Transcendence (or "Standing at the Foot of a Waterfall")

So I haven't blogged in a while because I've been busy on vacation.  This year Rebecca and I celebrated our 10th anniversary by going to Hawaii for 10 days.  (Of course, Rebecca says the 10 years have felt like 10 days, but that goes without saying.)  Like the rest of humanity, I knew Hawaii was a beautiful place.  I expected glorious views and breathtaking vistas.  What surprised me was the kind of beauty I beheld.  It wasn't the kind of beauty that makes you step closer into it, like an art gallery where the image is fixed on canvas.  It was the kind of beauty that somewhat frightened you because of the sheer glory of untamed wilderness.  It was the kind of beauty that took your breath away and made you want to take a step back lest it pull you in.

Most of the beaches I've been to are large beaches full of pure white sand, and the ocean is fairly calm and predictable.  Because Hawaii is largely volcanic rock, the beaches aren't as large.  You are right there, feet away from an ocean with unpredictable currents and rip tides.  Waves frequently collide with rocks sending the surf feet into the air.  On the islands, you are surrounded by water (which is usually the case with islands I guess), miles and miles of water.  Just thinking about the breadth of Pacific was enough to make me shudder.  Sunsets there made the sky above the clouds come alive as much as the ground below them.  Again, it's beautiful, in a wild and powerful kind of way.

On our second day on the island of Kauai, we took a hike- a long, strenuous, taxing hike.  We climbed two miles up the Napali coast, where the ocean meets unbelievable cliffs.  The views were amazing, and the height of the steep cliffs was terrifying.  

After descending to a beach, Rebecca and I hiked another two miles inland, along a beautiful river.  The trail was dangerously muddy and almost impassable.  About the time I began wondering why in the world anyone would call this fun and do this sort of thing on vacation, the tree line gave way to a deep valley and a huge waterfall.  The height of the fall literally took my breath away.  There we stood, with mud on our legs and sweat on our shirts staring up at something much larger than us.  I arched my back and craned my neck to see the top of it, but I couldn't.  I tried to swim out under the fall, but the pool was too cold.  Truly, it was one of the most remarkable things I've ever seen.

It's hard for me to convey with a few pictures and words, but the beauty of Hawaii was different from what I expected.  I guess I was reminded that some of the most beautiful things in this world are also the most dangerous.  I felt awfully human staring out at the vast Pacific.  I felt peripheral watching the sun light up the dusk sky.  I felt powerless watching the waves smash the shore and currents overwhelm their contents.  I felt frail staring down high cliffs.  I felt incapable of taking in the fullness of the waterfall.  Around every turn and over every cliff, I saw scenes that reminded me that I am but one creature in the vast expanse of creation and most of the things that occur in this world are outside of my control and beyond my competence.  Hawaii made me experience my frail humanity, in a beautiful kind of way.

I'm a preacher, and I often talk about God's power as if I somewhat understand it.  But last week, I went to Hawaii and stood at the base of a waterfall.  Not only could I not see the top; I couldn't even tolerate the pool at the bottom.  But I jumped in anyway.