Editorial August 3, 1998 Issue

On Huck Finn, rivers, and spiritual reality

William E. Moody

Sometimes I feel a little like one of Mark Twain's characters. Like Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. Maybe you've felt that way, too. As though you're sitting on the bank of a river on a summer's day, eyes half-open, simply counting the pieces of driftwood as they float by or, perhaps, dreamily watching the circles disappear each time a fish slaps the water. And all the while, so much is being missed—all that's unseen just beneath the surface. There's a whole world we aren't seeing, and don't we sense that at some point we would have to leave the riverbank and actually go into the water if we should ever hope to know what that world is really like? The driftwood on its journey or the occasional leaping fish is only a hint, a glimpse, a preview, but so much more is waiting to be discovered.

We need to take part in what is actually going on—in the life-transforming currents of divine reality.

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