Reflections of Grace, Bald Eagle State Park

In summer, the best time to swim is morning. Then again, I think morning is the best time for EVERYthing. How to do everything in morning, one wonders? What is left then for the rest of the day?

My husband and I were the first ones into the water at Bald Eagle State Park on Sunday morning. I can't remember if it has ever happened that we were the ONLY ones in the swimming area.

But we were at this moment. And so I took the opportunity to walk around and take some photos. This one, I snapped while standing in the water. The clouds were putting on an amazing show, and I suspected they might lead to thunderstorms later; but for us, they didn't.

While nobody was in the swimming area with us, a nearby pavilion was attracting quite a crowd. Many cars arrived quite early, which is unusual. I don't know of many outdoor picnics that begin much before noon in these parts. Curious matter, that.

Shortly after taking this photo, I got into the water to swim. My husband had gotten in before me, as is often the case. And as I swam across the cool, clear waters, smooth as glass, I heard a sound. A familiar, sweet sound. Church hymns wafting along on the breeze!

I swam closer, hoping to identify the tune, but I was too late. By the time I got there, the singing was done. (Rats! Thwarted! I was born and raised a Methodist, the dancing and singing kind: I'll sing hymns with you any hour of the day or night; yes, even while swimming!)

I remembered that some of the local churches occasionally hold summer services at state parks, and that must be what was happening on this morning. The thought intrigued me, appealed to me: Is there any place better to enjoy and celebrate pretty much anything than the outdoors? No, I think not.

And so my husband and I had a good swim, and I was hoping for additional hymns, but I didn't really hear anything more. The swimming area was starting to get more crowded as the morning wore on.

Then suddenly, it was time to start thinking about heading home. We got out of the water and grabbed our towels, packed up our things, headed for the showers and the changing rooms.

But wait a minute, what was this? The whole group of people who had attended the church service made their way, as one body, down to the water. (Additional photo in the extras.) What were they doing?

Two adult men in light tan robes with hoods escorted two young people in white not just down to the water's edge, but all the way in - up to their bellies and then all the way up to their chests. (See additional photo in the extras.) Heads bowed in prayer.

At that point, though I couldn't hear the words that were spoken, I presumed that what occurred was a service of whole immersion baptism. And it happened not more than a dozen steps from where I stood to take this picture.

Right here in the cool, clear water, smooth as glass; beneath a spectacular sky; amid the reflections of the green, green hills; in between the kayakers and the fishermen and the mothers with their tiny children playing in the water . . . grace was given . . . and received.

The soundtrack: Alison Krauss, Down to the River to Pray.

P.S. And here's a bit of local news on a somewhat related theme. Which is to say, grace, forgiveness and mercy, and restoration. A group of Lancaster Amish met recently with American Indians to ask for their forgiveness for taking their lands. Here is a brief section of the article, which you may read in full here:

Shelia Hansen, a Shawnee Indian from Virginia, formally accepted the Amish bishop’s apology during the ceremony.

“You raised the bar for this country, for all humanity, for forgiveness,” she told the Amish. She referred to those Amish who immediately forgave the shooter and supported his family following the massacre at Nickel Mines Amish school in Bart Township nearly a decade ago.

“As we came in here, the wind blew really hard, and it came through the trees,” Hansen said. “And I believe that the spirits of our old ones came by the wind, and they spoke, and this is a good day.”