From My Nature Journal: A Seed and Me

Gail and I are currently serving a transitional ministry call among the good people of Trinity Covenant Church in Salem, Oregon. The state capitol, Salem nestles in the arms of the Willamette River Valley, the destination of several hundred thousand pioneers who undertook in the mid-1800’s the rigors of the Oregon Trail across the vast and little-known central expanse that would become Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho and Oregon. It’s a fecund and fertile wonderland here in the valley, among the richest farmlands on the face of the earth, predominating these days in the cultivation of grains, grass seed and grapes. Beside the crops, though, every square centimeter of uncultivated soil seems to sprout up with something or the other, so it has me thinking today about seeds.

I’ve heard it said that there are three possible futures for, let’s say, a grain of wheat: it can be left on the stalk or placed in a sack as feed for God’s beasts, ground into flour or otherwise transformed in a myriad of ways as food for God’s humans, or planted back in the ground and, under the proper conditions, allowed to produce the miracle we call a crop.

If I were that seed grain, my first inclination would be to prefer the last of the three. It sounds regenerative, even heroic. As surely as multiplication beats subtraction, so surely would I find this preferable to being eaten by cattle or crushed under the weight of a millstone.But what of that planted seed? Only on second thought do I consider the trauma necessary to accomplish its predestined regenerative glory. First I must be buried in the cold ground, concealed in the oxygen-less depths for the required time. Buried! It was writer Norman McLean who quipped something along the line, “There are certain things I am meant to do, and, as long as I am on the oxygen side of the earth’s crust, I had best be going about them.” But not the seed. It is covered, sealed, suppressed, hidden away, closed over by what the songwriter calls ‘the ‘whelming flood.’ Held fast by life’s perplexities, I lie immobilized, seized up, stock-still as death. Is it the stillness of the grave, separation from God? Or is it more rightly the gestation and constriction of a womb, secure within the bosom of God?

Thus abandoned beneath the earth, I wait in the dark. It may be the darkness of my despair or ignorance, the darkness of my sin or failure, the darkness of my isolation or loneliness. But when all around me seems pitch black and unintelligible, something, even within that dusky dungeon, quickens within me. Whatever it is, it, in concert with the moisture around me (my tears? the dampness of the divine breath? both?), breaks me open. As I simply submit to the regenerative power of God, my shell is cracked and something profound happens within my brokenness.

From my landlocked space in God’s grip, warmth and light begin to attract a strange and tiny marvel upward from within me, while light-repelling roots spread below to seek a footing, and my transformation proceeds -- sprout, blade, ear -- a metamorphosis. From the place where God bade me trust him in the darkness, I’m enlivened by the freshing of the Spirit, softened to a breaking point, and grow upward into the warmth, light and fruitfulness of a vital relationship with my Creator.

Jesus: “A sower went out to sow his seed… and some fell onto good soil (Luke 8:5,8).”

Again Jesus: “Most assuredly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much… (John 12:24).”

~~ RGM, June 19 2018

On the Journey with Monty Newton: “If the Rock’s Too Heavy…”

I tried something last month I’d like to do again periodically, and that is feature a column written by a friend or family member.  John Kiemele of Seattle area's Selah Center helped me kick it off in October. I’m going to now call this column On the Journey, and it will only happen as often as I can convince someone to share some writing on a nature theme with me! If you want to take a try at it, or if you have done something in the past you’d like to share with other like-minded seekers of God through nature, be in touch with me and let’s see what we can do.

Today I want to share something with you written by one of my longest-term and dearest friends, Pastor Monty Newton, soon to be retiring from Heritage Bible (Covenant) Church in Arvada, Colorado, one whose writing and preaching I’ve always enjoyed. Among the many things Monty and I have in common is our love for the reflection afforded by nature’s silence and solitude, and maybe even for a certain little cabin in the northwoods of Michigan where we have found such a gift. He wrote this several years ago for his church newsletter, and I thought you’d enjoy it. Be blessed with its message.

In August I drove thirteen hundred miles to a little lake located about fifteen miles northwest of Watersmeet, Michigan, which is about a hundred twenty-five miles east of Duluth, Minnesota. I have a friend who owns a cabin there and he has graciously allowed me to use it for study leaves and vacations.

My first visit, he sent me a little guide for using the cabin, which included how to get there, how to open up the cabin, unshutter the windows, turn on the gas and light the pilot, and where to find the panel to turn on the electricity and the pump for the well. He also warned me about ‘the rock.’

The rock was submerged in about five feet of water just off the end of the dock. Apparently when the previous owners built the dock they either did not know the rock was there or were unable to remove it, so… divers beware! When my brother-in-law and his son, and my son Corky came up for a weekend from the Twin Cities, I cautioned them about the rock before they went in. Naturally, everyone then had to dive in and check out this monstrous water hazard.

Corky was somehow able to get a hold under a corner and budged enough to discover that the rock seemed to be fairly flat on the bottom side. I am tempted to give you the blow-by-blow description of the ensuing battle between the man and the rock, but suffice it to say Corky refused to be defeated by it. In the end he was battered, bruised and scraped, but the rock now rests at the shoreline.

I thought of that rock this week when someone stopped by my study to chat. It was not an easy discussion… Some questions are not all that readily answered, and we both felt a bit frustrated by the fact that the mystery was still a mystery. That’s when she said something to the effect, “Maybe it’s like what Pat says her mother used to say when she didn’t understand something – ‘If the rock’s too heavy, let it lay.’” If the rock is too heavy, don’t pick it up. I think that is one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard.

There are things that mystify me. In that I am cynical enough and curious enough, I generally rather enjoy poking around in ideas, concepts, questions and issues that I cannot quite get my mind wrapped around. As an amateur theologian I am intrigued when I hear someone suggest things like the Holocaust was the judgment of God against the Jewish people, or that the terrorist attacks in 2001 were God’s judgment against the moral and social sins of the United States. How did, does or will God deal with the issue of sin and judgment?

Or how about questions regarding the sovereignty of God in predestination, foreknowledge and election, and the free will of man? Does God decide who goes to heaven and who does not? Do we have any say in the matter? Or how about, if we all, i.e., Christians, Muslims, Jews, etc. pray to the same God, how can we say that Jesus is the only way to heaven? How could God let anyone suffer and how could a loving God let anyone go to an eternal hell? Why are children born with birth defects? Why is it that all are created equal but not all are equal? When we die, do we go straight to heaven? What is heaven anyway? Where is it? How about hell?

The questioner in Job 11:7 asked, "Can you solve the mysteries of God?" The prophet Isaiah in 45:15 says, "The Lord works in strange and mysterious ways.” And God tells us in Isaiah 55:8-9, “My thoughts are completely different from yours and my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”

So it is… Sometimes we can wrestle with the rock until we finally get it to shoreline. But sometimes we just have to let it lay.

Thank you, friend Monty.

~~ RGM, November 13, 2015

From My Nature Journal: Comes the Storm

The trees cowered violently in a brawny storm last night, and this morning the power is out. I woke at light of day expecting to find downed limbs everywhere, but there is nary a one to be seen. I’m a bit astounded to know the beating they took, and yet see no sign of it today. Pretty amazing…

It reminded me of an article I read some time back. In the 1950’s, experimental, human-occupied, domed biospheres were built in the southwest, ostensibly for the purpose of determining if life could be supported in a sealed and contained unit, even used in interplanetary habitation or after nuclear holocaust. Anyway, when they were first built, people expected trees within them to grow inordinately large. Without wind to trim them or knock them down, it was anticipated they would grow unimpeded ‘who knows how big!’ Yet fairly quickly the branches became brittle, snapping and falling under their own less-than-modest weight, in fact much more quickly than in natural environments. It was then widely recognized (what horticulturists probably already knew) that trees need weather’s adversity to strengthen: even light winds create tiny stress fractures in the new, supple bark, small fissures and cracks that fill and heal naturally and allow the tree to fortify itself as it grows. Take away the winds and a tree becomes frail, unable to even bear itself.

…I am strengthened more by the challenges

I face than by those things that come easily.

Is this a lesson on the place of adversity? Perhaps I am strengthened more by the challenges I face than by those things that come easily.

One never knows what can be learned in a storm, God. Make me wise to always let pain do its work.

Consider it all joy, my friends, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. (James 1:2-4)

~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry,

adapted for my blog July 5, 2014

Blowin' in the Wind: "Indescribable" by Laura Story, And the Enigma of Suffering

(Blowin’ in the Wind is a regular feature on my blog consisting of an assortment of nature writings – hymns, songs, excerpts, prayers, Bible readings, poems or other things – pieces I may not have written but that inspire me. I trust they will do the same for you.)

OK, this song has been around for over ten years, but in singing it again in church this past Sunday I could put off no longer finally addressing it here on my blog. Its lyrics and music are by Laura Story, but it was popularized by Chris Tomlin in his 2004 album Arriving. And given the unfortunate ‘flash in the pan’ nature of some popular CCM, Indescribable has showed itself to possess the staying power marked by a truly great song. Hit this link to listen to it while you read on. And here are the lyrics so you don’t have to watch them on the YouTube video (unless you want to – there IS some nice nature photography there but the lyric display is a little distracting).

From the highest of heights to the depths of the sea,
Creation's revealing Your majesty;
From the colors of fall to the fragrance of spring,
Every creature unique in the song that it sings,
All exclaiming,

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees
As we humbly proclaim:
You are amazing, God!

Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go?
Or seen heavenly storehouses laden with snow?
Who imagined the sun and gives source to its light,
Yet, conceals it to bring us the coolness of night?
None can fathom.

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

All powerful! Untamable!
Awestruck we fall to our knees
As we humbly proclaim:
You are amazing, God! You are amazing, God!

Indescribable! Uncontainable!
You placed the stars in the sky
And You know them by name!
You are amazing, God!

Incomparable! Unchangeable!
You see the depths of my heart
And You love me the same.
You are amazing, God! You are amazing, God!

(not our photo)

All right, it’s a good song. The lyrics are strong, the music memorable, and it grabs nature nuts like me. But I’ll tell you why I’ve had such a hard time writing on it, sometimes even singing it: it’s the first line of the second verse -- I’ve a friend who was actually struck by lightning and almost killed, that left him impaired, and the first time I sang it after that happened I could hardly hold my composure when we got to that line. I had not thought about it quite like that before, and could only imagine what my friend would think about it. And every time I have sung it since I cannot fail to think of him.

Now, this is not a place for a full discussion on theodicy, but, for me, the song surely raises the issue. And with the new tornado season in full swing of late, and newspapers and websites eagerly reporting every single natural disaster that occurs around the world, it brings up the stark reality that nature is not all sweetness and light, chirping birds and spring tulips. It also has the power to destroy farms, towns, villages and cities and the people that occupy them.

When Gail and I visited Japan in March, it was revealing to us to see how intimately the entire culture lives in consciousness (not necessarily fear) of earthquakes, and particularly of the ongoing suffering resulting from the tsunami that slammed its eastern seaboard in 2011. Besides lightning, earthquakes and tsunamis, there are floods, volcanoes, hurricanes, tornados, straightline winds, mudslides, asteroids, meteorites, wildfires, avalanches, droughts, hailstorms, and all kinds of other natural whatnot considered ‘acts of God.’ One can carry this all the way down to mosquito bites. (Interesting how sunsets, refreshing rain, night and day, the miracle of agriculture, the wonder of childbirth and all the other beauties of nature are not spoken of similarly as God’s acts; guess God only gets the credit when things go badly.)

Does God allow suffering? He certainly seemed to in Job’s life. If anyone has ever been ‘struck by lightning’ without dying it was he. But it is significant to me that after Job had lost his possessions, his family and his health, and was in danger of losing the only treasure he had left, his faith, that God called Job to take a good look at nature in order to regain his viewpoint. When Job was at an impasse of understanding, God spoke to him with the reminder, “Was it you who formed this incredible earth?” Nature has the power to hurt, for sure, but it also, exponentially more so, has the power to heal.

There’s no question that suffering is a part of our normal human experience. Jesus himself said, “In this world you will have trouble and suffering; but don’t be afraid, I have overcome the world.” Elsewhere he reminded us, “God causes his sun to shine on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” And though these words may not bring much comfort when in the throes of pain, the inference is that a time will come when we will understand, and, as Job, see it in perspective. Indiscriminate suffering will always be hard for us to grasp, yet there is constantly One who walks with us “…through the valley of the shadow of death,” who understands suffering intimately and bears us on.

Nature has the power to destroy, but

also has the power to take us by a

hand and lead us back to God…

So do I actually believe God has “…told every lightning bolt where it should go?” I guess I do. Nature has the power to destroy, but it also has the power to take us by a hand and lead us back to God when we have experienced destruction in our lives. It’s a double-edged sword to be sure, but it cuts way more gently from one side. Time and again, far more often than not, nature will redeem us from our grief.

And the song? Though I still think of my friend, it doesn’t trouble me any longer to

 sing passionately every single line.                       

~~RGM, May 3, 2014

QOTM...*: Viktor Frankl

(*Quote of the Month)

OK, I’ve got a pretty penetrating excerpt this week for my Quote of the Month. It’s from Austrian psychologist Viktor Frankl’s, Man’s Search for Meaning. I’ll admit it is also more of a passage than a quote, but I wanted to share it in its entirety, as it is pretty incredible, particularly within its circumstance.

Frankl (1905-1997) was a three-year survivor of several Nazi death camps during World War 2, liberated in 1945, and became a world-renowned psychologist following the war and founder of a psychological approach called logotherapy: its major tenets include finding meaning in all experiences of life, including horrific suffering. Man’s Search for Meaning (1946) was his first book, rewritten after his notes were taken from him and destroyed in his first prison camp assignment. This is a profound book, and yet is one of 39 written by him. I read it again recently, just a tiny little thing, in which he first describes his Holocaust experiences and then draws conclusions for the foundations of his philosophy. It is a simple but very thoughtful read. (Hit this link for more quotes from this insightful book.)

One of his recollections referred to the healing effect of natural beauty within the context of their misery. Here we go:

As the inner life of the prisoner tended to become more intense, he also experienced the beauty of art and nature as never before. Under their influence he sometimes even forgot his own frightful circumstances. If someone had seen our faces on the journey from Auschwitz to a Bavarian camp, as we beheld through the little barred windows of the prison carriage the mountains of Salzburg with their summits glowing in the sunset, he would never have believed that those were the faces of men who had given up all hope of life and liberty. Despite that factor -- or maybe because of it -- we were carried away by nature’s beauty, which we had missed for so long.

…the healing effect of natural beauty

within the context of… misery…

In camp, too, a man might draw the attention of a comrade working next to him to a nice view of the setting sun shining through the tall trees of the Bavarian woods, the same woods in which we had built a hidden munitions plant. One evening, when we were already resting on the floor of our hut, dead tired, soup bowls in hand, a fellow prisoner rushed in and asked us to run out to the assembly grounds and see the wonderful sunset. Standing outside we saw clouds glowing in the west and the whole sky alive with clouds of ever-changing shapes and colors, from steel blue to blood red. The desolate grey mud huts provided a sharp contrast, while the puddles on the muddy ground reflected the glowing sky. Then, after minutes of moving silence, one prisoner said to another, “How beautiful the world could be!”

It gave me joy to read this, imagining these tormented men in this situation. God’s creation truly does possess a remarkable ability to lift us, to draw our spirit to a higher plane of mindfulness, contemplation and delight, regardless of our circumstances.

~~ RGM, January 23, 2014

P.S. A key to Frankl’s psychological philosophy is that, no matter our circumstances, good or appalling, the opportunity is still ours to choose our response to it. No wonder he and others could find a modicum of pleasure even in the prison camp context. That’s something for us all to muse upon a bit this week.

From my Nature Journal: Iceflow

I come silently upon a small, familiar creek in Rocky Mountain National Park, now absolutely frozen, rock solid. I have found it before as a spring torrent in June, have watched it as a small kaleidoscopic trickle flowing under clear ice in March. Even fell through its ice once. Not today. Nothing but stillness.

There it sits, immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar, its tranquility held nearly as solid as the foundations of the earth. Yet, though one might not know it, the current is somehow 

still there in the long silence of things.               

In this larger scheme, it is surely moving, flowing. The current hasn't really ended. Ice that grips rock today will alter its form and be down the Big Thompson to the Platte by spring, the Missouri and Mississippi by summer, finally emptying into the surprise of the great salty sea by the time the cycle of seasons pass again.

Yet today it is held in waiting, a seemingly immovable river of solid stone.

Things are often not as they appear. Wait. The Lord does not count days as a man counts days. What seems immovable, impossible today, is fulfilled in its time. Be patient. Wait for the Lord.

...Ask me in the spring if

things are still as immovable

as they seemed today.

And ask me in the spring if things are still as immovable as they seemed today.

God sends the snow like white wool;

He scatters frost upon the ground like ashes,

And hurls the hail like bread crumbs.

Who can stand against his freezing cold?

Then, at his command, it all melts.

He sends his winds, and the ice thaws. 

(Psalm 147:16-18)

~~RGM, from an earlier journal entry 

that I wrote on December 10, 2011

P.S. I saw the basic idea that inspired this journal entry some years back, but never have been able to find the original source again. If any of you are aware of it, I'd be pleased for you to point me in its direction. Happy New Year!