And I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest
I would flee to a far-off place
And make my lodging in the wilderness.
I would hasten to escape
From the stormy wind and tempest.”
Psalm 55: 7-9
In 2012, the Waldo Canyon Fire burned more than 18,000 acres, destroyed nearly 350 homes, and killed two people in Colorado Springs. I was serving as a priest in a large downtown Episcopal church at this time, and the community was absolutely overwhelmed. A year later, another fire, the Black Forest Fire, burned 15,000 acres, destroyed nearly 490 homes, and two people died. We were in shock, the trauma was real, and all we knew to do was turn to one another in help, support, love, and prayer. We rallied around one another, held community conversations to process our trauma, set up communication plans, and began working on disaster preparedness plans. Amidst the flurry of activity and care, I noticed in myself a deep desire to run. To get away, to find peace, as the Psalmist says, to find “wings like a dove,” and “fly away and be at rest.”
There are times, seasons, chapters of our lives when we are utterly overwhelmed. The world is spinning faster than we can keep up, work, change, transition, a relationship is lost to death or despair or disagreement, our health seems to be slipping through our fingers, the social, political, or economic realities leave us in tears or feeling crushed under their weight. We all know what it means to feel anxious, depressed, or overwhelmed. If only we could “fly away and be at rest.” Now, you may be feeling this weight because of something within you or outside you in our world. Heaven knows there are lots of things to choose from. We are not alone in the overwhelm.
What I learned in that particular two-year period of ministry in Colorado Springs was that the only way out was with others and with God. To know, to believe, to experience the truth that we are stronger together. To not turn and run, but to turn and be with. As we find ourselves in the middle of the dog days of summer, I rejoice that I have you in my life. I rejoice that we are together as the people of Epiphany. And that when we are overwhelmed, for whatever reason, we can turn to one another. I want you to know that this is a strong, loving, resilient, faithful community we call home—your overwhelm is not yours alone; we can carry it together by sharing it with one another. The Psalmist closes Psalm 55 towards the end with these words: “but I will call upon God, and the Lord will deliver me.” This deliverance, of course, is found together. This is where God happens.
Rev. Nick Myers
