What are the odds?

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He then told me a bit of his story, a Doctorate in Ecology from the University of Connecticut and his current work planting and restoring sea grass in coastal areas. It was a fascinating process, a genius idea of how to effectively plant the seeds of sea grass underwater. They do it by gluing seeds onto clams, buckets and buckets of clams, six seeds per shell, and then they row out and dump the clams into the water. The clams float blissfully downward, happy to be where they belong, and wiggle their way into the silt and sand that is their home. In so doing, they plant the sea grass!

I laughed in delight. “Oh my,” I said, “that is so clever! I remember my very first venture into marine biology. I was in my rubber boots, mucking around in the tidal flats off Mamacoke Island with the rest of my classmates from Connecticut College.”

“I was just there two days ago!” he said in startled surprise. “It was students from Conn who glued the seeds onto the shells, and it was right there off Mamacoke that we dropped the clams into the water!”

He got out his phone and pulled up pictures taken across the highway from the college campus and just a half mile from my childhood home. The tidal flats off Mamacoke Island. I knew that shoreline, I knew the shape of those hills. We sat, shoulder to shoulder, stunned and silent, staring at the screen before us. What are the odds?

This flight, however, was not yet done with us. In the kindness of reciprocity, he asked me about what I do. I told him about my years of working in the Catholic Church. Oh yes, he was Catholic, though Episcopalian now. I told him of my love for Scripture, of writing about the women of Scripture, my current online ministry of retreats and Scribbles. He began to spin the story of his own faith journey which is only his to tell, but the back and forth of our lives was one Mamacoke moment after another.

We had begun our slow descent into XNA.

“Do you know what ‘thin places’ are in Celtic spirituality?” he asked me. “You know, those places where it all comes together? The elements of sea, air, and land? These are the places where this world and the other world also come together. The distinction, the veil that separates them, becomes thinner. We are more able to move between them.”

“Oh, yes,” I smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.” I paused for a moment and turned to look more directly at him. “That is why you do what you do, isn’t it?”

“Yes, when I’m out there, I feel like anything is possible, like I could reach out and touch another world.”

The sun was starting to set, one of those spectacular mid-America sunsets that sets the sky ablaze. The red glow of the sun’s going flooded the interior of the plane in pink, though most eyes were too fixed on devices to notice.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, still seeing a wash of color behind my lids. I let his words settle in, like clams drifting downward into the sand.

“I wonder if planes are not a kind of thin place too,” I said. “Here we are at 30,000 feet looking down with a God’s eye view of the world. Everyone here has come from somewhere and is heading somewhere. For this moment our paths have crossed. We have come together. We will soon scatter again, but for right now, the possibility exists of encountering, of awareness, of something holy.”

He smiled at me. “What are the odds?”

“Yes,” I said. “What are the odds?”

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