From the Rector…
Last week, I spent time with my best friend intentionally cultivating peace. I’m a relatively peaceful person by nature—I pray, practice yoga, meditate, and pause to breathe whenever I begin to feel anxious or overwhelmed. But rarely do I stumble upon peace that doesn’t require mindfulness or effort. That kind of unexpected peace was exactly what we set out to find last week, and I’m happy to say—we did.
We had been in the mountains with two seminary classmates the week before on retreat to cultivate joy. After returning to Montgomery for the weekend, we headed south to the most peaceful place I know: the beach. We stayed at the Frazers’ beach house, which is actually located on St. John’s Bay. It’s a lovely spot, but we decided that true peace, for us, would be found in the sounds of the Gulf—seagulls crying, waves rolling, children laughing. You get the idea.
So, each morning we loaded up our chairs, towels, and cooler, and headed out. We found a place in the sand and set up camp, spending our days reading, talking, and soaking up the sun. As you do at the beach, whenever we got hot, we headed for the water. The waves were gentle, and once you passed the water breaking on the shore line, you could simply sway with the rhythm of the sea.
One morning, as I stood waist-deep in the water, I noticed a lifeguard on a Sea-Doo picking up a man who had been swimming far offshore. I hadn’t seen the man in any kind of distress and wondered what was going on. Then, just a few feet from me, I saw a couple pointing excitedly before they turned and headed quickly for shore.
I remembered the purple flag flying at the lifeguard stand—indicating that potentially harmful sea creatures had been spotted. I had assumed it meant jellyfish. But after watching the lifeguard’s unusual behavior, I wasn’t so sure. The lifeguard didn’t seem to be in any rush to get out of the water, so I stayed put, unsure what was happening.
Then I saw it: a flash of a fin, a sleek body curving through the sunlight before disappearing beneath the waves—dolphins. I was mesmerized.
I don’t know how long I stood in the gently rolling water, hands floating on the surface of the waves, feet shifting gently in the sand, watching my favorite sea creatures frolic and delight in their audience. It felt like an ancient hula, a dance that connected me to the deep rhythms of the earth. It was gentle, yet strong; purposeful, yet effortless. In that moment, the dolphins, the water, the sand, and I were one—interconnected, dependent on each other if only to experience this moment of joy. And this joy wasn’t a thrill or a fleeting emotion—it was presence. It was peace that surpasses all understanding.
That peaceful encounter with the sea wasn’t simply about nature’s beauty, it was a spiritual experience rooted in stillness, wonder, and a connection to something greater. True peace cannot always be manufactured through effort or discipline. Sometimes the deepest sense of true peace finds us when we allow ourselves to be fully present in the moment, immersed in creation, and open to joy.