Locks

On this Friday morning, I’m trying to take in tons of news, the biggest item, for me, being the three-year suspension of America’s Episcopal Church from the worldwide Anglican Communion, primarily over the issue of LGBT rights.  The US church has been way ahead of England and the rest of the world on social issues, which of course include the role of women in the church.  But the reality of the American church being, in effect, kicked out of the family is heart-wrenching.  My personal paradox (being on a superficial level not even part of the “family,”  but being musically, and on a deep level, spiritually, at home in the most ancient, unchanged expression of the Anglican tradition) has never been a harder identity to wear.

I’m going to try to tie this news into the topic I had already decided to discuss today!  Bear with me!

OK, so in the wee hours of the morning yesterday, I listened to an Abraham-Hicks audio on YouTube, one which provided the perfect metaphor for the last few months of my life. 

This was audio taken from a question/answer session on what must have been one of their cruises, because Esther Hicks (as “Abraham”) made a reference to one of the locks the boat had been through, and then used it as a life metaphor.  Here, I’ll kind of “riff” on that, adding a bit of my own interpretation.

So, you’re in a boat on a river, and you reach a lock, and the only way for you to get to your destination and continue down the river is to enter it.  (I grew up in Schenectady, New York, in the vicinity of numerous locks from the Erie Canal system.  My parents took us on occasion to watch boats going through the locks.) You can decide not to continue on this course, I suppose, but once you enter the lock, the metal gates close behind you and your course is set.  The chamber that is created by the closed metal gates at both ends is somewhat scary. 

So there you are in your boat, surrounded by towering walls.  You have been attached by lines to the side, and other than that, there’s not much for you at the helm to do. You could freak out and jump into the water and find the little side ladder and run for the hills; or you can toodle about the cabin, make yourself a quick snack, or go on a bathroom break.  You can study your charts or make a few phone calls.  But there is nothing for you to “do” but wait as water is gradually added to the container, your boat rises, and you are finally up to the new water level.  You cannot actively “sail.” Once you reach that level, you are untied from the side and can go on your way.

Metaphorically, you’ve left one stage of life, the metal gates have closed shut, and the only way to proceed is to wait while the Universe brings the supportive water into your life so that you can sail forward.  There can be some regret at leaving that old stretch of river, and fear at seeing the doors close solidly behind you, but something in you knows that life will never be the same again; if there was an opportunity to change your mind and go backward, you’ve missed it.  This journey through the lock may be emotionally wrenching, but it’s the only way to move forward.

My life has been like that, a few months in a stable chamber (so to speak) while the water of my life rises to a new level.  I’ve never been on this river (specific life path) before, so it’s a bit unnerving not to see over the big gates to the landscape ahead.  It’s unnerving to know some basics about the next stretch of river -- like that that water will support me! -- but not any detail.  Yet now that my boat is nearing the top of the lock, I’m getting ready to steer it into the next stretch of river, and all in all, I’m genuinely eager to move on.

Perhaps a case could be made that the Episcopal Church has entered a lock, and the doors have closed behind it.  Who knows where it, as an institution, will be in three years, or the other branches of the church family?  And many of you may be entering “locks” of your own due to illness, job loss, death of family or friends, or another event.  The journey to the next level may take a few days, a few months, or several years.  But the key thing to the lock metaphor is that you are moving – upwards!  Hang in there.  Keep breathing.