c. 1999 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a writer and computer consultant from Durham, N.C.)

ROTA, SPAIN _ For two days, the wind came to Andalucia from the desert of Africa. It was hot (104 degrees) and dry. The wind seemed to suck all energy out of me. I understood why the people of southern Spain stay indoors during summer days and why restaurants first start filling up at 10:00 p.m.

Then the wind shifted and came to us off the Atlantic. Slightly cooler, less dry, less draining. I felt my mood shift. At work, I plunged into my tasks. At dinner I felt lively for the first time in days. Walking through the streets of this seaside village seemed a delight.

As the sun’s last flicker sank below the ocean’s edge, I saw people running along the sand, children playing soccer, couples strolling. It was as if the fire-breathing dragon had stopped tormenting the village and now it was safe outside again. All because the wind shifted.

When I was a child growing up in the church, the pastor repeated every Sunday the invitation made by Jesus:”Come unto me, all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”The words were wonderfully encouraging.

But at some deep level, I think I took them to mean that it was up to me. Jesus stood ready to receive, but first I had to move. I had to recognize my burden, leave my place, and bring my burden to him.

I suppose that requirement seemed natural at the time. If you’re thirsty, go to a faucet. If you’re cold, build a fire. If it’s dark, light a candle. Do something.

But I would learn later that the burdens of life often are paralyzing. They make the thirsty incapable of moving to a faucet, or the lost unable to seek shelter. The lonely are as likely to retreat further into loneliness as they are to put on a happy face to meet the world. The bruised tend to retreat into self-blame, the depressed sink deeper into depression, the grieving often stop living.

At the moment when we are most in need, we might also be least able to ask for help _ anyone’s help, even that of a gentle savior. And when the savior wears the face of a peaceful, calm and tidy church and its well-dressed occupants; or a massive, ornate and busy edifice; or an angry courtroom passing judgment on the heathen; or a snarling sandbox where gossip and favoritism rule the roost; and when the one inviting the weary to come closer wears royal finery and speaks with a large voice, we might simply stay indoors.

I remember observing many times, at the church I most recently attended, that this was a great place for happy, healthy, young and upwardly mobile people.

But pity the soul that was broken. How would its meek cry ever be heard amid the cheerfulness?

But then the wind shifts. Not because we commanded it to shift. Not because we took action. But because God hears what our companions cannot hear.

God sees. God knows. God takes pity. God has mercy. God moves. God acts. God goes in search of the lost sheep. His wind blows where it will, and the will of God is profoundly good.

I cannot answer why desert winds sometimes last too long, or why some who are weary never find rest. I don’t believe God is testing us, or that his supply of grace simply isn’t large enough, or that he punishes by withholding his love. Nor do I believe that we just haven’t found the right incantations to please God, or that we just need to work harder at deciphering some divine plan.

I think people who offer such easy answers need to leave their air-conditioned Bible studies and stand outside in a desert wind that they cannot escape or control.

But I do know that the wind does shift. Often when we least expect it, the wind shifts, and the one who has rest to give comes in search of us. Such a coming breathes life and bids us outdoors.

IR END EHRICH