Some Say Peter

Rose and I slid into the back bench of the chapel and tried to avoid the eyes of the other adorers; when she couldn’t stand to be still anymore, I let her do wind sprints up and down the length of the dark social hall while I prayed.

Presently, Rose spilled both water bottles all over a table. The first one was an accident; I think she spilled the second  because she liked how the water looked meandering in a thick river over the side.

See those children dressed in red– God’s gonna trouble the water. Looks like the children that Moses led– God’s gonna trouble the water. 

We caught the bus to West Virginia, and bought two day passes to the Community Center– there’s an outdoor pool as well, but it’s not on the bus route. Rose can’t quite swim yet, so she clung to me while I paddled about, and when I got exhausted she clung to the ladder.  Then we enjoyed the luxury of long showers in the changing room, with no pressure to make it quick and save money.

The joys of Heaven are beyond any mortal reckoning, but I think one of them will be unlimited cold water for swimming and showers with no utility bill.

If you don’t believe I’ve been redeemed– God’s gonna trouble the water. Just follow me down to the Jordan’s stream– God’s gonna trouble the water.

Then we were back outside in the heat.  We hiked uphill to Saint Mary of the Assumption Byzantine Catholic Church, the wet towels weighing down the canvas bag until the straps were all but broken, drenched in sweat, chlorine smell still clinging to us.

The bells were ringing as we finally got to the top of that hill. It was late. I couldn’t stop to brush my wet hair or look at myself in a mirror. I pulled my skirt, which was damp from the bag and the wet towels, back on over my shorts, hopping up and down on the church porch, and ducked into the door. Liturgy had already begun. I had no time to grab a printout of today’s troparions and meditate on the hymns about Peter and Paul. I listened to the Spiritual playing again and again in my head instead.

Some say Peter and some say Paul– God’s gonna trouble the water. But there ain’t but the one Lord that made us all– God’s gonna trouble the water. 

The Liturgy was new to me, a little more than a year ago. Now it’s all wonderfully familiar, like coming home to a feast. There was the Holy Anaphora, offered in peace in that weird little church in that bizarre little town, on the other side of the river where the Rust Belt ends and Appalachia begins. Take, Eat, this is my Body, which is broken for you, for the forgiveness of sins.  There was Holy Communion, Christ becoming one with my bedraggled flesh, never mind my wrinkled skirt or the chlorine smell. The servant of God receives the Body and Blood of Christ, for forgiveness of sins and everlasting life. There was the Mirovanije, the priest anointing every forehead in the church with perfumed holy oil to celebrate the feast day. I sorely needed it. Christ is among us! He is and will be.

Wade in the water. Wade in the water, children. Wade in the water. God’s gonna trouble the water. 

I kissed the icon of Peter and Paul.

They know me, and love me.

It could be that I do know them.

(image via Pixabay)