It was pitch black this morning by the time my crew carried our boat down to the dock, put it in the water, and shoved away, ready to begin our practice. The tiny incremental time changes that come with the approaching fall sneak up on us just like the aging of a parent.
As I bent down on our coxswain's command to adjust my footstretchers (the shoes that attach to the boat and allow the rower to become part of a living lever), I watched with awe as my teammates did the same. Like supplicants bowing before their God, the rowers, one behind the other, reached down in the darkness, backs bent over, heads down, oar handles cradled in midsections, and quietly adjusted their equipment to make for the best possible outcome.
It strikes me that this pose, this act of bending down, which I can only interpret as a prayerful one, is an act of preparation which is possibly as important as the act (of praying? of rowing?) itself. This act of bending, which I saw this morning for the first time as a bow, is an extremely powerful one. The bow is an act of humility, one which states somatically that one is part of a larger whole, not alone, not an independent agent, but part of something larger and greater. Eight rowers bending down acknowledge that only together will they drive the boat forward well. This mindful preparation, done privately in public, done quietly and carefully, makes possible a fruitful outcome.
I give thanks today for the dark, for the rowers, for the privelege of this community which, like the church and worshipping communities everywhere, gather day after day for their practice.
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