Some of the good people who visit here know that I sometimes write about being on the water and rowing with my team, the “Gray Buzzards.” (We row whaleboats, twenty-nine feet long, three days a week early in the morning in and around New Bedford Harbor.)
The other day, when it was my turn to steer the boat, I asked my teammates to pause for a moment of silence and reflection, with a heavy heart for the many lost and suffering people in Japan right now.
We, our team of ‘over fifty” types, at this time and place, have the very good fortune to be able to be out on the water, on this calm and balmy day in March, with the sun just rising in the east. And we row, for recreation and camaraderie, breathing in all we can see and feel and know. It is, for sure, a balm and a blessing.
And yet this same water, this mighty, thrilling ocean, half a planet away, has proven deadly, menacing, raging and fierce beyond all imagination. Geography, circumstance and just plain luck may separate us, but it is the same ocean.
And those lost and those suffering Japanese people, and we in our boat, are also the same, as one human family, all brothers and sisters, too.
I pray that mercy and hope and healing may come.