God’s people, the fellowship of the saints: all these keep the man or woman of God from blundering under false doctrines and crazy headed ideas.  They aren’t glitzy, but they are the prescribed binoculars, bringing the clarity of the living Holy Spirit, that keep us from seeing birds, when what’s really out there are seals.

A goofy little story, I know.  But there’s lots of parables on this path we’re on.  May yours be filled with wonder, and the perspective of faith.  

Your friend on the Pilgrim Road,

Loriann Smith

The Parable of The Dog, The Mud and The Hill

A few weeks back we had a lot of rain.  A few months back, we got a German Shepherd/Lab mix puppy.  And a few millennium back, the forces of erosion, tectonic plates, (and who knows what other natural phenomena) formed a spot of land into a small hill…

This is the story of how those 3 points in time came together to teach me some ancient and well tested truths...

Once upon a time, about 3 weeks ago now, I took aforementioned puppy  to the town park, a few days after the aforementioned rain.  And turning the corner to follow the well travelled trail down to a creek, the puppy spotted another dog.  That other dog was with a family - mother, father and a child, perhaps 3 or 4 years old.

I had one of those locking leashes that extend when unlocked.  And the now 60 pound puppy, great lover of all other dogs and people, charged ahead for a meet n’ greet. The leash was unlocked.  The ground was muddy.  The hill was following the law of gravity.  I was not, in any way, in control.

For fear of scaring the poor little boy as a large black dog bounded toward him (pulling a sliding  owner who clearly was not prepared for the moment) I steered myself into a tree to stop the bounder.  Into the tree.  Into the picker bushes surrounding the tree.  Smashing fingers into the tree to stop the leash from going any further.  Smashing legs in shorts into the tangled brush.  I stopped the dog…but I was a bloody mess of scratches and mud.  I finally gained control of the puppy, whose sole aim was to gleefully lick the entire family and their pet.  After apologizing profusely for scaring the wide-eyed foursome, I went my way to continue on the path, shaking and very glad I was wearing my $5 Walmart tee shirt now dotted with blood and smeared with a dirt/tree bark blend.  The old sneakers I had worn were now certifiably filthy.

Everyone was OK.  The dog was oblivious, simply delighted to prance in and out of the stream along the path.  But I was bleeding and sore, and pondering the value of staying alert and recognizing personal limits.  There was a parable here, and it was already formulating in the head under my Dog Mom baseball hat.

My oldest son asked me before I even got in the car if I was going to be OK alone with the dog.  After all, he’s getting bigger and stronger.  (And unspoken, I’m getting older and weaker).  I’d never really taken him out alone with the extender leash before.  I poo pooed my son’s caring caution. 

When I arrived at the trailhead I noticed the muddiness, and actually slipped once.  But I dismissed the wet environment even as I thought for a moment that I should have brought my hiking boots.

I’d like to share 3 points in my parable that apply to the disciple of Jesus on life’s pilgrimage to the City of God.  I’m the first person who needs to understand these truths (clearly!) since I got the message through blood, mud and the powerful workings of gravity.

Listen to the warning.

The Word of God is replete with soundings and flashing lights that indicate spiritual danger on the horizon.  Sometimes, God makes use of human beings to sound the alarm.  Sin is a subtle, cunning enemy, grasping self justification in one hand and self deception in the other.  By listening to the voice of wisdom the traps of the world can be identified and avoided.  A good part of victory is recognizing the world, the flesh and the devil, and staying clear.  

Discern your environment.

Where are your feet?  Are they on the solid ground of the Gospel - not the shaky, muddy foundation of religious “goodness”, but the rock solid, dry ground of the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ alone?  (I love preaching to myself!)  Are you depending on Jesus, the Cornerstone for your righteousness, or the slippery mud of your own power to keep life in control?  Jesus is the steady-on companion through the wild, brambly places of this present darkness.  He knows the hills, valleys, rocks, and as John Newton so perfectly put it: the “many dangers, toils and snares…”  

Understand your limits.

We are a vapor.  None of us is a spiritual Hercules.  We require rest, Sabbath, a time to slow down.  We have areas of weakness in our make-up that will make us ever-dependent on Someone stronger. It’s painful to say I’m not strong.  It’s hard to accept our inability to change other people or difficult circumstances.  But it is critical to understand our weakness. Or we will end up bloodied, muddied and shaken.  The Kingdom of the Apprentices of Jesus is very different from the kingdom of this world.  One of our upside down mottos is the great truth: “When I am weak, then I am strong.”

My parable spoke to me.  My scratches healed, but I learned to bring the short leash when walking the pup.  I gained insight into the proper footwear for muddy terrain.  Most of all, and most difficult: I’m aware of my limitations.  And I’m more mindful of what’s up ahead on the trail now that experience has worked her magic.

Life is full of parables.  My minor but painful injuries gave me ears to hear.  Let it be so where it really counts.

Your friend on the pilgrim road,

Loriann Smith