The Least Religious Season

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Originally Published in the South Jetty Newspaper

During this new reality, when new things come at us seemingly every day, I sometimes I forget what day, or even what season it is. Then I step outside and get hit in the face by the wind from Poseidon's hair dryer, and remember this is still summer in the Coastal Bend! Years ago, when life seemed simpler, I read in a book of reflections, "Summer is the least religious season, when rituals give way to recreation and leisure." Summer is a time of abundance, from the harvest of crops to our bountiful waters. Maybe the deer freezer starts to run low, but even that bounty may be enjoyed as the fall approaches. 

It's those cooler months lead me more inward; to a more contemplative place perhaps. The long season after Pentecost draws to an end; Advent starts a new year and tips us toward Christmas. That is the time when our religious practices really draw me in. My prayer practices tend to be renewed in that time, and I follow the flow of the liturgical year through to Lent and Easter, and back 'round again. 

Not so with summer. Summer is a time to lie in the grass and speak frankly with God between cloud shapes. It is a time to appreciate the slight break in heat on an evening after the sun sets. Then after dark to trace the constellations and remember when God taught Abraham about his legacy. A time of watermelon by the lakeside, with juice running down children's faces, and not caring about napkins. 

I miss our church being gathered together in person. Sure, having the online services is helpful, but they don't compare to sitting with people, hearing voices sing together in imperfect human harmony. I guess if I could pick a season to have to be away, a season to sacrifice for the health of our community, I would choose bountiful summer. I'd wager that Psalm 139 was written in the summertime: "Where can I go, then from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I rise up to heaven you are there, if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast." 


This summer, when I miss the normalcy of a life remembered, I return to nature to meet with God. There I find communion. There I find the Holy Spirit waiting for me, sometimes to dry my tears, sometimes to help me laugh at myself for thinking I had something figured out. Most often though, Jesus is there reminding me to be grateful for this day; for the few precious people I get to see and be around. I give thanks to God for my health this day so that, God willing, I can be here for those I love tomorrow. 

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