H2O and the Waters of Remembrance

This past weekend I walked with Krista along the banks of frozen Lac Beauvert. {At least, it was mainly frozen. Every once in a while we would hear sharp rumbling noises as the ice cleaved and cracked.} We were there as guests of Krista’s parents, who had brought us to the venerable Jasper Park Lodge, as a generous family Christmas gift. It was here, over a weekend when we remember the renewal of all creation in Christ – commemorated by the blessing of water – that I had the chance to reflect upon the goodness of the past two weeks.

We were out in BC for ten days with family and friends: carols with my Mom and Dad, Vancouver with Kim, Deep Cove with Ryan Wugalter and my good old friend Erik Hermans (who I haven't seen in years), walks at Cultus Lake with the Lanteignes, and, of course the Jordans' epic New Years’ party. It was a Psalm 133-type of holiday, in that the goodness of simply being together broke up most of the clouds of gloom that often attempts to haunt holidays with family and friends.


Krista and I skipping stones with Amy and our Godson Owen Lanteigne at Cultus Lake.

It is intriguing to me how much of our liturgical worship focuses on water. Not surprisingly, most of the 32 readings for Theophany are entirely centred upon images of water. Likewise each Vespers (for the day begins at sundown) lifts up Psalm 104, rehearsing how God provides water for all of His Creation. From each of our own places of imprisonment we have been offered a "way out," literally an exodos through "water and the spirit."

Some years ago, Ivan Illich wrote a compelling essay entitled "H2O and the Waters of Forgetfulness." in which he contrasts mere "H2O" to the allusive element we call "water." His argument highlighted our constant temptation to reduce the good through comodification. In myth and Scripture, water takes on a much more potent, and polyvalent meaning than simply its chemical ingredients. In Genesis, as in Gilgamesh, water stands for chaos. But it is also charged with holiness as it close to death and life. It is the void out of which dry land is redeemed. The sea usually takes on this chaotic character. It is wild, untamable and free. Rivers are places of transformation - often cleansing and healing (think of the Jordan River or the River that flows through the New Jerusalem). This year, storms compromised the city of Vancouver's water, forcing millions to change their daily routines and stand in temporary solidarity with those for whom clean water is a luxury.

So I raise a glass (of water) to our dear friends and family near and far. With the Feast!