Return to Vocal Ministry
Return to Vocal Ministry
Jay Marshall, Dean
Winchester Friends Meeting, Winchester, Indiana
Sept. 17, 2006
Mark 4:26-29
More than once this year, usually in the midst of attacking Japanese beetles, I thought to myself that what has been said of boats is also true of gardens. "You don't really need to own one—you just need a friend who has one." But, I doubt that I ever take that advice.
I do like the advice of Tex Bender who said, "The best way to garden is to put on a wide-brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And with a hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other, tell somebody else where to dig." —Texas Bix Bender, Don't Throw in the Trowel, (Gramercy, 1999). In my family, the only somebody else is Judi. While she is good help, she is not about to let me stand and watch. She has an aversion to pulling weeds and has conveniently learned to break out in a rash around any plant she doesn't want to harvest.
Bender's advice doesn't really work for me anyway, because I need to get my hands dirty and sweat a little bit for a garden to be a place where I discover the "One who can speak to my condition."
I have come to appreciate the truth of Mark's gospel in chapter 4, vv26-29, and to the degree I have a text this morning this is it: (Jesus) He also said, "This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain-- first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. As soon as the grain is ripe, he puts the sickle to it, because the harvest has come.
Think of that: Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. All by itself the soil produces grain. . . Now that is the gospel truth when it comes to gardening.
Though a bit at odds with that truth, I like the story of the farmer who purchased an old, run-down, abandoned farm with plans to turn it into a thriving enterprise. The fields were grown over with weeds, the farmhouse was falling apart, and the fences were broken down. During his first day of work, the town preacher stops by to bless the man's work, saying, "May you and God work together to make this the farm of your dreams!"
A few months later, the preacher stops by again to call on the farmer. Lo and behold, it's a completely different place. The farmhouse is completely rebuilt and in excellent condition, there are plenty of cattle and other livestock happily munching on feed in well-fenced pens, and the fields are filled with crops planted in neat rows. "Amazing!" the preacher says. "Look what God and you have accomplished together!" "Yes, reverend," says the farmer, "but remember what the farm was like when God was working it alone!"
That story aptly depicts the temptation to assume that the garden is my work. But the parable of the sower speaks the gospel truth. Together, the two help illustrate that there is a role for the gardener to play. It does involve hard work. But truly, the sower doesn't know why it grows. We can explain why in terms of soil, sun, water, germination, and so forth. But we can't really crack the mystery of life. At least I can't. We can't explain or control the mystery of life, but that doesn't mean our work is of no value. We can contribute to environment. So, there is a sense in which garden work is a continual object lesson that reminds and reinforces my place in God's world. It is not as grand as humans can be prone to think, but it is a meaningful role.
Garden work, and God's work, depends on more than just me. I can be an independent old cuss (what do you expect from an oldest child?). When I set my mind to a task, I intend to succeed. But when it comes to the garden, in fact, most of it depends on something other than me. It is really rather humbling. This is MY garden. This is MY work. I choose the seeds. I plan the layout. I decide how to fertilize. I plant seeds. But I don't make them grow. My standing over them doesn't make them germinate. My caring about the process doesn't really help it happen or if it does, it is some mystical, invisible way that I can't really know. And if the soil is poor, my best efforts yield disappointing results, even with fertilizer. If it doesn't rain, I'll have a hard time matching the benefit of rainwater no matter how much
H2O I pump onto that garden. If the sun doesn't shine or shines too much, I am helpless. Even if all of that goes well, a bad year for bugs or happenstance visits by deer passing through can dash my hopes. I always know that, but it really comes home at different points—like when the cold, wet May crippled some tomatoes and completely overcame the corn I'd planted. Or when I discovered deer munched on my popcorn and don't seem to have left any for me. Or when the tiny zucchini that as too small to pick last night now looks a miniature Louisville slugger the next morning and I marvel at how quickly it grew without my help.
I get to plant seeds. I get to weed and do battle with unwanted critters. I get to enjoy the harvest. The value is not that I caused it. The value is being a small contributor. The value is in learning to be part of something greater than myself, and to be a role player rather than the main player. The value is the nourishment of the harvest that feeds by body just as the work has nourished my soul. The value is the joy of sharing the abundance with others without expecting gifts in return, of giving in hopes of creating pleasure for the recipients, of giving as an act of enlarging the circle that knows God's abundance. The value is in being a representative of God's love and goodness, outwardly expressed toward others. It is a radical reorientation from the typical US worldview that understands fragmentation and control as the natural order, and tends to encourage hoarding of resources while ignoring the needs and value of others.
With that as a starting place, the next lesson among these green beans of life is that participation in the process matters. So much of what we do in life is goal oriented, so we forget to enjoy our involvement prior to the goal. That tendency is not completely absent in the work of the garden, because we plant the seed with the expectation that fruits and vegetables will arrive in the end. That is the tasty end result. We receive nutrition in the moment and in the coming winter if we store our goods. But the richer spiritual value of gardening is more than that. As a spiritual discipline, the value of gardening is rooted in the act, the participation, the process.
For me, I've discovered that sun, soil, plants and silence are a conducive environment for meeting God. The feel of the soil, the aroma of the plants, sweat streaming down the side of my face, all contribute to a re-centering of my soul. It is important because of my
roots, because of my personality, and because of how I spend my days. As a person with rural roots, the soil and respect for the earth is a part of my deepest being so gardening reconnects me with some deep part of myself that I can't fully explain. As an introvert in a people-oriented extroverted job, the solitude of the garden gives me the space I need. As much as I enjoy this, I am not saying you should work and sweat in a garden. However, I am saying it is important for you to remember the sacramentality of all life. True to Quaker theology, worship is not confined to a building designated as church. God can meet you anywhere. Those meetings will happen most powerfully if you know your centered place and visit it often, immersing yourself in the process appropriate to your centering activity.
In my centered place at the garden, God has expanded my understanding of and ability to pray. Pray is no longer limited to a certain posture or place. It doesn't require flowery words or even words at all. You already know that I'm sure. But one of the best lessons for me has been the manner in which garden work becomes prayerful work. It is most enjoyable when carried on in a particular spirit.
What do I mean by that mean? I'm still sorting it out, but it is related to a heightened awareness of my connection with God's creation—because you are part of that creation, this also means my connection with you. Gardening has re-enforced my connection with creation. It improves my awareness of abundance, provision, and blessing in God's world. It strengthens my sense of trust in God and reduces my dependency on a food system run more and more by large agribusinesses that sometimes utilize chemicals I'd just as soon not ingest.
But, it is about more than being connected and belonging. It is also about being in partnership with God in a work I treasure, a work I enjoy, a work that benefits my own soul, but a work in which I have no chance of succeeding alone. The key, or course, is to transfer that same spirit of prayerful engagement outside the garden to the work and ministry that is mine to do elsewhere. What is that spirit of prayerful engagement? It is a qualitative state of mind. It is a non-anxious presence in the face of the storm. It is a mindfulness to remain deeply rooted in the true source of my being, the Living Christ.
Both aspects of that—the connectedness and the partnership—point me to an important corrective that I need from time to time. That corrective includes the reminder that every moment is a potential moment when I, if I remain in that prayerful spirit, am engaged in faithful living and potential ministry. No encounter with another, then, is wasted time. (Sometimes that is difficult to remember, especially if I am preoccupied). And, no single moment stands alone. Regardless of how ragged or frustrating or disconcerting or wonderful a moment may be, it connects to a larger collection of jigsaw puzzle pieces that tell the story my life and its intersection with God's greater purposes.
In the midst of what may sound like a warm fuzzy approach to gardening as well as life's learnings, there are a couple of harsher realities that I own as truths among the green beans of life. First, I used to jokingly say but now really mean it when I say "grow or get out of my garden." If that sounds cold and callous, you should know that I have a hard time every uprooting extra seedlings or pulling up plants when I've harvested all I care for. If a seed that is not a weed goes to the trouble of germinating, I will go to many lengths to help it succeed. But if a plant stalls or seems determined not to grow, I will pull it out without a second thought. I don't know that this is a good trait to have in ministry. However, I realize about myself that I am willing to give anyone an opportunity, but after that opportunity, I need to see demonstrated desire to succeed. Let me be the first to acknowledge this may not be best strategy for church growth, but it has some usefulness as a guideline for where and how one spends their time. If you want me to labor with you, you have to be committed to the hard work required of us both.
Related to this "grow or get out of my garden" mentality is the recognition that not everything in my garden is a plant—and some of them are unwanted. Not all pests are destructive, but those that are should not be tolerated. That leads us into dicey territory in the world of church and ministry—it is not always easy to know what is destructive and what is merely painful but helpful. I have known people in the congregation that were a bit of a pest. And, I'm sure to a few people, I have been the pest! Some pests play a role in creating a healthy garden—and church and world. Woolman was probably a pest when started his anti-slavery talk. FCNL probably seems like a pest when it lobbies on Capitol Hill. The person in the meeting who raises questions about being more open and inviting to outsiders may ruffle our feathers when they critique our routines. Not all pests are destructive. And we should embrace the role of those that contribute to the long-term health of the community. But against those that are destructive, at least in my garden, I've am learning to move quickly for the sake of the life that is present and the fruit that is growing. We must be careful when we decide rid ourselves of pests. I'm willing to share space and accommodate a few moles, rabbits, even snakes, but I've not found a use for potato bugs, or Japanese beetles, or vine borers.
Well. This could be volume one of the green beans of life. We could talk further about how advance preparation is worth the extra effort—better soil, better weed control, anticipated water supply. Or how fruit/vegetables take time to mature—they don't arrive overnight (except zucchini!). But perhaps this is enough for now. I leave you with the words not from a tiller of the soil, but from prophet who tended the Lord's garden, "For as the soil makes the sprout come up and a garden causes seeds to grow, so the Sovereign LORD will make righteousness and praise spring up before all nations." (Isaiah 61:1)
As the Lord sticks those seeds of faith in the ground, we can only hope he will be amazed at what that holy garden produces, and that we may count ourselves among those whose lives become testimonies of righteousness and praise.