Dear Friends,
On Tuesday morning I woke up at six thirty and I walked outside to get the paper. I was greeted with the wonderful smell of rain. To my mind—or maybe it’s more accurate to say to my olfactory capacities—there is nothing quite like the smell of rain, especially the smell of the season’s first rain.
There are lots of reasons to be overjoyed by the season’s first rain: the first rain—so long as it does not come too late in the year—brings with it the possibility that this will be a season without drought; the first rain is a reminder that the earth is alive, and that the health of trees and flowers and creeks and wildlife will be sustained, at least for the next twelve months. The first rain also brings with it a “to do” list: bring in the outdoor furniture, change the settings on the automatic watering system, buy new wiper blades for the cars, change the filters on the furnace. These are not onerous tasks, but they are chores to be accomplished.
The first rainfall brings joys and tasks that are cerebral and practical, but the smell of rain is a reminder that not all joys can be described or experienced in the form of accomplishment. Sometimes life provides us with joys that are pure grace. The smell of the first rain is not connected with hopes for something else—a good season of rain, or the flow of clean water in the creek—and it brings with it no prompting to work. It is a joy unto itself, a gift.
When I served as pastor to a congregation in the Salinas Valley, the farmers and ranchers in my congregation would always evaluate the first rain, and there never was universal satisfaction with it. Some said the first rain was too early, some said it was too late; for some it was too wet, for others it was insufficient, but if I’d asked, I’m sure everyone would have agreed on this: the smell is heavenly. Now that I’m no longer living in rural America, our debates might have more to do with climate change and policies that set limits on the use of water, but even so, as we debate such matters, dividing ourselves in to groups of red and blue, pro-this, anti-that, we all can agree that the first rain has a scent that is beyond compare.
I am worried about the direction of the United States and I have been for some time. I’m worried about what is happening in the world. I have personal reasons to rejoice and to worry, but here is a gift: on Tuesday morning before sun came up and before there were too many cars on the road, I got to go out into the rain. I thought I was getting the morning paper with its reports of woe and worry; instead I received a gift of grace. I got to smell the first rain and for a moment everything was right in the world.
God’s Peace,
Ben