While
on vacation last month, my two younger kids talked us into something that they
had dreamed of doing for several years, to climb Cadillac Mountain by the light
of the moon, arriving at the summit in time to watch the sunrise. It seemed an appropriate rite of passage, as
my daughter was headed off to her Senior year of High School, and our younger
son to his second year of college.
Because they would be together, and are collectively skilled in the ways
of the woods, we agreed. They left our
camp at 1 in the morning after a few short hours of sleep, arriving at the
trail head at 2 AM. At 3:30 they called
us as agreed to give an update on their progress, and had already reached the
summit. Lynn and I, less hardy
adventurers, hopped in the car and drove to meet them. Since the federal government paid to put a
perfectly good road to the top of the mountain, I felt like it was my civic
obligation to drive on it.
The
morning was everything one could hope.
Jupiter and Mars were dancing together in the Eastern sky. The porcupine islands were dark shapes in the
moonlit bay. The distant lights of Bar
Harbor were slowly going out as morning approached. As our kids wrapped up in the blankets we
brought, and we all found a place out of the chilly morning breeze, God put on
an amazing show. The earth that we call
home, in its constant rotation, carried a mountain peak full of travelers at
breakneck speeds towards the sun that gives us light, and life, and food, and
warmth. Gradually unfolding itself from
chilly Atlantic waters, the sun rose up from behind the Schoodic peninsula. Sending ahead of it a rainbow of colors: deep blue, turquoise, mint green, pink and
then the barest slice of orange, the sun transformed the landscape that
stretched out below us, creating a golden path that united land and sea. It was a truly miraculous moment.
I
don’t know what it was, but as the sun began to shed its light down on the cold
and huddled group of people who looked for its arrival, something made me want
to turn around and look at the dozens of people who were behind me, many of
them perched on the paved walkway at the very top of the mountain. Most had arrived after us, and I was
surprised at how many folks were there, having gathered in the hushed predawn
darkness. The sun, touching human faces
for the first time that day in our nation, transformed a hundred individuals
into one kindred people. They were
Asian, African, Scandinavian, Hispanic, drawn from many different lands and
places to this miraculous moment and place of transformation as the darkness of
night was swallowed by the rosy light of day.
They were children and adults, the old and the lame, some in wheel
chairs and using walkers. Some had
arrived in $ 30,000 vehicles with polished chrome grills. Others had ridden well-worn shoe leather to
the top, all of their earthly possessions in their packs and their hands. But in the presence of that sunrise, there
was no rich or poor, no conflicts or difference, no excess and no lack. In that moment, in that place, each and every
one had everything we needed to know we were alive, and loved, and cherished by
the one who had created us. We were one,
huddled under the golden cloak of our creator who had claimed us as kinfolk,
baptizing us in the light of God’s own creation.
Yes,
of course, the moment passed, as every moment does. The orange light turned to yellow, the day
brightened, the mountain pilgrims applauded and toasted the artist of the
sunrise with thermoses of dwindling coffee.
The unity between us, glimpsed only for a moment, slipped away as
quickly as it had come. We got in our
vehicles or hit the trail, moving back to the familiar and the sensible,
laughing at our foolishness and longing to go back to bed. But we carried with us // that moment,
knowing it would be a part of us for the rest of our lives, a glimpse behind
the curtain of reality that clouds our kinship, our unity, our common
humanity. The radio as we descended the
twisting mountain highway sought to disentangle that cord of connection we had
just experienced. Brutality in the
Middle East, racial tension in Missouri, homophobic violence in Uganda, hunger
and homelessness on the rise in dozens of American cities. We stopped for coffee and tea and blueberry
muffins down in the town, and then hit the road for home. The bad news on the radio had been turned
into folk music, blessedly, and the poetry of one who had seen the truth we had
experienced that morning washed over us like bathing in baptismal waters. I remembered the artist and looked up the
lyrics when I got home. There is hunger, and violence, and tension,
and prejudice in the world, but as a child of an inclusive God, I am grateful for these words by Pat Humphries, of Emma’s Revolution.
Smiling face, outstretched
hand,
Through disputes small and
grand
We will lay down our guns
We are one.
In the rage through the
war
We have shared pain before
In our grief when it’s
done
[we are one]
Where the earth touches
sky
We are born, we all die
Where the clear waters run
[we are one]
When the light touches
land
Over sea, over sand
When each day has begun
We are one
As the rock wears away
And the tide rolls and
sways
By the moon, by the sun
[We are one]
In the birth of a child
Through the fierce and the
mild
In our daughters and sons
[we are one]
…In our daughters and
sons, we are one.
We are one
We are one.
