The Expectations of the Harvest

One seed catalog described several varieties of the same vegetable: "adds zest to salads," "most astonishing," "outstanding tenderness," "bursting with flavor and nutrition," "distinctive flavor." Which exotic vegetable were they describing? The green bean! All these tinseled descriptions make it difficult to know what a mature garden looks or tastes like.

Many of us are no less ignorant of the flavor of a mature relationship. Mildred Walker's novel, “Winter Wheat”, tells the story of Ellen Webb—the only child of her American father and her Russian mother. While attending college, Ellen fell in love with Gil, a young man who came to her farm home for a summer visit. But after a shortened stay, he bolted home. When mom tried to comfort Ellen, Ellen exploded, blaming her parents’ marriage for her Gil’s departure:

"I'm not like you, Mom, so I'd do anything to get a man to marry me!” Mom looked at me so blankly it made me all the angrier.

“Don't look as though you didn't know what I was talking about. I know how you tricked Dad. I overheard you the night after Gil left. I know he married you and took you to America because you told him you were pregnant. And when he knew you weren't going to have a child it was too late. He was married to you, and he was too honorable to go away and leave you." I couldn't seem to stop. I watched my words fall like blows on Mom's face.

"And you've gone on all these years hating each other. Gil felt that hate. He could tell just being here. That's one of the things that drove him away from here, from me." I almost choked on my own words. I guess I was crying. Mom was still so long I looked up at her. All the color had gone out of her face, except in her eyes. She shook her head. "You don't know anything, Yelena. In our church if baby is not christened we say she go blind in next world. I think you go blind in this world—blind dumb! She stopped and then went on slowly. "No, Yelena, I never hate Ben `an Ben don't hate me. I love him here so all these years!" Mom touched her breast and her face broke into life. He eyes were softer, "Me hate Ben"! She laughed.

Mom explained that she had deceived her father. But it was only because she was seventeen, in love, and had already lost all of her family during World War I. Though Ben was upset by her deception, his love wouldn't allow him to hold a grudge. Mom looked at Ellen and sighed: “Yolochka, you don't know how love is yet."

What does a healthy marriage look like? a healthy friendship? Many of us hold a ripe friendship in our hands but don't recognize it because it has a few blemishes. As Jesus agonized over his date with the cross, he confessed to his disciples, Peter, James and John: "My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death." As he strained to obey the Father's will, he implored his friends to keep watch and pray. But his friends promptly fell asleep--not once, not twice, but three times! How many of us would hang onto friends who snored through the crisis of our lives? Though certainly disappointed, Jesus knew his friends' hearts: "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." All mature relationships have frequent failings.

Measuring the Harvest, Part 2

Some harvest measurements can deceive us. When a church's pews are full, the church should not assume that it is mature. When a psychologist claims that 90% of a child's personality is established by the age of 4, a parent must not infer that his school-aged child doesn’t need him. When most of my students rate me favorably, I must not conclude that my teaching has no need for improvement. When a motivational speaker promises that a habit is formed by 21 days of consecutive action, we should not believe that only three weeks of sowing will reap a lifetime of discipline.

Early students of human behavior coined the phrase the "social sciences." They believed (and many still believe) there are precise laws of human behavior, like the laws of physical science, that can be monitored and measured. As Neil Postman has written, these "psychologists, sociologists, and economists will have numbers to tell them the truth or they will have nothing." But human behavior is too unpredictable to know with certainty what people will do in any given situation.

Measuring the harvest is also tricky because we observe people who sow evil, but reap good -- demagogic politicians who are respected and re-elected; depraved filmmakers who win fame and fortune; cheating students who receive accolades and awards. Like the Jews of Malachi's day we may become discouraged: "It is futile to serve God. What did we gain by carrying out his requirements? . . . Certainly the evildoers prosper, and even those who challenge God escape." (3:14f)

When evil prospers, a moral fog blankets the earth. But occasionally the fog lifts -- a politician is caught lying; a professional athlete is suspended for using performance enhancing drugs; a religious leader is caught stealing church funds. But one day the veil will completely and permanently lift when we "will again see the distinction between those who serve God and those who do not. Surely the day is coming; it will burn like a furnace. All the arrogant and every evildoer will be stubble, and that day that is coming will set them on fire." (3:18 - 4:1). All the wicked -- even the most celebrated fools -- will simply be stubble, the refuse from God's harvest. They won't survive his fiery judgment.

  

Harvest Numbers

The harvest in my garden can be easily quantified—a bushel of squash, two pints of strawberries, one quart of honey. But can all harvests be numerically measured? A while back my bank conducted a telephone survey consisting of fifteen multiple-choice questions. When the caller hung up, though, I was left with an uneasy feeling—several questions had no fitting answer and no questions were open-ended. Why wasn't I given the latitude to talk about other issues? Probably because my words couldn't be reduced to a graph line.

Focusing on numerical measurements can be misleading. One day while I was idly taking notes in a seminary class, one of my classmates asked the professor: "Will we have to know this for the test?" What a great question! A “No" would give my wandering thoughts more freedom. But my normally placid professor exploded: "What are you guys doing here?! Do you think anyone will care what grade you made in this class?! Do you think a nominating committee will ask for your transcript?! What they want to know is whether these truths are transforming your life and ministry." What a novel thought—study to learn something! Though I had mastered the educational assessment game, how much was I truly learning? That day sparked a new attitude toward learning—I would focus less on grade point average and more on developing the knowledge and skills to serve God for a lifetime.

Similarly, a few years ago an enthused publisher expressed interest in reprinting my book, Remodeling the Family. As I was completing several months of revisions, and dreaming about how many copies would be printed, the editor called, informing me that ZERO copies would be printed—the company had changed its mind. I was dejected. Why would God lure me down this dead end road? As I gazed at my "wasted" investment, I spied a cluster of fruit hidden behind the leaves of my disappointment. This project was my first extensive writing in several years, reawakening my calling to communicate God's truth through writing—which eventually led to this blog, Captive Thinking. Furthermore, the re-writing reminded me of major themes in my life, rekindling a desire to spread those truths. I was reminded (again!) that the harvest in my life can't be measured in bushels or ounces, or even the number of books sold but in how God was working in me: "The fruit of righteousness will be peace and quietness and confidence forever. Though hail flattens the forest, how blest you will be." (Is.32). Though God flattened my hopes, I could still be at peace, confident that He still wanted to bless and use me.

A Disappointing Harvest

God’s prophet, Haggai, asked his fellow-Jews to reflect on their puny harvest:  

You have planted much, but have harvested little. You eat, but never have enough. You drink, but never have your fill. You put on clothes, but are not warm. You earn wages, only to put them in a purse with holes in it. (1:5f)

Why were these frustrated people plagued by the proverbial “hole in the pocket?” God explained: "What you brought home, I blew away. Why? Because of my house, which remains a ruin, while each of you is busy with his own house." (1:9f). As the Jews returned from captivity in Babylon (6^th century B.C.) and began the rugged task of rebuilding their shattered nation, they became consumed with their own homes. They had gone beyond providing shelter—they now lived in “paneled houses” while God's house lay unfinished and unusable. As a result of this lengthy neglect of their spiritual duties, God sent a bitter harvest as a warning.

These procrastinators, though, were unmoved: "the time has not yet come." How often have we with puckered lips told God, "The time has not yet come"? We taste the bitter fruit of a depressed child but say, "I know he needs more of my time, Lord, but I've got this new job." Or we taste the unripe fruit of a chilled heart toward God and say, "Lord, I know I have been ignoring you, but I’ll join a small group Bible study when the kids return to school.” Or we taste the pungent fruit of marital strife but promise to seek help when our house remodeling is complete.

As I have reflected on my recent gardening, I have "repented" of my deficient soil—I need to fortify my soil through better composting. It is easy to be committed to the concept of composting. It is not easy to be committed to the chore of composting—hauling manure, turning the pile, adding grass and leaves, watering. There are no quick fixes for my soil—or my soul. Repentance brings my life out of winter. But I won’t reap a harvest unless I commit to the timeless, daily cycles of the farmer. When Israel strayed, God's message was "break up . . . sow . . . reap." No one reaps a bountiful life by putting off today's work.

Measuring the Harvest

I coached my youngest son's traveling soccer team for seven years. Though the team had few elite athletes, their hard work had enabled them to compete with many elite teams. As we approached our very last tournament, I envisioned a storybook ending. The two best teams were in the other bracket and we were the best in our bracket. I dreamed about us playing in, and winning, the championship game. What a harvest after all the years of disciplined work!

The first team we played had never beaten us. In the closing minute of the game, the out-of-shape referee (who was forty yards out of position) whistled us for a foul, awarding them a penalty kick—which they made. The referee clearly made the wrong call, enabling that team to tie us 1-1. I was very upset, yelling repeatedly at the referee: "That's the worst call I have ever seen!

In our second game, we opened strong, leading 2-0 at half. But questionable officiating and sloppy play led to a 3-2 loss. On one occasion, I angrily slammed my hat to the ground and stomped on it to protest a call. (A grown man stomping on his own hat?!) My fantasy of a championship had evaporated. During our final game we were clobbering the next best team in our division 4-0 at half. It was probably the best soccer the boys had ever played. I thought: "Well, at least we'll go out on a high note." But the second half was a complete disaster. We were badly outplayed and only a phenomenal stop by our goalie preserved a 4-4 tie. The game ended with a fistfight—a first for my team. As I went home that evening I was mostly disappointed in myself. Had my temper fueled their fists? The fruit in my life was sour that day.

Once again my garden's harvest is instructive. Though I have been gardening for several decades, I still mess up. My inattention might cause me to lose some seedlings during a hot spell. Or I might overlook an insect invasion. Does this mean I should list my garden tools on e-bay?  No. I must look at my garden—and my life!—more panoramically. Before I worked myself into to funk over my coaching failure, I reflected on the past seven years. I had grown in my ability to love and lead young men, to control my volatile emotions, to trust God to give the boys the experiences they needed.

As a Christian I want a measure of my walk with God—the harvest provides that measure. My garden is to be increasingly filled with the Spirit-grown fruit of love, joy, peace, and patience. When Paul wrote to the Thessalonians he commended them: "Now about brotherly love we do not need to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love each other." But he urged them "to do so more and more." God looks for progress, not perfection.

Harvest Math, 2

The multiplying principle of the harvest (see previous post) applies in unwanted ways also. When Israel was running from God, Hosea warned: "Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind." (Hos.8:7). Hosea warned that if they planted the seeds of wind, they would reap a tornado of trouble.

Many don't recognize their empty sowing until the whirlwind knocks them to the ground. As Solomon regularly traveled by a lazy neighbor's field, he observed that:

 the ground was covered with weeds,

 and the stone wall was in ruins.
I applied my heart to what I observed
  and learned a lesson from what I saw;
A little sleep, a little slumber,
  a little folding of the hands to rest
and poverty will come on you like a bandit
  and scarcity like an armed man. (Prov.24:32f)

How did this lazy farmer get mugged by poverty? It happened so gradually—“a little...a little...a little"—that he never saw the bandit coming. When one stone fell from his stone wall, he thought, "I'll get to that tomorrow." When the second one fell out, he thought, "I'll put that one back when I repair the first one." When the third one fell out, he stopped making promises to himself. His large problem (poverty) was built by small choices (not replacing fallen stones.)

Early in my Christian life I feared that I might be seized by temptation and take a major tumble. But Solomon reminds us that disasters are created inch by inch by inch—we creep rather than leap into major sin. I might commit adultery after I harbor bitterness toward my wife, after I regularly flirt with a co-worker, after I bare my intimate thoughts to that other woman, after I choose to have a “business lunch” with her. The wall falls down a stone at a time. If I don't repair the small breakdowns, I may experience a complete collapse.

 
But if Solomon's farmer repents of his slothful ways, can his wall be rebuilt? Maybe not. Several years ago Frank (not his real name) came to live with us after his wife booted him out of their home. One evening at dinner, I asked Frank to explain to my sons why he was living in our home. As he talked, the pain and loneliness overcame him. Bowing his head and weeping, he cried: "My sin! My sin! I may never enjoy a family meal like this because I haven't been walking with God." Frank was right. His wife divorced him and the unity of his family was forever shattered. Though Frank's repentance helped him become a stable and godly influence for his kids, his wall could never be entirely rebuilt. We can control our choices, but not our consequences.

The Delayed Harvest

One of the surest principles of the harvest is its delay. I can't pick beans the day after I sow bean seeds. My newly planted asparagus roots won't produce a significant crop for two or three years. Our sapling oak trees will provide a canopy of shade for our great-grandchildren’s play!

It is the slow, steady growth of trees that most resembles God's work—though the wicked spring up like grass, the righteous will flourish like a palm tree and will become oaks of righteousness. (Ps.92) One of the delightful oaks that has been growing in my life is the relationships that I enjoy with my three adult sons and their families. We share holidays and meals, gardening and golf, work and worship. What fed this delightful growth? It was painstakingly nurtured ring by ring and inch-by-inch.

• Ring #1: Playing most of my golf with my young sons rather than my fellow golf addicts. (By the second hole they were hot, frustrated, and ready to dash to the swimming pool.)
• Ring #2: Working with my boys in a small lawn care business. (I could have earned more money and suffered less grief—“Dad, do we have to mow today? It's too hot!"—if I had worked on my own.)
• Ring #3: Establishing my office at home. (I could have written several more books if I had located my office away from their frequent interruptions.)
• Ring #4:  Coaching my sons' athletic teams. (Doesn't everyone love a task that involves griping parents, incompetent  referees, and rowdy children?!) 
• Ring #5: Vacationing as a family. (I would have preferred more romantic get-aways with my wife!)

Parenting makes remarkable demands but has few instant rewards. My boys didn't slap me on the back and say, "Wow! You're sure a great dad to give up your Saturday golf game to play golf with us." None of my golfing friends, who watched my handicap balloon to an eight from a two, said, "I think it's great to see a father put his kids first." So why did I persevere? Because I was confident that planting those choice seeds would one day produce a joyful harvest.