Taking a morning walk today led me by a field of soybean plants that held a message for my spirit. See, I have been feeling burned out lately. And it is not just in my role as a pastor trying to lead in a time marked by a global pandemic, and national political posturing, and social injustices on many fronts erupting in violence and anger, and situated within a denomination that is being pulled in two directions. I have been just a person seeking to stay spiritually grounded in this very uncertain time. That is why I walk out to land I can see with my eyes and feel beneath my feet speak, for the land speaks louder to me than the headlines of the day. And on this walk, I observed what had been and what was not yet to be.
The large puddles of water along the roadway bordering the field was the first reminder of the thunderstorm that had taken place the night before. Even the leaves of grass and neighboring plants were laden with those big water drops – not the dainty kind you see with a simple morning dew. The storm had blown through and left its mark along my path – some good results like the water that would seep into the dry earth and some not so good results like wind-broken vegetation that could not be repaired and would be left to die. But there was more than evidence of just what was.
Across the field, the rising sun glowed behind the fog that laid across the land, just above the horizon of the field. The glare of the dawn reflected off the mist and partially obscured what lie beyond the field. What was visible was muted by the slowly dissipating moisture layer suspended in air.
It reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13:12 from Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase, The Message that read:
We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears, and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!
The Apostle Paul was not a farmer, and in truth, was probably a city boy. And yet he recognized that the land God created us from and to live upon could be constant reminders of our need to be grounded in the Almighty Lord of heaven and earth. To trust what we can’t see in the midst of what we can see.
Walking the land is good for body and mind, but today I was reminded that it is necessary good for my soul. First, when feeling burned out I must remember to stop and look up. Stop. Look. And Listen to the Spirit that hovered over the unformed surface of our world, before it was called good. To remember that I don’t see clearly what’s going on in this world, this nation, this culture, my denomination, or even my own life. None of us do – not the left or the right or those who chose to be upside down. We are all just looking through a fog – a fog created by where we have been and the tears shed in that place and a fog generated by our limited knowledge and angst over the fact we can’t control what is to come. The reality that there is an all-powerful and all-knowing God with a plan and purpose – and we are not Him.
But – thank God, there is a “but” – the view will become clearer. Probably not today. Likely not even tomorrow. But the Son will rise, the fog will lift, and the truth of our Lord and Savior will overcome and replace anything we “think” we see or how we “feel”. The Savior will heal all sickness. The Creative Potter will prevail over the governmental and denominational politics. And the King will call all His kids to himself reveling in their beauty for they all bear His divine image. Until then I pray and keep walking, with shoes soaked – not with the moisture of what was but the peace of what can be – with Christ showing the way, the truth, and the life.