We Are the Rescue: A Modern Parable of Divine Action
You know the story. The floodwaters are rising, and a faithful person sits on their roof, refusing rescue after rescue. "God will save me," they insist to the Jeep driver, the canoe paddlers, the helicopter pilot. When they arrive in heaven and ask why God didn't save them, the divine response comes: "I sent you a Jeep, a canoe, and a helicopter."
We tell this parable to remind ourselves to recognize divine action in human hands, to accept help when it's offered, to stop waiting for supernatural intervention when real, tangible rescue is right in front of us.
But recently, in conversation with someone wrestling with the weight of our current moment, this familiar story flipped on its head. What if we ask a different question: Who was driving that Jeep? Who was paddling that canoe? Who was piloting that helicopter?
We were.
The Flood Is Upon the Rescuers Too
Here's what the traditional telling doesn't acknowledge: the people showing up to help aren't standing on dry ground. The Jeep driver is navigating rising waters. The canoe paddlers are in the flood themselves, choosing to use their vessel to reach someone else. The helicopter pilot is flying through the storm.
We are all in this flood together. And somehow, miraculously, divinely, we keep showing up for each other anyway.
This reframe transforms everything about how we understand our role in the world's current crises. We're not just called to accept help when the divine sends it through human hands—we're called to be those hands, even when we're struggling to keep our own heads above water.
Sacred Responsibility in Hard Times
When we flip the parable this way, it reveals something profound about divine action and human responsibility. If we are the hands and feet of the divine in this world, then our showing up for each other isn't just good citizenship or moral duty—it's sacred work.
The person driving through flood zones to check on neighbors isn't just being helpful; they're participating in divine rescue. The community organizer working to protect vulnerable populations isn't just doing politics; they're engaging in holy work. The minister crafting messages about love and commitment when everything feels overwhelming isn't just doing their job; they're serving as a conduit for divine possibility.
But here's the thing that makes this both beautiful and heartbreaking: we're doing this sacred work while we're also the ones who need rescuing.
The Joy and Weight of Being Divine Agents
This understanding carries both tremendous weight and unexpected lightness. The weight comes from recognizing that if we are the divine rescue that shows up for others, then the work really is up to us. We can't wait for someone else to fix what's broken. We are the someone else.
But the lightness—and this is crucial—comes from remembering that we don't have to do this work alone, and we don't have to do it without joy.
Maybe I don't have a jeep, but I have a song to sing while you paddle the canoe. Maybe I don't have a helicopter, but I have a friend who has a friend who lives near the airfield (and I'm not afraid to ask.)
Even in the flood, there can be connection. Even in crisis, there can be moments of beauty. Even when we're rescuing others, we can experience the profound satisfaction of being part of something larger than ourselves, of participating in divine action in the world.
Recognizing the Sacred in Small Acts
If we're looking for the divine in human rescue efforts, we need to expand our definition of what rescue looks like. It's not just the dramatic helicopter moments. It's also:
- The pure joy of pushing a four-year-old grandchild in a swing, creating a moment of delight that ripples beyond just the two of you
- Witnessing the small miracle of strangers greeting each other warmly in an airport waiting area, choosing connection over isolation
- The decision to do your specific work—developing learning materials for students, writing about love and commitment rather than contributing to despair factories—instead of getting pulled into internet debates or other energy drains
- The practice of celebrating completion with something as simple as a joyful checkmark in the air, acknowledging your efforts whether the task was distasteful or routine
- Offering a guest room in a safe place for people who need one for a while
- The choice to show up authentically in small daily interactions
These small acts of showing up are divine rescue operations happening all around us, carried out by people who are themselves in need of rescue.
We Are Called to Be the Canoe
The traditional flood parable asks us to recognize divine help when it comes. But the flipped version calls us to something more demanding and more beautiful: to be the help that comes, to be the divine presence that shows up for others, to be willing to get in our canoe and paddle toward someone who's struggling, even though we're in the flood too.
This doesn't mean we have to be saviors or that everything depends on us. It means we're part of a vast network of divine action, a web of people showing up for each other in small and large ways, each of us both giving and receiving rescue.
In these times that feel so overwhelming, so impossible, this reframing offers both challenge and comfort. Yes, the work is ours to do. But no, we don't do it alone. We are simultaneously the drowning and the rescue, the lost and the found, the ones who need saving and the ones who show up to save.
The flood is upon us all. And we keep reaching for each other anyway. If that's not divine action, I don't know what is.
What rescue are you being called to offer today? What help are you being called to accept? Sometimes we are the Jeep, sometimes we are the person on the roof, and sometimes we are both at once.
Beloved,
You are whole, holy, and worthy
Rev. Amy Beltaine
(http://amybeltaine.info)
This Heart of Spiritual Tending series is ©2025 Amy Beltaine, all rights reserved. You may freely reprint any blog post, website, or print resource. Simply include the following attribution, and if you print online, make the link at the end live:
Article ©2025 Amy Beltaine, all rights reserved. Reprinted with permission. This article and hundreds of others, along with other free resources, are available at www.AmyBeltaine.info
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