Lessons from Nature
Isaiah 49:8-16a Psalm
131 1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Matthew 7:21-29
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” [Ecclesiastes 3:1]
Intellectually we understand that one of the few constants in life is
change. We observe winter melt into spring; summer fade into
autumn’s last hurrah. We stand by, powerless to stop time, as our
children grow up and leave the nest. We bid untimely farewells to
loved ones no longer with us. Emotionally, however, change is not
always easy to accept.
A natural consequence is to react to uncertainty by doing what so many
of us excel at—worrying. I assure you I have spent countless
sleepless hours stressing over things that I know, even as I toss and
turn, are out of my control. At such times, I long to be one of
those birds of the air or lilies of the field that Jesus talks about in
today’s gospel from Matthew, confident that the heavenly Father will
attend to my needs.
Jesus is right on target when he sees into the heart of our
insecurities: “you of little faith,” he says. [Matthew
6:30] We are challenged by his question: “ . . . can any of
you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” [Matthew
6:27]
When I was teaching, it was my habit to put daily sayings on the chalk board, many gleaned from a little volume called The Spice of Life. There is wisdom in these gems about worry.
“Worry is a circle of inefficient thoughts whirling about a pivot of fear.”
“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow; it only saps today of its strength.”
And my personal favorite: “Don’t tell me that worry doesn’t do any good. I know better. The things I worry about don’t happen.”
Three good reasons to forgo worrying. As the sayings tell us,
worry stems from yielding to fears over which we exercise little
control, it saps us of energy, and it is almost always
futile. Can you recall times in your life when you fretted
and stewed about something that never came to pass? Ask yourself
if you can even remember what it was you were so worried about this
time last year. Jesus tells us, “ . . . do not worry about
tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s
trouble is enough for today.” [Matthew 6:34]
In addition to whatever personal transitions we are living through at
the moment, our church, both locally and nationally, is experiencing
the pressures of change. As we face such challenges, it is
tempting to wring our hands and ask, “What will become of us?”
Yet answers lie right in front of our eyes. During the past few
weeks, I have enjoyed conversations with many of you concerning the
springtime return of birds–finches, indigo buntings, bluebirds, and
this year, the treat of glorious Baltimore orioles migrating through
northwest Arkansas. Other conversations have centered on the
beautiful dogwoods, lush azaleas, and vibrant tulips.
It occurred to me that when we are anxious or when the prospect of
change triggers a fear of the unknown, we might seek guidance and
comfort from those birds of the air and lilies of the field to whom
Jesus refers.
Consider first the birds of the air. When they fly far from their
nesting grounds in annual migration, how do they know where they are
going? Why aren’t they confused or lost? Obviously, some
internal radar keeps them moving toward the ultimate destination.
Within each of us is a similar “compass,” steering us through the
temptations and pitfalls of life. Moved by impulses for good and
guided by Scripture, we, too, can stay the course.
Yet, despite our best intentions, in times of stress, life can be
exhausting, and we wonder how we will get through it all. Learn
from the Canada geese. They fly south hundreds upon hundreds of
miles south from far northern breeding grounds and then back again,
buffeted by headwinds, tossed by thermal updrafts, enduring all manner
of weather. The key? They do not travel alone, but rather
with companions.
One of nature’s great ballets is to watch as migrating geese take turns
being the leader. At the point of the vee is one hardy bird,
braving the elements and taking the brunt of punishment. Yet when
that goose tires, as it inevitably must, another flies to the front to
take over. Geese are wise: they avoid burnout by
shouldering one another’s burdens and sharing responsibility.
When storms come, as they often do, what happens to birds? We
huddle in our homes, lashed by torrential rain, and experience violent
gusts of wind and ear-shattering thunder. And we worry.
Will it hail? Will our roof blow off? Will a beloved tree
crash to the ground? But birds?
Maybe they dig their talons into the twiggy foundation of their nests
and hang on with all their might. Maybe they hunker on the ground
or hide deep within trees. All I know is this. There is no
happier chorus than when birds come out after a storm, unscathed and
full of celebration. It is as if they understand that storms are
part of life, but so is emerging on the other side, grateful for the
new day. A timely reminder for us that often the very best things
await on the other side of the storm.
God provides for the birds. He endows them with instinct,
strength, and beauty of plumage and voice. But sometimes even
birds need help beyond themselves. How many bird feeders and
birdhouses do you have? What bird-friendly plants grow in your
garden? Isn’t that lovely? The birds don’t have to do
it all on their own, and neither do we. Help is available, if
only we seek it.
And sometimes that help comes from totally unexpected places. Recently a photograph appeared in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette
of a goose attacking a bicycle rider. Now many of you know that
geese can be particularly aggressive when the gander is guarding the
nesting female. So you might understand the goose’s rather
violent reaction to a threat. Except for one thing.
He wasn’t protecting his mate; he was protecting a nesting duck.
In my own life, I can think of several times when, like the duck, I was
at the end of my rope and help came out of the blue from the most
unexpected source to provide a solution to my worries.
The lilies of the field also provide lessons about living with
change. Consider the columbine that tenaciously clings to a rock
crevice and blooms despite precarious conditions. Or the amazing
potential of an iris bulb. Hold one in your hand and, if you
didn’t know better, you might swear that it was worthless. Or the
miracle of a dry, leafless grapevine that, in time, produces plump,
juicy grapes. Many of us have a tendency to lose patience and
hope; to despair in the fallow times of our own lives. But new
seasons bring new growth, not just for plants, but also for us.
Nature is a reflection of the cycles of change in our own lives.
And it is this season in which we live and move and have our
being. Another will come, but for today, worrying will not add a
single hour to our lives. Far better to embrace change and its
potential. Far more productive to travel together, share
responsibility, accept help, and find comfort in the lessons of passing
storms and brighter tomorrows.
Jesus provides the definitive answer for what we are to do when we get
bogged down by worry: “‘What will we eat?’ . . . `What will we drink?’
. . . “What will we wear?’” [Matthew: 6:31] ]
He says, “ . . . strive first for the kingdom of God and his
righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
[Matthew: 6:33] ]
Too often instead of striving for the kingdom of God, we are
self-consumed, our thoughts directed inward, our vision clouded by our
own narrow perceptions or expectations.
Let me share a story which serves as an apt metaphor for seeking the
kingdom of God. As many of you know, Larry and I enjoy occasional
stays at a wonderfully restful bed-and-breakfast in the countryside
outside Jessieville, AR. The hosts, a husband and wife team,
share the innkeeping duties. Mike is the cook and Rhonda is the
gardener. A very talented gardener.
When Mike and Rhonda moved to Arkansas, they brought with them from
Texas a white wisteria plant, that inexplicably turned blue when they
transplanted it outside the B&B. Rhonda lovingly nurtured and
tended the plant for several seasons–mulching, fertilizing, weeding
watering–whatever it might take. But nothing happened. No
blooms.
After several years, exasperated with the plant, she vowed to give it
one last season before uprooting it. That season came. With
the same result. Nothing! When she left for a weekend trip, she
promised the plant that it was a goner as soon as she returned
home.
The inevitable day arrived. Armed with a hoe, Rhonda marched to
her garden, determined to eradicate the worthless plant. When she
arrived at the spot where the plant grew, amazingly she found a single
bloom. But still, one measly bloom after all that effort was
hardly cause for celebration. As she stood there pondering the
fate of the pesky plant, she heard an insistent voice, as if the doomed
plant was screaming at her. “Look up, look up, dummy. We’ve
been here all along!” Slowly she raised her head and there, in
all its glory, was a beautiful treetop covered in wisteria blooms.
God doesn’t want us to focus on the dead ends in our lives, to water the weeds of worry, or wallow in barren fields of regret.
He wants us to look upward—beyond ourselves and our temporary worries—to find the blossoms of promise and hope.
The birds of the air and the lilies of the field are all around us,
teaching their lessons, lifting us beyond the worries of today.
As Psalm 131 tells us, it is simple. All of us—creatures both
great and small—are to “wait upon the Lord, from this time forth for
evermore.’”
AMEN.
Laura Shoffner
May 25, 2008
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