Grandpa's Garden

This post is adapted from a journal entry for a class I'm taking this fall at Drew Theological School, Christianity and Ecology with Dr. Laurel Kearns, as I start my PhD program.

The Drew Theo Community Garden

I promise all of my journal reflections and other writing for this class won't be about my Grandpa, but he's been on my mind a lot lately. It was just the anniversary of his death, which happened when I was an undergraduate student. I had spent most of the summer visiting him everyday because I managed to get a job just down the street from where my grandparents lived.

My Grandpa was very ill for the last couple of years of his life, so the summer before he died I was gardening in his yard on my own, without his guidance. I felt very inadequate to do it without him there, guiding me. My vegetables did not turn out well that season, but the flowers I planted just bloomed and bloomed and bloomed. Everyday I was able to cut a bouquet of flowers for him and bring it in and set on his bed stand. I felt like the garden was blooming for him.

Summer came to a close, and I had found myself wishing all summer that he would die before I had to go back to school. It sounds like a strange thing to wish for, but by that time it was very evident that he was near the end of his life, and I really wanted to be there along with the rest of my family when he died. But, he's a stubborn thing, and he did not comply with my wishes! Instead, he died in the short interval between when I returned to school to get settled in for the semester and the beginning of classes. This was right at the start of my second year in college. At the time, my family was very strapped financially. I was going to school in Ohio, and it was extremely cost prohibitive for me to come home for the funeral. They would have made it happen if I had pushed it, but I knew how much it would set my whole family back to fly me home and get me back to school again. We decided I would not attend.

Grandpa's Garden, October 1998. 

So, my mourning was a strange "suspended" thing. I came home for the first time in October, and I remember walking through the house where my grandfather had lived for my whole life, for decades, and finding it so strange that he was not there. I took some time to go out to the garden by myself, and I found such a surprise blessing: Flowers were still blooming. Everything was overgrown and looked so unkempt and so ignored, but there were so many flowers. I cut a whole mess of them. I took a "selfie", back in the days when I had to do that with an actual camera. It's not a great picture, but I have kept it all these years because it reminds me of that trip to the garden.

 

October, 1998. 

As I sit here at the Drew Theo Community Garden while I watch it being watered, and I see how it's a bit overgrown and unkempt (since students have been mostly absent because of Covid-19), I can't help but think of that season in my life, and Grandpa's garden, and flowers that bloom sometimes in spite of us and sometimes because of us and sometimes just because that's what flowers do. Bloom. Life and the weeds and tangles and messes. Life in the midst of death.

Sermon for the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, "Take Heart," Matthew 14:22-33

Sermon 8/9/20

Matthew 14:22-33

Take Heart

In our gospel lesson for today, Jesus has been having a really long day. We seem to jump into the text mid-story. “Immediately Jesus made the disciples get into the boat,” we read. For this to make sense, we need to know immediately after what this takes place. So we need to flip back to the beginning of Matthew 14. At the start of the chapter, we hear about John the Baptist, cousin to Jesus, and perhaps more importantly forerunner and messenger to Jesus, being beheaded by King Herod after a time of imprisonment. John’s disciples make sure Jesus knows what has happened. And when he hears the news, he withdraws by himself in a boat to pray. He needs some time to grieve and reflect. He doesn’t get it, though, because when he gets off the boat at the other side of the lake, he finds that the crowds have already beat him there, and are waiting for him. Jesus doesn’t turn them away though. Instead, he looks on them with deep compassion, heals their sick, and eventually feeds them too, 5000 plus people in a miraculous feast. The disciples had wanted Jesus to send the people away, but Jesus wants to nourish them, body and soul. Finally, after all this, after this long day, finally, Jesus can have some time alone. Instead of sending away the crowds, it is actually the disciples whom Jesus sends away first after the impromptu meal. He has them get back into the boat and head again across to the opposite side. Then Jesus sends the crowds home, and then, he goes up the mountain to pray by himself. 

When evening falls, though, the disciples find themselves stuck in the middle of a storm. Their boat is still far from shore, and they’re being tossed around by the waves and wind. They spend an anxious night on the boat, but early in the morning, they see a figure walking toward them on the water. At first, they’re terrified. In fact, the text doesn’t tell us that they’re afraid in the storm - they’re afraid when they see someone walking on the water. Is it because they don’t know who it is? Evidently, at first they think Jesus is a ghost. Are the waves and wind obscuring his identity? Or is it just the sheer impossibility of what is happening - a person walking on water - that they can’t identify him? 

Jesus immediately comforts them, though: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” It’s me. You know me. I’m not here to frighten you. I’m someone you can trust. Peter, always quick to act, always bold, always the first to take a risk even if he blunders while doing it, says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” I don’t know if Peter says this to test Jesus - is it really him? - or to test himself - if Jesus can do it, I can too! But Jesus responds simply, “Come.” And Peter does! He gets out of the boat, and starts walking on the water toward Jesus. 

But suddenly, the absurdity and impossibility of what he’s doing seems to strike Peter, and he starts to sink. “Lord, save me!” he cries. Immediately - notice the repeated theme of the immediacy of Jesus’ response - immediately Jesus reaches out his hand and catches Peter. He chides Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” They walk on water back to the boat, and the wind ceases. Witnessing all this, the rest of the disciples worship Jesus, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Just after our text closes, Jesus is back to it: they arrive on the opposite shore, the crowds greet Jesus, and he heals their sick. 

I have some questions when I read this text. I’ve often thought of it as an encouragement for us to “step out of the boat,” to be risk-takers in our faith, or as a reminder not to look down, but to keep our eyes on Jesus, as it is only when Peter pays attention to the wind and storm that he starts to sink. (1) But what Peter does is really pretty amazing. He sees Jesus walking on water - miraculous - and decides that he can do what Jesus does. He’s not just full of himself for thinking this - Jesus frequently encourages the disciples - and us to - to understand that we can do what he does. He wants us to do what he does. In fact, part of his reason for being, for coming, for teaching is so that we will imitate him, serve like he serves, care like he cares, love like he loves. Even if Jesus is always the Savior, he’s into power-sharing. He doesn’t lose any authority by empowering us to do what he does. It only shows how strong God is, the way God doesn’t need to control and intimidate and impress. Peter shows that he believes that he can do what Jesus does, just as Jesus taught him to do. 

What stands out to me, though, is that Jesus calls Peter, “You of little faith.” Jesus’ tone suggests Peter could have, should have been most trusting, knowing that he could walk on water to Jesus, no problem. And I can’t help but feel like Jesus is being hard on Peter a bit. I mean really: I’m pretty sure I’d be one of the other 11 disciples still in the boat wondering if Jesus was a ghost or not. At least Peter gets out of the boat, right? Shouldn’t Jesus just be telling him, “Awesome job, Peter! I’m so proud of you!”? What do you think - is Jesus too hard on Peter?    

***

Last summer, after some hemming and hawing about their decision, my brother and sister-in-law decided to get a swimming pool. It didn’t get installed until late in the season, and they didn’t get the yard around it landscaped like they wanted, so it was hard for anyone to get in and out of the pool, and then it was September and cooling off and they decided they would just wait until the next summer to actually open it up. They almost started to regret their decision to get a pool - until this summer rolled around, and they and my nephew and niece, 13 year old Sam (yes, he’s 13 now!) and almost-6 year old Siggy are home all the time because of the pandemic, and there have been no vacations, and no hanging out with friends, and other people trying to get pools are on long waiting lists - and suddenly, their decision to get a pool seems like a brilliant idea! And having been spending a lot of time in the pool myself, I have to agree! I think Sam and Siggy (and their parents too, really) have been in the pool everyday that it is remotely nice enough to swim. Sam has had years of swimming lessons at the Y, and he’s like a fish in water, and loves to swim underwater and do somersaults and dive for diving sticks. I remember that as a toddler, he was pretty afraid of even having pool water touch him, so I love seeing how adept he is, how much he’s matured.  

Siggy, though, is still learning how to swim. She does just fine with a floaty ring around her waist, but she’s only just learning how to doggy paddle on her own. She’s pretty anxious still about getting her face wet, getting water in her nose, accidentally going under water. She can make it about 1/2 way across the pool with a doggy paddle though. I love watching her learn. Between her parents and her grandma (before her shoulder surgery) and her big brother and her uncle and her Aunt Beth, she’s got lots of folks around who are willing to help her. I’ve noticed, though, that she’s sort of figured out our different teaching personalities, and lets us help her according to whatever learning mood she’s in. On one end, my mom, Grandma to Siggy, is the most likely to make it easy for Siggy, hold her close, and give her extra support. On the other end, my brother Jim, Siggy’s dad, is the most likely to push her, making her swim a little farther than she intended, and challenge her to push outside her comfort zone. Sometimes what Siggy seems to need is the unwavering assurance that no one will let go of her, that we’ll hang on to her every second, that she’s never in one second of danger in the pool, that she can relax and we’ll keep her safe. But if she just had that, I’m not sure she’d ever learn to be a strong swimmer. She also needs to know that she can do more, that she can learn, that it can be hard but if she practices and practices, she’ll be able to swim on her own, and be a strong swimmer at that. We’d never let Siggy truly struggle in the water if she needed help, ever. But we’ll teach her how to swim, and sometimes that means making her do what she doubts she can do. Really swimming will be so much more rewarding for her than hanging out in her ring float forever!

I had that image of Siggy learning to swim in mind as I thought of Peter walking on water. Take heart - Jesus is not going to let you drown. Again and again and again Jesus says, “Don’t be afraid.” He’s with us. That’s kind of his thing - God with us is Jesus. Take heart. But we’ve had ample opportunity to know that, to trust that. The other disciples in the boat? They’d just come from seeing Jesus make a small amount of loaves and fish into a meal for thousands, and they’re surprised he can walk on water? Already, he’s sent them out to heal and preach on their own, given them authority and power to do that. Already, in fact, they’ve been there when Jesus calmed a raging storm. They know they can trust Jesus, and they know that with Jesus, who does amazing things, they can do amazing things too, in God’s name, in God’s serve. We know it too. And still Jesus will remind us: Take heart, don’t be afraid! 

And so even though Jesus will remind us, he’ll also challenge us, just like Siggy needs encouragement to swim farther than she thinks she can. Jesus is going to entrust everything to the disciples and to us. The folks responsible for welcoming the reign of God on earth are us. We’re the messengers entrusted with the good news of grace. We’re the ones commissioned to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world. And so when we start sinking, despite all that we know about who Jesus is, about how God loves us, about what Jesus empowers us to do, then, yes, I think Jesus will scold us too with a “you know better” like he offered to Peter. He’ll challenge us to go deeper in our discipleship than we thought possible. He’ll challenge us to be more fully committed and more fully committed until we’ve given our whole selves to God. Jesus wants us to do what he does: Love with compassion. Serve all. Put ourselves last and others first. Champion the oppressed. And do what seems impossible, until God’s ways are our ways on earth and in eternity. Even as we’ve stepped out of the boat and walked on water toward Jesus, he’ll be giving us yet another challenge. Take heart - don’t be afraid. Jesus won’t let you sink. And in fact, he thinks you can walk on water. 

Disciples, students, do what their teacher does. Jesus is a challenging teacher. And he’s a teacher we can trust with our lives. Take heart, and do what he does. Amen. 

Kindle Book Giveaway: Singing at the Table

From 3am EST Friday, August 7th, 2020 until 2:59am EST on Thursday, August 20th, 2020, I'm running a book giveaway on Goodreads. You can find my author page on Goodreads here, and click below to enter to win one of 20 free copies of the Kindle version of Singing at the Table, my book of sung communion liturgies. 

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Singing at the Table

by Beth Quick

Giveaway ends August 19, 2020.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A, "Something to Eat," Matthew 14:13-21

Sermon 8/2/20

Matthew 14:13-21

Something to Eat

Can I make a confession? Sometimes, lulled by the familiarity of a scripture text, I forget to be wowed by what I’m reading. It’s a shame, for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that we have so very little recorded from Jesus’ life and works that it is a serious flaw to be less-than-dazzled by anything we get to read! But it’s also a shame because it means that I’ve probably stopped engaging with the scripture text in a way that helps me learn, dig deeper in faith, and be transformed in my discipleship because of my encounter with Christ in the scriptures. I’ll admit that the account of the Feeding of the 5000 is one of those texts that I sometimes overlook because “I know it already.” 

But it’s worth a closer look because this event is one of the very few stories that appear in all four gospel accounts. There are very few events, particularly outside of the death and resurrection of Jesus, that appear in all four gospels. As similar as Matthew, Mark, and Luke are to each other, still they each have many of their own stories, and each of them exclude some of the stories for one reason or another. And the gospel of John is usually going off in its own direction altogether. So when an event occurs in all four gospels, we should stop and take notice and ask questions. Clearly, the event must have some particularly strong meaning and message to be so included. One such event is what we call “The Feeding of the 5000.” Of the miracles of Jesus, it is the only one recorded in all four gospels, and in fact, two gospels, Matthew and Mark, include two feeding miracles. There is, of course, some variation in detail, in specifics, but all four gospels carry the same essence. Today, we’re looking in particular at Matthew’s account. And I wonder, given my confession about sometimes feeling un-wowed by such a miraculous event - what’s so special about this that it is important to every gospel writer to include it at least once. Let’s take a closer look.  

When the text opens, Jesus has just received some bad news. Jesus receives word that John the Baptist, his cousin, has been put to death after a time of imprisonment by Herod. Jesus is reeling. He’s in pain, he’s grieving. And maybe he’s even feeling the weight of knowing exactly what happens to people like John and like Jesus who rock the boat and speak truth to power. And in that frame of mind, Matthew tells us that Jesus takes a boat by himself to try to just get away. He needs some time alone. But it isn’t to be. The crowds hear that Jesus has taken off by boat, and they decide to find him, going by foot around the lake, so that by the time Jesus comes ashore from the boat, a crowd is all ready to greet him. I’m not sure how you’d feel in Jesus’ place, but I can imagine how I would feel, being overwhelmed and just wanting some time to myself, only to find a crowd waiting. I’d want to turn around and get back on that boat. I might feel a little cranky, or resentful. I might burst into tears at the thought of having to deal with a whole crowd. 

But Jesus, Matthew tells us, looks at the crowd and is filled with compassion for them, and begins curing the sick they have brought to see him. The word here used for Jesus’ compassion is my favorite Greek word. It’s a mouthful of a word: splagchnizomai. It means literally that we’re so moved with concern that our insides are kind of churning with the deepness of our care. It’s like when we say “our stomach is twisted in knots” over something. That’s how Jesus looks at the crowds. And in fact, this word is applied almost exclusively to Jesus in the Bible. Jesus himself uses the word in Luke’s gospel to describe how the father of the prodigal son feels and sees when he first glimpses his wayward child returning home to him. It is in this way, with gut-churning compassion, that Jesus most often looks at the crowds in the Bible, and the way he looks when he comes ashore and sees them waiting for him. 

As the day draws to a close, the disciples come to Jesus and tell him, “Look, this is a deserted place, and it’s late. Send everyone away so that they can go get themselves some food.” I don’t know what you hear in their words, but I hear some disciples who felt like I thought I might upon seeing the unexpected crowd. They’re done. Jesus has done what he can, and now, they think, he should just send them away, so that they can get on with their own plans. He’s done what he can. Let them take care of themselves now. 

Jesus isn’t having that. “They don’t need to go away,” he says bluntly. “You give them something to eat.” The disciples are flummoxed. “We only have five loaves and two fish!” they insist. Again, I hear their unspoken sentiments: We have five loaves and two fish – and they’re for us. We have five loaves and two fish – what could they possibly do for a crowd of thousands? We have five loaves and two fish, and we just want to enjoy our dinner. Send everyone away. You’ve done enough. Let them take care of themselves. But Jesus just says to them, “Five loaves and two fish? Give it all to me.” He takes everything they have, gets everyone to sit down. He takes the food, blesses it, breaks the bread, and gets the disciples to start handing things out. “And all ate and were filled,” we read, and the disciples gather up the leftovers, “twelve baskets full.” 

So, what’s so important about this text? Is it just something cool Jesus can do - make a few loaves and fish feed thousands? Or is there more to it? One special thing about the Feeding of the 5000 is that if you read through the text again, you’ll see that it follows the same pattern that Jesus uses in the Last Supper, the communion meal: Take, Bless, Break, Give. In instituting communion at the Last Supper, Jesus takes the bread and cup, blesses them, breaks the bread, and gives these gifts  to the disciples. And here in this miracle story, he does the same: He takes the bread and fish, blesses the food, breaks the bread, and gives it to all the gathered hungry. When he shares in the Last Supper, Jesus asks us to remember him whenever we share in the bread and the cup. And I think we can extend his directive: whenever we share in a meal, whenever we gather together, whether for communion or something more informal like takes place at the miraculous feeding of this large crowd, we remember, we are thankful, and we are mindful of the pattern: take, bless, break, give. 

Jesus takes what we have, and he blesses it. God works with what seems like very little to make something that reaches a crowd of thousands. The disciples didn’t think that they had much to offer, and what they did have, they didn’t seem too keen on sharing. Their strategy was: everyone should just take care of themselves. But in God’s economy, in God’s reign on earth and in eternity, in the Body of Christ, we’re meant to take care of each other. And God can take even what you consider to be hardly worth offering and make it into abundance. How often have you looked at your gifts, your talents, your assets, your life and thought that you couldn’t make a difference in the world? How often have you thought that hunger was too big a problem for you to confront, that poverty was too overwhelming to change, that the “isms” of the world were too hard to tackle? Jesus wants to feed the crowds, and he says to us, “You give them something to eat.” He believes that we have the capacity, the resources, the ability, when we offer what we have to God for blessing. What are you holding back from God, afraid that you won’t have for yourself if you share, or afraid that it simply isn’t “enough” to be of much good? Whatever we have, let Jesus take it and bless it. He takes our ordinary stuff, and blessing it, makes it holy, fit for God’s purposes. And so a little bit of food becomes a feast for thousands. A miracle. Take, bless. 

Jesus takes our brokenness too. Take, bless, break. Think again of the compassion of Jesus that leads him to offer healing and then offer a meal to this crowd. Jesus lets his grieving, weary heart be transformed into a heart of compassion. To be able to turn our pain into care for others is a gift. Two of my favorite books are the Eight Cousins/Rose in Bloom set by Louisa May Alcott. They never gained the popularity of her Little Women series, but they are worth a read if you’re a fan of her writing. In the books Rose is a young woman trying to find her place in the world, trying to live as a thoughtful, ethical young woman, although she has a large fortune at her disposal, and although she is often tempted to spend her days attending parties and spend her money on the latest fashions. At one point in the story, she is feeling distraught and upset. The adults in her life have made some decisions that leave her feeling heartbroken. And in the midst of her anger and sadness, Rose remembers that her great aunt has always told her that when you’re feeling like this, the best way to move beyond your pain is to start serving others. So Rose decides to turn her pain into helping others. Through serving others, Rose is able to gain some perspective, and transform her own feelings into making a positive impact on her community. The pain and sorrow we experience in life is real, and hard. And we can’t always just “snap out of it.” Healing is important. But I believe serving others, loving others, showing compassion to others can be part of that healing. We heal better when we love others than when we are thinking only of our own needs. Offer your brokenness to God along with the rest of your heart, and God will use it to do miraculous things. Take, bless, break. 

And give. At first, Jesus tells the disciples, bluntly, that they should feed the crowds. They don’t think it’s possible. And so Jesus acts in another way. But I wonder: What if they had believed that they could feed the crowds? What if they had found a way? What if they had believed God would work in and through them to make the impossible possible? We can’t know what would have happened then. But we can imagine. And we can commit to believing that when God calls to give, God, for whom nothing is impossible, will enable us to answer the call. Jesus gives himself, gives his heart, gives sustenance both tangible and intangible, and he invites us, empowers us, challenges us to do likewise. Take, bless, break, give. 

It’s a simple pattern that makes space for miraculous happenings. Jesus, take our hearts, our lives, and all that we have. They’re yours. We are yours. Take our ordinary stuff, and make it holy, bless it for your use, for service in your name. Compassionate Jesus, we even hand over our broken hearts, that in our brokenness we might learn to look with the same tied-in-knots vision you have. You give us everything, pouring out your life for us. Help us see what’s possible when we pour out our lives for others. Take, bless, break, give. An ordinary miracle. Amen.