Like the Dewfall


Like the Dewfall

Two nights ago, ominous thunderstorms came in from the southwest.  They did not come without notice.  In addition to the barrage of storm warnings on the tv, the thunder rumbled for a good half hour before the storm actually arrived, gaining in length and loudness until the house shook every time the sky seemed to split open.  Then the stillness of the evening air was swarmed over by a sudden rush of strong wind that also set the trees to leaning from its push.  Then the rain pelted down hard and furious.  No one was surprised that the grass was still wet in the morning.

Last night was calm, quiet and clear.  The peeper frogs were in fine voice, punctuated by an occasional raspy one-note call of nighthawks.  Then the sun gathered herself up on the eastern edge of the land of sunrise and began her ascent.  And when her rays slanted across the front lawn the sparkle was captured and held by droplets of dew that clung to each blade of grass.

Dew is not like rain.  You never hear the dewfall arrive.  You can’t see it fall.  It doesn’t show up on the weather radar.  And yet it permeates and saturates everything.  You can’t walk across the grass in the early morning without getting dripping wet.  It’s a phenomenon that happens year-round on every clear morning. 

Where I live, for about half the year, it shows itself as frost.  People notice frost.  Gardeners especially notice frost because frost dictates when the growing season ends and when it has begun.   Little children notice the frost, especially in the late fall because it speaks of the coming snows.  But, most people don’t seem to notice the dewfall.

Dewfall, for as gentle as it is, is quite tenacious.  Even in late July, when the days are long and hot and dry, and the grass becomes brittle and parched, the dew still falls.  Perhaps it falls as a reminder that the giver of life forsakes no one.  And it falls as a promise that rain will again fall to soften the earth and make life lush and green again, soon, yes, soon.       

I love fishing for trout in streams and rivers.  I have a favorite place where I have to cross a meadow to get to the little stream that quietly winds its way through the tall grasses.  I know that by the time I get to the edge of the stream that my waders will already look as though I’d already been out in the water.   

I think all this is why the image of dewfall is always so tangible for me.  So, my heart responds every time when I hear the priest pray in Eucharistic Prayer II: “You are indeed Holy, O Lord, the fount of all holiness.  Make holy, therefore, these gifts, we pray, by sending down your Spirit upon them like the dewfall, so that they may become for us the Body and Blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ.”

You can’t hear it.  You can’t see it.  And yet, God’s Holy Spirit comes down upon the hosts and the wine on the altar and saturates them with His very presence.  Each host spiritually sparkles with the One who is everlasting light, just like each droplet of dew catches and holds the morning sunshine so that we can taste it, that we may experience it, that we may become one with it.  

When next you have the opportunity to receive Holy Communion, let your soul walk through the dewfall of God’s presence and let it permeate you until your soul, mind and heart are saturated with this miracle that Jesus works for you.  Feel the freshness of His life making you new; feel Him making you fully alive, feel Him making you shine with His light for all those you encounter!

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan

Photo by Ochir-Erdene Oyunmedeg on Unsplash