My family and I recently took a trip to the USA for a family reunion. Anyone who has flown long distance with small children will recognise that this can be a stressful experience: will the baby cry? Did we pack enough snacks, formula and changes of clothing? How would we manage to carry all our luggage, and would the buggy make it safely out of the hold?

Before take-off, a friendly air steward greeted us with a big smile and handed us a bright yellow, cylindrical package. ‘This is a baby flotation device,’ he explained, “Don’t worry, you won’t be needing it today!’ His optimism was, naturally, supported by statistics: it was highly unlikely that our baby would end up floating on the Atlantic in an inflated cot during the course of our journey. But I found myself feeling somewhat anxious. Because, of course, none of us knows for certain what the next hour, day or week has in store for us. Only God, omniscient, omnipotent and benevolent, and beyond the limitations of time, fully knows. I found myself picturing my baby tossed on the waves like a modern-day Moses in his basket.

I was unexpectedly reminded of these musings when we had (safely) returned from our trip, during the post-communion hymn at the University Church on Sunday. The third verse of Stanfield’s hymn ‘Sweet Sacrament Divine’ reads:

Sweet Sacrament of rest,
ark from the ocean’s roar,
within thy shelter blest
soon may we reach the shore;
save us, for still the tempest raves,
save, lest we sink beneath the waves:
sweet Sacrament of rest.

While it is unlikely, though not impossible, that we may find ourselves literally tossed helplessly upon the waves, the metaphorical tempests of life are real and inevitable. Some come as a surprise. The confluence of imagery here, with an ark (perhaps both Noah’s ark and the Ark of the Covenant) providing shelter and rest amidst the chaotic pre-creation waters evokes a host of biblical narratives. Christ calming the storm, Jonah, Moses both floating on the waters as a baby and then parting them as an adult, God separating the waters at creation and of course, and our own baptism when we symbolically emerge from the waves to new life in Christ, all flood to mind. The sacrament of the Eucharist, and the moment of holy restfulness post-Communion, providing a foretaste of the perfect, eternal rest we will one day enjoy.

As you read this, you may be facing your own raving tempest, of circumstance or of body, mind or spirit, or perhaps feeling anxious about what is to come. I pray that, whatever this summer has in store for you, you may find the sacrament of rest and be assured of the perfect hope and peace that is promised to us.