Winter's Discontent
by Richard D. Bausman
Last night was the coldest night of the winter. The
river, as seen from my window, is
nearly frozen completely over. Ponds of rippling water appear at random upon the
icy
surface of what last week was freely flowing. Within a week or so, the frozen
surface of
the river will become fluid once again. The ice will go. Within some distant
weeks, the
warmth of nature will turn what is now frigid to a welcome hint of spring. The
soul will
rejoice in returned warmth.
There is something about winter that invites me to hibernate. However beautiful
the
frozen waters of the world, my being craves the touch of sun upon my skin. If
this is not
possible, I wish to curl up within a cave of blankets to await the turning of
the seasons
when I reappear indivisible with the world around me. The winter is a time of
discontent,
in that we battle nature’s revolving intention to make us strive to survive.
When spring
arrives, life lives out its daily tasks content with nature’s treatment of
existence. Would
that we could always live in springtime.
All of this reminds me that faith, like my self, must suffer the seasons of
time’s
challenges with as much grace as possible. Faith knows its own winter, those
times
when circumstances threaten its survival. On those days faith must be treated
tenderly,
covered to protect from the frostbite of doubt. Bundled in coats and hats faith
staggers
under the weight of costumes meant to protect. It is only when a springtime
comes
again, faith’s props unnecessary against doubt’s cold hand, that once again
belief and
sunshine are indivisible and life seems at ease. I feel this discontent of faith
at times of
death, when evil comes to play, or when I doubt my own sense of right and wrong.
Faith’s winter, unlike my own, can come any time of the year. So can faith’s
springtime
reemerge even when rivers are made of ice.
The church is like a fishing hut set upon an icy water, there to catch beneath
the crust the
human fish who swim upstream and down beneath the frozen layer. The holy fishing
hut
is there, even in the winter of discontent, to tell us that if spring is not
presently to be
enjoyed, we need not despair the season’s maladies. Jesus comes to us when our
spirit
is cold, even as he is with us in the sunshine of April’s hint of flowers to
return. So
however hard winter may be for us, and that which symbolizes life’s hard pull
toward life
renewed, we need not despair. Jesus sits within the hut smoking a pipe and
holding the
fishing rod just so, and however cold we are, he welcomes us to his pail and
reminds us
that we will survive unto the day when sunshine is forever bright.
Indeed, it is when faith is most at risk of frostbite, that Jesus comes to catch
us. He
redeems us from winter’s icy grasp and saves us for life and faith content with
nature’s
promise of waters gentle forever and God’s great warmth of love.
