| I live in New England now, in Boston. If you’ve been here, there’s a place known as the public gardens. You can walk through the gardens, past the momentous George Washington Statue where the general’s back scrapes the Boston skyline and on through a lively sanctuary. The gardens are beautiful, filled with trees and greenery that seem to be so old they must have stories of the sons of liberty capering through the early city. As you make your way past George there is a famous short bridge that crowns over the pond, home to the recognizable swan boats and many ducks swimming in it. A classic summer spot, the gardens are a place where many weddings take place and many tourists stop to attempt in capturing its warranted beauty. I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to walk through the public gardens every day on my way to work. I try to see it with fresh eyes each day; I don’t want to grow numb to the place that it is. This December was the first time I got to experience something special, something that would give the gardens a whole new wonder. Snow. A lamp post fixed next to the frozen pond shown an orange translucent light that glowed off the untouched white snow and reflected a violet color. Larger than life shadows danced across the ice as little kids played made the frozen pond their own playground. They were chasing one another and running full speed before hitting the deck sliding or slamming their full bodies into the cold and slippery thick wall beneath them. Everyone else just seemed to be watching. Skeptical of the pond’s ice cover and its ability to hold weight, the bystanders gathered and snapped photos. The kids kept running, and they kept falling harder and harder with each step they took further out onto the icy world. It was clear no one wanted any action besides the kids, who I can guarantee were not thinking in consequence mode as they barreled across the frozen pond, treating it like a solid floor with some dish soap spread out over it. To them it was no different. It was fun. They didn’t stop to calculate the risk one of them may fall through. They didn’t take their weight into consideration. They didn’t put one foot down easy first to see if it would crack before fully committing. And they didn’t stay near the edge for escape purposes in case the ice did start to crack. They saw it was frozen and they went. Go – is all that comes to a kid’s mind. What comes to ours? Maybe a “what if” or a “is it safe?”. We’re smarter, older, wiser, you might think. We’ve seen ice give way, and we know just because it looks frozen doesn’t mean its more than an inch thick. Do we lose our sense of what is good because we start to think too much about what is safe? Many of us have come to the conclusion that these are the same thing. To be good, something must be safe. And to be safe, something must be good. We’ve learned that safety and goodness go hand in hand. And consequently, anything dangerous can’t be good. This works nicely until we meet the most dangerous man who ever lived. Jesus. I think he was a lot of things – humble, funny, courageous, and loving to name a few. But, safe? Safe isn’t one of them. Most of us have or have had this idea of Jesus at one time or another that he’s this really safe guy. He did all these nice things for people, performed a lot of miracles, followed all the rules and wore a white robe while he did it, right? I don’t think so. I stepped out onto the ice, timid about whether it would hold my weight as I shuffled through what my plan would be in my mind should the ice start to crack. With my first few steps the ice immediately creaked and groaned. I panicked a little and stepped back off to try a different spot. It squealed and echoed again in different places; I kept walking. I made my way out to the middle of the pond, farthest from all its edges. From there, I soaked in the moment. The kids playing, the snow falling, the quietness of the gardens as its sounds were muffled by snowfall and people taking in the wonder. I looked straight ahead and could see that same bridge where I had stood before, taking pictures. Now, I was in everyone’s photos who was shooting from my previous spot. I can’t imagine what Peter must have felt like when Jesus called him out onto the water. Walking on the frozen pond today was the closest I’ll ever get to walking on water. I was nervous as I stepped out onto frozen water, and Peter actually walked on water when it was fluid. I love that story because it resembles how strong Jesus is, but it also tells us a lot about him, and where we must be willing to go to find him, to be with him. If we were supposed to stay where we are, Jesus would’ve just hopped in the boat in that story. How much easier that would have been. How much safer. Instead, he calls Peter out to sea, and he asks him to trust him, to depend on him. In C.S. Lewis’ book The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, there’s a character that is a talking beaver. The beaver is having a dialogue with Susan and Lucey when Lucy, the youngest, asks an important question when the mighty Lion’s name is first mentioned. “Is – is he a man?” asked Lucy “Aslan a man!” said Mr. Beaver sternly. “Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion, the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh,” said Susan, “I thought he was a man. Is he – quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and make no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver; “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” “Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the king I tell you.” The very first time the great Lion is spoken of, it’s with great fear. It’s full of danger and the unknown. Yet you get the feeling he’s good, even Beaver says so. Although a fiction work, Aslan is real. And this dialogue always brings me back and reminds me to let go of fear and to be OK with danger, to be willing to leave safe behind and get to know Jesus for who he really is. What if we stepped without thinking? Rather than weighing the circumstances and our odds and options in the situation ahead, what if we just said “Go”? I think that’s where Jesus really is, far out in the middle of the ice, because that’s where he was with Peter, far out in the middle of the storm. Figuratively, yes, but also, I like to think he’d be out there where the kids were, sliding around having a good time. You’re not to find him on the banks of the pond looking meek and uneasy about the chance of a kid falling through the ice. We often think the safest place is far from the center of the ice, it must be on the banks – that’s where the safe haven is, the least amount of risk. And we’re right about that. The only huge problem with deciding to stay there is missing out on the greatest person we’ve ever known. He’s out on center ice, where it’s free, wild and untamed. Where the good happens. Not safe, but good. |