Planted and Rooted
Sixth Sunday After Epiphany
Over the past few weeks, the children’s Sunday School class at my church has been learning to recite Psalm 1 from memory. As is typical when teaching young people something in rote memory form, the Sunday School leaders have thought of a creative way to reinforce the words of the psalm, probably not an unfamiliar tactic to anyone who has been tasked with teaching children to memorize something. In this case, the teachers have integrated bodily movements into the repetition to help guide and structure what can be a cumbersome recitation. Lest we ever think that children have little to offer to our practices of spirituality, the movements of these children seem so natural and, dare I say, fun, and yet, add a deep layer of meaning to this act of worship. It turns out that the body-mind connection in the liturgy is something that our children have no problem picking up on. If we’d give it a bit more attention, we might be surprised by the ways this symphony of worship informs our common life of devotion.
One of the more surprising ways this has played out with our children is that, rather than giving specific instructions for “actions” for each phrase, the leaders gave the group a particular word from the psalm and invited them to imagine what that movement might look like. Much creative license was given, and much creative license was used! For some words, the group huddled together to get into agreement on an action that they would all do together, and for others, they preferred to each come up with a movement that was specific to themselves. I know, cuteness overload. One such word that the children had free reign to act out was the word “prosper” from verse 3 of the psalm. The variety of actions chosen to represent this word was, understandably, widely varied. Some struck a pose worthy of a red carpet. Some stood tall and proudly, hands on hips. Others gathered some imaginary piles of some valuable resource. Still others made salutes or overanimated grins. The message was clear. For each individual in that Sunday School group, the word “prosper” meant something just a bit different, and this short stage play on Psalm 1 gave us, the congregation, a small glimpse into how the idea of prosperity has been formed in the imaginations of the children of our church.
Of course, I am not suggesting that there is something wrong with how the children chose to exhibit prosperity, or that the leaders did anything wrong by not suggesting that prosperity in the Kingdom of God doesn’t necessarily look like the kind of prosperity that the children might expect. There are plenty of imagination killers out there, and we need not add ourselves to the list. But what did strike me as I saw those precious children acting out their idea of prosperity was how clear it was to them that the cause of their prosperity was stable, steady growth, nourished by the goodness of God. The preceding words in verse 3 make this much clear. For these words, the children chose, in unison, to stand with arms extended outward, nearly touching hands, to represent their likeness to trees. They also chose to take a big juicy bite from an invisible apple, representing the fruit yielded in its season. Even the “withering leaves” were expressed with a short buckling of the knees and flailing of the arms, before popping right back up into their stances. Perhaps I am reading a bit too much into these artistic choices, but I can’t shake the idea that these children might be onto something that we know intellectually but refuse to actively participate in.
Many of us devote countless hours of thought to understanding the way of the righteous. Fearful that we might misstep or be lured in by sinful desire, we tend to obsess over programs and structures that make for a clear path so that we might progress with the sort of efficiency we think might be pleasing to God. This, we rationalize, is good work in itself, in an attempt to put our minds at ease. All the while, it may be the case that it is our constant scrambling for the right way that is a distraction itself.
As we meet Jesus out on the plain in this week’s gospel text, we find ourselves amidst the scramble. We don’t know the interior lives of the people reaching out to touch Jesus, to be healed by his presence. We know only that they have come to hear him. And what he has to say is good news for those who are known not for their action, but rather for their situation. In other words, Jesus looks with favor on folks who are somewhere rather than those who do something. It is a radical shift in framework that takes us far from the assumptions we find in the world. Jesus’ blessings fall on those we might be tempted to call inert, but only he can see that inaction is not a bad thing. In fact, it probably represents the kind of posture necessary to receive the kind of nourishment that only he can provide. These folks are the kind both the psalmist and the prophet identify as those planted by streams of water. Counter to the formation many of us have received, it seems that the way of righteousness has a lot less to do with motion and a lot more to do with commitment to living a life where roots can grow deep and strong, where drought is no longer a threat, where the river of life continues to rush in goodness and grace.
The good thing about this, friends, is that, while the world is full of examples of reckless pursuit of success and pleasure, our faith is equally rich with instances of folks who have, either on their own or by the foresight of another, been planted by streams of water. And one thing that tends to happen once one of us is planted in one place, the seeds from that tree tend to have a chance to stay nearby. It isn’t a perfect system, but it is one shaped by the grace of nature. Our communities have the same quality. As we find ourselves planted, our influence is borne out on the young saplings nearby. Perhaps we can offer them shade, or help them filter out the nourishment from the rest of the soil. In any case, by the diligence of those before us, we are planted where we are now, next to streams of mercy, and by our diligence will those who come after us will be planted and sustained by the same.
I don’t know that our children have fully developed theologies of prosperity. I don’t think we should expect that they do. Whatever prosperity might really mean will work itself out eventually. But of one thing I am certain: thanks to the steady, diligent faith of their ancestors, throughout time and space, both in the pews today and in the words of Scripture forever, our children know that their delight is in the law of the Lord, and that true prosperity will come as they remain rooted where they have been planted, by streams of living water.