Men and women of a certain age were simply unable to reach maturity without attending some social event that featured the soundtrack from the movie Grease, particularly that portion in which the phenomenon of the summer romantic fling is celebrated (or, more specifically, as the song goes: “Oh, those su-um-mer nigh-igh-ights…….”). This was John Travolta’s—and, quite possibly, America’s—finest hour.
I’m not precisely sure what it is about summer that makes us more apt to release our phone numbers to the opposite sex; perhaps we’re simply trying to avoid the loser status of the one-seat line at the roller coaster.
What I do know is that you can also turn to the Divine for the Ultimate Summer Fling. God will call you back. The Lord of All is not headed off to Auburn for freshman orientation. Best of all: no burning.
God does the summer shuffle while we’re on vacation. We milk the traveler’s dispensation where Mass is concerned and concentrate on seeking Him in new places and faces when the humidity spikes. I defy you to stand before the Grand Canyon or the Gulf of Mexico or even the Mall of America and not see the hand of the Divine in such wonders.
And you don’t have to leave home to cram in your summer fling with the Almighty. Wander in a sprinkler spray after dusk and marvel at the stars and the churr of the cicadas—God is there, as solidly as in a snowflake or the first flowering of spring. We have a lot of soggy sunshine here in Florida, and as the tourists wilt and the sun block melts, the power of God comes burning through.
The summer fling is the beach read of our romantic history—fast, fun, and brilliant as the sunrise. So if you haven’t been crooning about your time withOlivia Newton-John or John Travolta over the past three months, give a few days on the roller coaster with God a chance.
