Ecclesiastes 3 tells us “for everything there is a season…a time to plant and a time to harvest.” And this has been a season like none I have ever seen before.  Not because of the Christmas preparations and end-of-year paperwork, but because I moved from one church appointment to another. Unusual circumstances in an unusual pandemic year created the situation where I could no longer stay and complete my current pastoral appointment year (that typically ends June 30). So, I moved from a single church into a 3-church charge. For those unfamiliar with a church charge, it means the pastor serves all three churches as a family of three, each with different personalities and gifts, but all set apart to serve God’s people.

Thing about seasons. It requires us to let go of one to embrace the next. And that is not always easy. Just as the local harvest of fields in recent months have left the fields bare, there was celebration but there was sorrow. Celebrating in what was accomplished and yielded in that time. Sorrow when looking at the empty fields where now only cut stalks poke out from the occasional large deposit of rainfall. But here’s the thing… as the colder days arrived bringing colder temperatures, another arrival is noted – frost.  In the early morning hours as the sun is just peeking over the horizon, the harshness of the winter field glistens with hope as the frozen moisture catches the new day. It’s interesting to note that frost typically appears at the beginning and the ending of the growing season. 

The frosted fields remind us by sight what Scripture reminds us in words: “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lam. 3:22-23

The land serves to remind us we are constantly facing seasons for growth and the seasons in between. And truth be told, it is in the in-between seasons we can see our greatest growth.  For it is in the in-between seasons that challenge us to show grace while standing on the truth in love. 

With the Covid-19 pandemic still raging on into this new year, we can have hope in God’s faithfulness. And until we arrive at the place where social distancing is closed and masks come off, we can grow in grace and truth. 

With the differences in how Scriptures are to be interpreted and lived out ripping the denominational seams of the UMC, we can have hope in God’s faithfulness. And until we arrive at a place where we can part ways like Paul and Barnabas to be faithful to the divine Cultivator, we can grow in grace and truth. 

We just can’t be resistant or resentful of the frost of the in-between season. Living water comes in many forms to reach us where we are – even in shimmering crystals. 

If we find the hope in these cold, harsh mornings and remember the promise of the glistening frost that is promising new mercies, a new day, a new growing opportunity is coming. Whether in the city or the country. Whether large or small. If we are grounded in our Risen Savior, and can embrace and live in the frost season for what it is.

One more thing. Woody Guthrie’s 1940 song, “This Land is Your Land” was written at a time when the working-class people were calling out, “we are here too”. It was a song about inclusion and equity, not about entitlement or elitism.  That this country does not just belong to politicians, or celebrities, or the left, or the right, or those yelling the loudest into the news cameras. And here is the thing – this land we are tearing apart does not even really belong to us – it is on loan because we can’t take it with us. We are created from it. We find our life upon it and within it. And we return to it before entering the season of all seasons. Thanks be to God. So be it – Amen.