22. Does God Ski?

July is a month of rain and chill for us in the Southern hemisphere. From our gate I see Mount Taranaki standing resplendent, covered in a thick blanket of snow, reminding me of years gone by when I first learnt to ski.

I was in my early 30s when given oversight of a country Parish near New Zealand's Mt Hutt Ski-field. One weekend a close friend of mine came to stay and invited me to go with him for a days skiing. I had never been on skis before and viewed the sport with some disregard, with similar thoughts to that of the American humorist, Henry Beard:

Skiing is the art of catching cold and going broke
while rapidly heading nowhere at great personal risk,
and where every turn is a leap of faith.

Reluctantly, I went. And while my fledgeling efforts were embarrassing, I was captivated by the scenery. The beauty of the snow-covered mountains above and the plains that reach towards the distant coastline below was stunning. I was converted to skiing that day, and a few weeks later, I had my own ski gear and a season's ticket.

Then one day I adventured onto the steep northern slope. By the time I realised it was beyond my skill level, there was nowhere to turn around. The only choice was to try skiing the icy slope and hope for the best. The next five minutes were so exhilarating, I went straight back up and skied it again and again. It was one of the most memorable days of my life.

The lesson I learnt that day, and have often reflected on is that transformation and growth happen when we choose to step out in trust and faith.

Developing a Spiritual Practice is similar. At first, everything is new, and may even be exciting. It is easy to give the time and effort it requires. As the weeks pass and the initial enthusiasm wanes, doubts may arise. We may even wonder whether it is worth our time?

At some point, we simply have to let go in faith and hope and trust the process. We may even have to let go of our idea of God as well, at least temporarily. If nothing else, to make sure we’re not suffocating God with our ideas and theology instead of opening ourselves and being available to directly experience the Divine Presence in the core being.

God, I want to know you, to touch you, but how?
And you answered me as I went outside.
The air was cool and moist.
The grass glistened, and a bird strutted cheekily in search of food;
small sprouts of grass peeked greenly upward.
Everything around me contained the potential for life and life itself,
then you touched me – and I touched you.
For this,
you have my greatest thanks!

Kia mau te rongo me te pai ki a koe i to haerenga
May you find peace and goodwill on your journey.

Phil