Running And Hiding

A Meditation For Frog Worship

Luke 8:22-38

I used to live on the island of Iona and in those days I was a madman.

I didn’t live in a house or a cottage or anything like that.

I hid amongst the rocks like a savage.

In case you don’t know – Iona is a little island just off the west coast of Scotland.

You can get there by leaving the mainland at Oban and crossing the Isle of Mull and then getting another boat to where I used to live.

Every day loads of people came to Iona because they thought it was a holy place.

They came for the abbey and the songs and the prayers and the peace and quiet.

The people on Iona said that I must stay out of their way – lest I frighten the visitors

Stay up in the rocks they said until the last boat of the day goes back to Mull.

Then I was allowed to come down and hunt amongst the litterbins and the remains of the cream teas they didn’t have time to finish.

I spent all my life running and hiding and sometimes jumping out at people and making them scream.

On this day I’m hiding behind the rocks up on the hills and peeping out over the water.

Last boat’s just gone and my tummy’s starting to rumble.

There’s one little boat still out there however – heading for my shore.

It’s full of people and bobbing about as a storm starts to brew.

It starts raining – the waves really do start to get up – they’re getting soaked to the skin.

Several times it’s nearly capsizing – its nearly going under.

Now I’ve seen some thing before – but this – never, there’s a man in the stern and he’s asleep. Fast asleep whilst this boat is being tossed high on the waves and the rest of them are screaming like there at Chessington World of Adventures.

I see the others trying to wake the man. It looks as if they’re absolutely terrified as they shook him and shook him.

Then I saw him raise himself, stand up in that little boat, lift a hand and speak.

Then they were all gone as a massive wave engulfed the lot of them.

But it was the storm’s last breath and when I looked again, there he was sitting in the stern with his friends laughing all around him whilst the boat rode the gentle swell and drifted towards our little harbour.

The man who stilled the storm is looking up towards where I am so I duck down quick.

For I am not a man to be seen.

I peep out and there he is – his eyes searching amongst the places where I hide myself.

Now he’s on the move leaping from rock to rock – almost running up the cliff.

The others are way behind.

I dodge down in a new crevice for I know this place like the back of my hand.

I’m on the run in my own place – I’m here there and everywhere, but he just gets closer and closer. He’s like one who’s out to punish me in my madness.

Suddenly he’s barring my way – there’s no where left to run.

“I know who you are” I cry and he, well he stretches out his hand towards me just as he did to those waves and he speaks words of stillness just as he did to that sea.

I flinch as he touches me and feel something rush out of me, I feel a whole load of things rush out of me.

Things that have no hiding place any more.

It’s as if I’ve become a storm stilled.

“My Lord and My God” I cry before I realise what I’ve said

I am gathered all around by his friends from the boat and see an excitement shining from their eyes and I realise that I am in my right mind.

I was lost and have been found.

He makes as if to return to the boat and he’s scarcely said a word

“Stay here for it is almost evening” I cry “I know where there is a little bread to be found, enough for you and your friends”

He turns and smiles and lays a hand on my arm

“You have to go your own way now” he says

“But how will I know where that way is” I demand

“Go to where they’re still running and hiding. Go to where  lives are being whipped up into a storm of their own making. Go and speak peace to them, the peace you now know”

RH 4.11.07