WHAM!
“What on earth was that?” exclaimed Linda. Her voice sounded exasperated, even filtered through six inches of Dania Down. I was already standing in my short-handled Stanfield's, framed in our large picture window, squinting out into Saturday's brilliant January morning sunshine.
“I'll be!” I said. “It sure shook the house though.”
“Maybe you better go find out?” Linda said. “It sounded like an explosion, like some kind of bomb went off or something.” By now she was standing beside me, gawking all around, peering across the frozen lake.
A quick trip to the coat rack and I was wearing my parka and felt pack boots with just a hint of Stanfield's showing between the two. “Hey sexy, you could put on your pants you know,” said Linda. “It is minus 30 outside.”
It was too late. I was already standing on the deck holding a very dead ruffed grouse by its two hind legs. “This bomber is your bomb,” I said. “Must have flew all the way across the lake. These guys can really travel and from the feather pattern on the glass, it looks like he nailed our picture window at top speed. It's a wonder he didn't blow the window right out of the frame. Poor guy, from his perspective, with the brilliant winter sunlight reflecting off the window like a mirror, he probably thought he was just flying over more lake. Judging from all the feathers on the deck, it must have been an explosive experience for him too.”
“Praise the Lord!” said Linda. “And gut the bird. God provides again.”
“Ah, providence,” I said. Linda looked at me like she always does when I attempt to wax theological, and her eyes are particularly attractive covered with just a hint of glaze.
We did not dine on “pheasant under glass” that night. We dined on “grouse from the glass.” And it was good. To say that it was a surprising supper is an understatement, but that is not what makes me smile when I remember it. It causes me to think about our old friends Rob and Leena.
We ran into Rob and Leena last summer in the parking lot of the grocery store in 100 Mile House, B.C. We had kind of lost track of them for a bit, they being retired and footloose. They were boondoggling all summer, camping continually and only where it was free. They had found a nice little lake back in the bush that is noted for its fishing. It was a lifestyle that totally suited them and their theology. I've come to appreciate that Rob and Leena are masters of living in the providence of God.
When I asked Rob if he had caught any fish in the lake he said, “Nope, didn't have too. Every time our fridge got empty someone happened by and offered us fish. Funny thing though, it only happened when the fridge was empty.”
We talked a while longer about their summer and Leena ended our conversation with, “Praise be! God always provides!”
“Ah, providence,” I said. Leena looked at me the same way Linda does when I wax theological.
The providence of God. I have pondered it at some length. I suppose it is kind of an occupational hazard for a Presbyterian. In my pondering, I have spent a fair bit of time between the covers with the likes of Augustine (The Confessions) Calvin (The Institutes) and Charles Hodge (Systematic Theology). They use the word “providence” a lot and they have an awful lot to say about it. They give short clear definitions. They give long theological treatises. To be quite frank, these theological masters tend to muddle me more than help me in my pondering. I end up with the same look in my eyes that Linda has in hers when I try to wax theological.
In my pondering I have spent a fair bit of time searching the It appears that the word providence is a theological word, not a biblical one. What the Bible does do is tell stories illustrating it, stories that elicit praise. The whole book of Esther is such a story in the Hebrew Scriptures. Jesus' story about “considering the ravens” is another one in the New Testament (Lk.12:24ff). My favorite is the Psalms, where providence stories and hymns of praise are often blended into one. My favorite is Psalm 136, where verse after verse is an example of how a sovereign loving God specifically creates and then passionately cares for His creation. Each verse washes over me like the waves of the mighty Pacific Ocean on a sandy Tofino beach. And between each ebbing verse, each wave, there is the receding response, the outflow, the mantra: “His steadfast love endures forever.”
It's 2008, a brand new calendar year. The other day someone wished me good luck in the New Year. Like Rob and Leena, I don't put much stock in luck. A saying has been attributed to both Stephen Leacock and Thomas Jefferson: “I'm a great believer in luck. I find that the harder I work, the more I have of it.” I don't believe that either. Hard work has never been enough to provide me with hope for a whole day, let alone a whole year. I am facing this New Year like I face every single day, knowing God in his providence provides perfectly. “His steadfast love endures forever.”
Psalm 136:1-9; 23-26
1 O give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever.
2 O give thanks to the God of gods, for His steadfast love endures forever.
3 O give thanks to the Lord of lords, for His steadfast love endures forever;
4 who alone does great wonders, for His steadfast love endures forever;
5 who by understanding made the heavens, for His steadfast love endures forever;
6 who spread out the earth on the waters, for His steadfast love endures forever;
7 who made the great lights, for His steadfast love endures forever;
8 the sun to rule over the day, for His steadfast love endures forever;
9 the moon and stars to rule over the night, for His steadfast love endures forever;
23 It is He who remembered us in our low estate, for His steadfast love endures forever;
24 and rescued us from our foes, for His steadfast love endures forever;
25 who gives food to all flesh, for His steadfast love endures forever.
26 O give thanks to the God of heaven, for His steadfast love endures forever.
