Comfort (Isaiah 40)

 This year, I had the wonderful opportunity to spend some time working as an instructor at a science camp on Catalina Island, off the coast of Long Beach. There, middle schools brought their students to spend 3 or 4 days to learn about the unique ecosystem that exists on Catalina. We saw bald eagles and sea lions and dolphins and Catalina Island foxes, a species of fox which exists only on Catalina Island and nowhere else in the world.

And we did all this while going on hikes, snorkeling in the ocean, kayaking, exploring tide pools, and dissecting squid.

Well, before the first session, we had a few days of training; and, just a week before the training session, I found out that part of the training involved getting certified as a lifeguard. To lead these kids out in the kayaks, or snorkeling in the cove, we had to be certified lifeguards.

That made me panic. I’ve never considered myself a particularly good swimmer. And, I hate the cold. And if you’ve ever been in the Pacific Ocean, you know that water is not warm. It’s not like swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. And it’s especially cold in March, at the end of winter.

And I thought of backing out then and there.

But I’ve learned over the years that sometimes, it’s good to push yourself beyond your comfort zone, to do something that makes you uncomfortable.

So, I promised the people in charge that I would do my best. I didn’t know if I would be able to complete the lifeguard training, but I would try.

On the day of our swim test, it was cold and drizzly. Our instructor brought us cups of hot tea to drink before we got in the water, and the kindness of that gesture almost made me cry. 

Then: it was time. The water was so cold, at first I couldn’t even breathe. And I thought: If I can’t breathe, there’s no way I’m going to be able to swim!

But I pressed on. And I successfully swam the 500 yards, and passed all the requirements, and–at the age of 52–became, for the first time, a certified lifeguard.

And I’m rather proud of that accomplishment, since achieving it took me so far out of my comfort zone.

Isaiah talks about “comfort, comfort.” I long for comfort. I resist what is uncomfortable. I really didn’t want to get in that ice cold water. 

Yet Isaiah was speaking to people who had experienced something far worse than a little discomfort. What they had experienced wasn’t just the discomfort of swimming in the cold waters of the Pacific.

What the Isaiah’s community had experienced was trauma. Deep trauma. Trauma as the result of exile, suffering, and devastation, as Melissa Bills writes in this month’s Christian Century.

Likewise, the years leading up to the birth of Jesus were years of trauma brought on by generations of oppression that the Jews suffered at the hands of one empire after another. As Kelley Nikondeha writes in her book, First Advent in Palestine: “Each successive generation endured another wave of occupation. More sons lost in battle, more land confiscated, more hopes dashed…” Towns were razed, women and children enslaved, rebels crucified…

Today, the people of Israel and Palestine continue to endure hardship, occupation, terror, and trauma. Too many are being killed, or are watching their children die, or are being forced to leave their homes, despite having nowhere else to go. The suffering, the trauma, seem to never end. 

To them, and to all who endure deep, lasting trauma, Isaiah promises comfort. And the comfort Isaiah promises is more than a warm blanket and cup of hot tea after swimming 500 yards in the cold ocean. That warm blanket and cup of tea sure is nice, but God promises so much more to those who have experienced true trauma. 

God promises hope when all hope is lost. God promises healing to even the deepest wounds. God promises a new chance at life when you thought your life was at a dead end. God promises assurance and affirmation and love to those who thought they’d never be loved for who they are, or welcomed in any genuine way.

Sometimes it’s good to go outside our comfort zone. But when what we’ve experienced is so traumatic that we think we can’t go on, God comforts us, takes us by the hand, and leads us on a new path; a path of healing, wholeness, and salvation.