Summer stayed a long time in the corner of Oregon I call home. Sunny with temperatures in the 70s, as if summer was apologizing for not really showing up until July. Still, once October rolled around, my Oregonian heart was ready for the rain.
It came on Friday. It will be here until May, probably longer if the last few years are any indication. Now is the time to bunker down with mugs of hot beverages, snugly blankets, and favorite books and movies and TV shows.
And if you’re nutty like me, now is the time to go for walks in the rain and get completely and deliberately soaking wet (and then change into dry snugly clothes, make a cup of tea, and read or write or watch something with my husband).
I go for these walks because the rain and the dark make me feel fierce and alive. And because I believe there is deep truth to that quote from V for Vendetta: “God is in the rain.”
Now hold that thought.
Tonight I walked a labyrinth as part of my church’s simple evening worship experience. Labyrinths are a way of journeying inward, towards God or self or both, resting in contemplation, and then venturing back out into the world. This particular labyrinth was outside, and it was raining, and we didn’t give a frell because we are Oregonians.
I almost didn’t go to this gathering at all, because I worked yesterday and today was a long day and I was tired. Then, at the last minute, I changed my mind because I was feeling a real need to encounter God. I’ve been having one of those weeks.
So I got to the labyrinth, and began to walk inward, praying as best I could. But I didn’t feel better, and my mind wandered a lot. God is in the rain. Song lyrics from Les Misérables. God is in the rain. According to John Green’s novel Looking for Alaska, Simón Bolívar’s last words were “Damn it, how will I ever get out of this labyrinth?” and in the novel the main character tries to figure out what the labyrinth is. One of the most popular quotes from Looking for Alaska is “I was drizzle, she was a hurricane.” Florence and the Machine lyrics from the song “Hurricane Drunk.” God is in the rain.
By the time I got to the center of the labyrinth, I didn’t feel comforted or closer to God or really any of what I had hoped for. But as I wound my way back out, wet, rain still falling on my face, I thought about God in the rain. The rain that will be a near-constant presence for the next nine months, minimum.
And I thought, well, that’s at least something.
The Thing With Feathers 