“How are you today?”

“I’m great.  I work in paradise.”

I overheard this brief exchange Monday morning.  I was in West Virginia with our youngest daughter, Ila, and 40 other folks getting suited up for a rafting trip down the New River.  The reply came from one of our guides, living the dream, getting paid to do his favorite thing everyday in a beautiful setting. 

Halfway into the trip I asked another guide about the geology of the valley.  I was surprised to hear we were in one of the oldest waterways not just in the country, but in the world.  The New River isn’t new at all, predating the ancient Appalachian Mountains it cuts through.  In the Bible, life starts in paradise.  In the wild, paradise, it turns out, takes a long time to create. 

I have been especially mindful of the new and the old this week in church life with the death of our oldest member and the recent birth of our youngest.  This morning I had a conversation about memorial service planning, and this afternoon I held and blessed a baby.  Charlie’s long and faithful life carved out a path made rich and more beautiful through the gift of time.  Those of us who knew him benefited from the vitality that sprung up all around him.  This infant’s young life is just starting to cut its own path. 

It is one of the gifts of congregational life that we live between both sides of paradise, made manifest in the new and the old.

Joel

Sunday’s sermon, “The Story(s) We Tell,” is now posted.