A dozen canoes and a couple of kayaks would put in the water a few miles north of a logging camp, and over six or seven days they would cover eighty miles down the Montreal River, ending just east of Lake Superior. On the last day, when they pulled out of the river for the final time, one of the campers would have the job of literally flagging down the next train to take them back into Sault Saint Marie.

Around the middle of this trip, a rest break would occur at a place on the river called Pleasant Point, where the campers spent a couple days relaxing in the beautiful, great outdoors of Canada's wilderness. One of the optional things people can do during this break is go on a five-hour fishing trip to a remote lake, accessible only by a pontoon-equipped airplane.

That is where three of my best friends in life, Steve, Carol and Jessie, decided they would spend one of their free afternoons in July of 1984-fishing on a remote lake in Canada, and actually frying the fish on the spot for supper, before the pontoon plane picked them up to return them back to the base camp at Pleasant Point, some sixty miles away.

They flew out from base camp at mid-morning, along with two other young men, Robert, a guy that I actually went to high school with, and Ken. The leader of the trip-the guy from the Men's group, named Ted-decided at the last minute to toss into the plane a two-person tent and a sleeping bag, just in case something happened and they might be stuck for the night.

"If you see me fly over flapping the flaps on my wings," the pilot said to them, "that will mean that I'm not going to land, and I'll have to pick you up first thing the next morning." But everyone fully expected to be back at base camp within six or seven hours, after a meal of freshly caught and cooked fish, and ready for a good night's sleep.

The plane dropped my three friends and the two young men off at South Ivan Lake near a small, somewhat submerged, dilapidated dock, which had two boats tied to it. They had their fishing gear, a frying pan, a little oil to cook with, the tent and the sleeping bag, and the clothes on their backs.

The fishing went great, and everyone enjoyed the time at the lake. Carol, who didn't care to fish, had brought a paperback book along to read when she wasn't out looking around at the beauty of the locale in which the pilot dropped them off: A remote lake, all right, abundant with pristine water and located miles away from any human civilization.

The five of them enjoyed a delicious catch of fish for supper, and anxiously awaited the return of the pontoon airplane that had dropped them off late that morning. As evening began to set in, they saw the plane approach. It passed over-head, and-unbelievably-they saw its wing flaps flapping as the pilot said he might have to do, and he flew out of their hearing and sight.

Well, there they were; stuck along the shore of a pretty lake in the middle of nowhere with one sleeping bag and a two person tent for the five of them. Being late July, it was actually a pretty warm that night. They decided that Steve, Carol and Jessie would sleep in the tent, while the other guys would sleep outside under the stars or under the boats, if necessary.

They had no water to drink other than the crystal clear lake water, and no other food to eat, except a small can of tuna. Furthermore, they had used all the cooking oil for that night's supper, so they had nothing to fry any other fish in.

With hopes and prayers of being picked up first thing in the morning, they all went to bed and tried to get some sleep. But it's hard to sleep when you're out in the wilderness, far from home and the safety of camp, without any kind of protection in the event that a wild animal picks up your scent and decides to have you as a late night supper or midnight snack. They could hear the sounds of animals from their campsite, and knew that bears did live in the neighborhood, but they forced that thought out of their minds as they drifted off in a restless sleep.

Morning came, and they were up at first light. The men packed the tent, while Jessie sat on the dock looking for the first sign of the airplane that would soon pick them up. Carol sat and waited and worried.

Meanwhile, back at the camp, Ted, the trip leader had had a miserable night with little sleep. He was worried about his friends and their safety and well being. Apparently, the evening before the pilot had too many people to pick-up from various lakes too far apart before nightfall, and chose to leave the party of five at South Ivan Lake because he thought they had ample provisions to spend the night. Had he known that they only had one sleeping bag, and virtually no extra food, he might have thought twice about flying over and flapping his flaps-the sign that he would skip them and pick them up first thing the next day.

But sixty miles away, the party of five, with three of my best friends and a high school buddy, had no radio, nor cell phone nor any way to communicate with the base camp. They had no way of knowing that in the morning a fog had settled in over that portion of the Montreal River, and would not lift for the whole day. They had no way of knowing that the pilot would not even be able to take off, let alone pick them up. So they sat and waited, not bothering to fish for food, because they knew help was to arrive at any moment.

But it didn't. They had no way of knowing. And as evening settled in, the wind had changed, the temperature had dropped, a clod, light rain began to fall, and it began to dawn on them that they were in for a second night along the shore of South Ivan Lake.

With the change in the weather, the two young men decided they needed to build a fire to keep them warm and safe that night. In the fading light, and with Jessie's help, they gathered dead wood and twigs from the woods around them, and using pages from the paperback book for dry kindling, they started a fire.

Carol gave them pages from the early chapters, and frantically started reading faster to keep ahead of the need for more dry pages. "It was 'Gilligan's Island' for us," she said later. "We had gone out for a five hour trip and wound up stranded without any way of contacting anyone. We thought it would only be a few hours. Who knew it would last as long as it did?"

Ironically, the paperback pages they were burning for fuel came from a book entitled, Ashes of Desire. That realization helped keep their sense of humor intact, which buoyed their hopes a bit. But no one in their little group ever considered spending a second night along the shores of their fishing lake.

"We should have been better prepared," Jessie related to me recently on the phone. "I was thirteen at the time; I thought of it as an adventure; I guess I really didn't think of it as a dangerous situation-but it sure could have turned into one. Mom was really worried. When the plane finally picked us up at about lunchtime the next day, he only had enough fuel to take three of us at that time. Mom jumped right into that plane and motioned for Dad and me to follow. There was no discussion about the possibility of the other two guys ever getting on that first flight out of there."

The pilot took the family of three to a nearby lodge where they could get something to eat, while he refueled and went back for the two guys. After they all ate their fill, they all returned to the base camp at Pleasant Point, much to the relief of Ted. After hugs and kisses and tears of joy, Ted had a special surprise for them.

While the fishing party of five were hunkering in for a second night, in the cold and rain, hungry and worried about how things were going to turn out, the rest of the canoeing group were enjoying the feast of the week that every trip gets to enjoy: Lobster and Steak Night on the shores of the Montreal River. Ted had saved back some lobster and steak for them. Their long unexpected wait was finally over; the pilot had come for them at last, and they were back safe and sound.

In a world as full of conveniences and abundant with food as our society is, it makes it hard for us to truly hear the Gospel words to "keep alert," to "keep awake," along with their message about being prepared. Who needs to be prepared when one can run right out and get whatever it is that you run out of?

That is, until you find yourself in a situation far, far away from the nearest "convenience" store. We don't think much about being prepared because we have so much to begin with. When in fact, because we have so much, we actually possess so little that prepares us for the One whose coming makes all the difference to us.

My friends on that island had an Advent experience. They learned what it is like to be without food, shelter, and safety in a strange place, like the Holy family on the way to Bethlehem. They learned what waiting was all about; they learned to wait for salvation to come from on high-so to speak-and especially what it means to wait for an appearance at an unknown time.

The season of Advent calls us to pay attention to our lives; to notice what is going on in our world; to consider whether we are ready and waiting for the Son of Man when he comes for us. Will he find us busy, doing the work he has charged us with? No longer do I believe that this text (and similar texts) only makes reference to a general second coming of Christ, about which so many churches today occupy much their time. In trying to interpret the news of the day in the light of apocalyptic scripture, daring to say, "This is it! He's coming soon!" you would think these churches had never heard or read the first line of our Gospel text today. "But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father."

It seems to me that the second coming of Christ can also refer to the hour of our death, that moment he when comes for us quite unexpectedly, as death usually comes. In that light, the Gospel admonition to beware, keep alert, keep awake, takes on a new and urgent meaning. Are we truly prepared for the encounter of our lives-our own personal "Day of the Lord?"

The message of Advent is that now is always the best time to make room for him in our lives; prepare yourself for him, and he will come; Jesus always comes when we least expect him. This Advent we might consider holding our own version of a ceremony to turn some of our deepest held, dead-end desires into ashes, in order to make our hearts and minds more ready to receive him, in order to make room in our lives for him.

For the more we desire to see him, in the face of our neighbor, and in the sacraments of baptism and Eucharist, the closer Christ will draw near to us, both now and in the life to come.

The Rev'd Timothy M. Dombek
ST. JAMES EPISCOPAL CHURCH
301 Piney Mountain Road
Greenville, SC 29609-3035
(864) 244-6358
timothy@stjamesgreenville.org

Copyright © 2002 Timothy M. Dombek All Rights Reserved.