Petrichor

For someone who does as much walking outside as I do, I very seldom find myself caught in the rain.  Maybe it's because I have access to several weather forecasting apps on my phone, or because I tend to pay attention to the rather obvious skies above Southern Maryland.  Today I had planned to go out kayaking on the lake, but the aforementioned weather forecasts contained a marine warning about possible thunderstorms and strong winds.  I had no desire to be out on the water in the event of such weather, so I did the sensible thing and just went for a walk.
About halfway around the lake, I felt the first drops and heard a distant roll of thunder.  Time to speed up the old dog.  It quickly became obvious that we were in for a bath.  Instead of getting in a hurry though, I actually took a moment to slow down as the rain began to intensify I got to experience that unique scent that has its own special word: petrichor.  The definition is that smell when rain starts to hit dry earth.  The woods are dry because the leaves aren't yet out and the warm sun bakes everything to a crisp much more quickly than it does in the summer when things are shaded.  I don't know exactly what causes petrichor to happen only at the beginning of a heavy rain, but as I gratefully soaked in that unique odor I felt that it might be perhaps more mystical than a scientific explanation about water mixing with minerals.  It seemed like the earth was breathing out, the way you might before inhaling a deep breath to dive to the bottom of a pool.
I had one of those nature moments, where paganism suddenly makes a lot of sense. In a world where everything seems alive and connected, of course there are spirits in the trees and gods in the soil. Things seem particularly alive, and if you let yourself, you feel connected to that life in a way that is deeply significant.  As the storm got a bit more intense the petrichor moment vanished and it was time to hurry again, it would be a real shame to do all this social distancing to avoid COVID-19 only to get zapped by lightning.
Back in the world of non-pagan spirituality I am thinking about what we're missing during this Holy Week spent in isolation. What would we be doing and thinking during this time absent the pandemic? This week is the petrichor moment, the breathing out of the last breath, but with a purpose that surely has life at its core.  Jesus often taught about the necessity of dying and laying things down in order for the new life of the Kingdom to take hold.  I think that's a pattern in nature as well: the breathing out of the dryness with an unmistakable moment of petrichor, ready to receive the water that brings life out of seemingly dead things.
On the cross, Jesus says, "tetelestai," it is finished and then surrenders his spirit, he breaths out his last, giving up what is destined to fade and go away, so that something new can inherit that space, so that new life can come. Death is a part of the cycle, as is dormancy; light is necessary, as is darkness.  That unique and beautiful petrichor is not something you encounter all the time, only after a period of dryness will the mere anticipation of water set it in motion.