They walk down the path through the trees.
They hear it long before they see it.
The ground shakes, the air is thick and sweet and cool with mist.
They walk further and then they arrive, water falling from the sky, a mighty river cascading down over the rocks.
The gift of water, and the explosion of green life climbs up to the heights.
The beginning.
Water, an ocean of infinity, as all things get ready to become.
The mighty wings of the Spirit of God move over the water, whipping and fanning the waves in a holy storm of sacred wind. The wings brood over the waters of beginning, the mother fostering her young.
Noah.
He watches the waters rise, higher and higher.
The world dissolves, swallowed up, creation simply washes away.
The ark rises and rises higher and higher on top of the storm of Judgment.
The Ark, all that is left of the world, a small bubble of life rising in a torrent.
The Ark of creation.
The waters abate. The world begins anew. The Ark settles into the primordial mud the first seed of the new creation.
Slavery.
They were on the run, making their escape, Pharaoh nipping at their heels, gaining on them.
The sea blocked their escape.
They were going to die, so much for freedom.
The pillar of cloud then became their shield, and Moses raised his hand and the wind began to blow, blowing like never before, like the wings of heaven beating down on them. And Moses held up his staff all night long, and all night that wind blew.
Morning came and they passed through the Red Sea, out of bondage into a new land, a land of promise, a new beginning, a fresh start.
And behind them, the waters of judgment fell upon Pharaoh’s army, and the water and the wind were still.
A river runs through the wilderness, a wandering patch of green surrounded by dust and rock, a ribbon of life in a barren land.
The people gather there.
John washes them with water, he pours it over them, he immerses them, pushing them under, pulling them up, telling them to be cleansed, to live a new life that belongs to God.
They rejoice in the water, in the hope.
Jesus steps aside from the celebration to pray quietly.
The sky rips open, and the wings of heaven descended like a dove, and the voice speaks, “My Son, My beloved, I am pleased.”
Then silence, the sound of the river, water dripping off human bodies, then the party really begins, the wilderness fills with song.
The middle of the night.
Poke…pokepokepoke, “Wake up, my water broke.”
“What?”
“My water broke!”
“Water?” “Oh, water!”
The big hurry, then the waiting, then the new life.
Water poured over us once, then again and again.
Somehow sharing our body with the body of Jesus, his death, his resurrection.
The water breaks and we are born anew into a new land, a new beginning, a new creation, a river of life discovered in a dry land, a life with God.
The Rosemary grows just over there, next to the Church, by the Sacristy.
It was planted for days like today, a pungent spice of ever green.
It keeps growing and spreading, taking over everything around it.
Sometimes our lives seem deciduous, losing our leaves, losing our green, barren branches, dry twigs. But God is ever green, ever living, always sticky with sap, anointing us with fragrant oils, anointing, marking, choosing us as beloved.
The evergreen sprig dips into the water and is whipped up, rain falls upon us, water to remember, water to revive, water to refresh, water to judge.
Water.
It is precious, don’t waste it, don’t waste the gift, the anointing.