Pacific Currents - February/March 2009

THE GATHERING COMMA-CLOUD

by Rev. Dr. Mary Susan Gast, Conference Minister, February-March, 2009

We are blessed to live among commas. Commas, commas, everywhere, punctuating our lives with the persistent reminder that God has more in store for us than we can imagine. That just when we’re ready to give up, say it’s all over, call it a day, and plunk down a period at the end of a sentence, Divine playfulness and wisdom come swooping onto the scene and tweak that stable sphere so that it overflows with possibilities.

Remember some of the things we’ve said about the comma over the years?

In music and in public speaking, the comma denotes a pause—a space to catch your breath.

In compound sentences, commas tell us that here is a fully-formed statement—and there’s more on the way.

Words of encouragement and support for those ministering "in the fields."

The comma, in our spiritual syntax, becomes the holy glide, the moment of refreshment, the almost-but-not-yet, the reality of the moment within the anticipation of change, the fullness of now, the expansiveness of “who knows?”

Visually, the comma bespeaks exhilaration—the wrist of an NBA superstar in a perfect follow-through of the shot that arcs into the basket, ties the game, and promises new life in overtime play. The comma signals the possibility of an “and” or a “but” or a “therefore.” Which is certainly what we need and yearn for in the context of the bleak and grim grammar of headlines and news tickers, the roiling succession of terrifying events.

Recently I’ve read about the comma cloud. “As the storm develops and intensifies, the amplitude increases and the cloud takes on a comma-like shape.” [Eric Conway, An Introduction to Satellite Image Interpretation] And I wonder whether it’s time to annex a meteorological expression of the comma. As the colliding air masses of transience and transcendence meet over the steamy seas of economic calamity and disregard for human dignity, maybe we are called to morph into a comma cloud. Not placid wispy isolated streaks high in the heavens, seeking individual solace and solutions while hording and hiding in response and reaction to chaos and threat. Instead we might gather in a whirlwind of witness, as a torrent of compassion, a tornado of righteousness, a rushing outpouring of love for creation and Creator, swirling up to dance with the Most High, Who devastates distinctions between alien and friend, rich and poor, with the winds of hope and the rains of justice.

And oddly, quirkily, gracefully, for the comma cloud, “as the storm develops and intensifies, the amplitude increases.” Amplitude. “Amplitude,” according to my trusty dictionary, TheSage, is “the property of copious abundance.” Which just goes to underscore what Jesus taught all along, that if we’re ready to risk everything that holds out the lure of security for the sake of the Gospel, we will be kept safe. If we forgive, we will be forgiven; if we give, it will be given to us. “A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap…” [Luke 6: 38] A comma, where you expected an end point. Abundance, in the heart of the storm.

                                                                                                        ~ Mary Susan