I never knew that sea otters carry a rock in the loose pouch of skin that extends across their chest. They use the rock to break open shellfish and mollusks when feeding. As a result, sea otters are one of the only mammals on earth that regularly make use of tools.
Fascinating, right? This past week I learned more about sea otters than I ever would have dreamed possible. I learned that they can hold their breath for several minutes while diving down to the ocean floor for food. I discovered that their crunching of hard-shelled menu items can resonate quite loudly. I learned that they roll on their backs to eat, using their bellies as a makeshift table for the feast. And I learned that they sleep in a communal gathering known as a “raft.”
I find that last note especially interesting because sea otters are determinedly independent creatures. They feed themselves. They groom themselves. They defend themselves from predators. All in all, sea otters don’t really need each other for survival. But they choose to come together and make themselves into a raft when they sleep.
Why? So that no one of them drifts off to sea. It’s almost as if they’re saying, “We can handle ourselves just fine, thank you; but no one deserves to be lost in the great blue deep.”
I’ve been so grateful for this season of sabbatical. I’m grateful to my church family and the staff colleagues who have made this possible. But I’m reaching that point where I dearly miss the congregation I love. As I’ve considered our life together and what it means, this metaphor of church as a “raft” rings true.
The body of Christ is so beautifully diverse and multi-faceted, even at the level of the local congregation. We each have our own ways of serving God and growing in faith. To some degree, we can do all of this independently. But we choose to come together for the sake of something larger than ourselves. We make a raft of our many-splendored lives, and in doing so, we pledge to be Church to one another in so many ways. While we can get through so much of it on our own, there are so many reasons to come together.
We get the joy of sharing in the celebrations of another.
We get the privilege of carrying burdens when they grow cumbersome.
We get our own hope fueled exponentially by so many walking alongside us.
And we get the promise that no one drifts off to sea alone.
Our faith was never meant to be the spiritual quest of an individual alone in the world. It was always meant to be a shared experience, a way of remembering we aren’t floating along in the open sea. Maybe the otters have it figured out.